#allowing you to flaunt with ease | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redvexillum · 1 month ago

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A/N: Please note! I'm still away with limited to no access to internet! Now, let’s talk about this story. A couple of quick notes: originally, I had a mini-series planned as a gift fic for @redfoxwritesstuff similar to this prompt. So, naturally, I decided to hijack the prompt and turn it into a little taste test of what you can expect from me next year. Also, fair warning—this one-shot is long AF. Enjoy! Also Kit said this was a very fluffy-wuffy story ✨️

SUMMARY: When Alastor summons a demon to strike a deal, he’s horrified to discover the entity is none other than his future self—a twisted, unrecognizable Overlord of Hell. The price for their agreement? Allowing his future counterpart a single night with you. But as the night unfolds, the deal unravels, and Alastor is confronted with a vision of his destiny and a choice.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, demon alastor, human alastor, period typical racism, reader is white for plot reason, p in v, cucking, big smoll sad, it made kit's eyes water lol, time travel, human!alastor is a jerk, human!alastor is bad with feelings, @safination i'm not here right now so you have my permission to lovingly yell at Kit.

When Alastor, your enigmatic and ever-poised boss, had called you for the first time early evening, asking you to meet him in his office, your heart thudded wildly, teetering between anticipation and trepidation. Alastor never went out of his way to summon you—it was always you lingering behind, staying past your hours, quietly soaking in his presence as he worked tirelessly.

This was different.

It felt intimate.

You’d spent an hour preparing, choosing your best dress—a sleek, elegant number that hugged your form just enough to be alluring without being improper. A touch of makeup brought colour to your cheeks, but not too much; you wanted to be perfect, to catch his eye. Yet, despite your efforts, you knew how he would react. Alastor’s gaze was always detached, his smile fixed, his brow quirking only slightly when you adorned yourself in jewels or dresses that begged for attention. Still, you couldn’t help but try, craving even the smallest acknowledgement.

But what bound you to Alastor wasn’t something you could ever flaunt. It was your secret—a dangerous one that you carried with trembling hands and a racing heart. The two of you were entangled in a forbidden affair, one that defied both class and the suffocating bigotry of your family.

Alastor was beneath your station—a man your father would see erased from existence if he ever knew. Worse still, he wasn’t even of your race, a detail that would ensure not just scorn, but ruination.

Despite the risks, you couldn’t quell the fervent pulse of your heart or the fire that grew with every lingering glance, every stolen moment. You loved him. But you would never dare breathe those words aloud. Love, you were certain, would drive him away, or worse, force him to sever your professional ties altogether. No, you resolved to bury it deep within you, content to simply bask in his presence, treasuring every fleeting second by his side.

The taxi ride to the radio station felt eternal, every bump on the road a reminder of your growing tension. Your stomach coiled with a delicious, agonizing heat, your mind a swirl of fantasies about what the night might hold. Would his hands be on you? His voice—a low, sultry murmur in your ear? You had lied with practised ease to your mother, telling her you were meeting a friend, knowing the scandal it would incite if anyone knew you were alone with an unmarried man in the dead of night.

You stepped through the radio station doors, your pulse hammering like a drumbeat in your ears. Each step toward his office sent a ripple of nerves through you, your hand trembling as you raised it to knock. The soft rap of your knuckles against the wood echoed in the empty hall.

“Come in,” came the familiar cadence of Alastor’s voice, low and steady, but there was a rasp beneath it that made your skin prickle.

As you pushed the door open, your breath caught in your throat. The world seemed to tilt, your vision narrowing to the abomination lounging in Alastor’s chair. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.

The creature was grotesque, its twisted form a nightmare made flesh. Its grin stretched impossibly wide, revealing too many sharp, glistening teeth. Your knees threatened to give out as you stumbled back, a trembling hand flying to cover your mouth.

“S-Sir,” you stammered, your voice a feeble whisper. Tears welled in your eyes as you pointed a shaking finger at the monstrosity before you. Your mind screamed at you to flee, but your legs felt as if they’d been turned to lead.

And at that moment, all the fantasies, the yearning, the secret desires—all of it shattered, leaving you drowning in a sea of terror.

In the chair where Alastor usually sat was a figure so utterly alien, so menacing, that your breath hitched in your throat. Your eyes widened, taking in every horrifying detail.

The creature’s stark, blood-red hair fell in a sharp bob, the blackened tips framing his face with an eerie precision. Two tufts of hair atop his head mimicked ears, their softness betraying the menace of the antler-like bones that protruded from his skull. These jagged horns gleamed under the low light, their surface polished and unyielding. The skin stretched over his sharp features was a ghostly grey, as if every drop of blood had been leached from his body. His long claws glistened, crimson as though freshly dipped in blood, and their razor-like points promised destruction with a single swipe.

His choice of attire was oddly elegant—a dapper, pin-striped red suit that hung impeccably on his tall frame, paired with a crimson shirt beneath. The vivid fabric clung to him, amplifying the danger in his already striking presence. When his gaze lifted to yours, your stomach churned. His eyes were an unsettling sea of red, the sclera and iris indistinguishable except for the black, slit-like pupils that seemed to pierce straight into your soul.

“Why, hello there!” the monster greeted you, his voice dripping with exaggerated joviality. The sound was layered with static, like a distorted broadcast through a radio, dissonant and grating against your ears.

As he rose from the chair, his height became even more terrifying. The tattered ends of his jacket fluttered slightly, like the remnants of a garment torn through battles untold. He was impossibly tall, towering so far above you that even Alastor’s impressive stature seemed diminutive in comparison.

“You’ve arrived pretty quickly,” a familiar voice interrupted your spiralling fear, anchoring you for a brief moment. Your head snapped toward the sound, and relief flooded your chest as your boss came into view. Alastor was seated on the plush couch to the side, his elbow resting on the armrest, one hand pressed to his temple as though nursing a splitting headache.

“S-sir,” you called out, your voice trembling as you instinctively shuffled closer to him. Every nerve in your spine prickled, the weight of the monster’s unblinking gaze crawling over you like bugs. He grinned wider—unnaturally so—his yellowed teeth gleaming in the dim light, the corners of his mouth stretching impossibly far, as if the act of smiling alone was tearing his face apart.

Alastor rose fluidly from the couch, his presence commanding despite the monstrous figure looming nearby. With a calmness that baffled you, he reached out and took your trembling hand, his touch steady and grounding as he gently pulled you closer to his body.

Your heart raced, your cheeks burning as his fingers brushed against your skin. You tilted your head up, seeking answers in his expression, but his whisky brown eyes were unreadable, his smile just as enigmatic as always. Why wasn’t he alarmed by the abomination in his office?

“My dear,” Alastor purred, his deep voice resonating through you like a caress. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and your head instinctively dipped, your gaze lowering to his polished shoes. Heat rushed through your veins as your body unconsciously fell into a submissive pose, the practised habit of yielding to his authority deeply ingrained from the private games you’d shared.

His chuckle was warm, teasing, a sound that both soothed and tingled your nerves. He lifted a hand, his long fingers tilting your chin upward with an almost tender touch. His smile softened, though it remained wicked at the edges.

“I need you to do me a favour, darling,” he murmured, his voice soft yet commanding, the undertones so addicting you felt yourself nodding before the words fully registered.

“A-anything, sir,” you stammered, your voice trembling with unease. Instinctively, your fingers twitched toward him, longing for reassurance, but you stopped yourself, letting your hands fall to your sides. You knew better—Alastor disliked being touched without his permission, and crossing that line would only make things worse.

His grin widened, a sinister curve that sent a chill down your spine. For a moment, it mirrored the demon’s unsettling smile, sharp and predatory. “Excellent,” he mused, his tone deceptively light. Then, with an elegant step back, he distanced himself from you, leaving a void where his warmth had been. You shivered, feeling the icy tendrils of isolation creep in.

Turning his attention to the monster, Alastor tilted his head, his expression unreadable but his voice cutting like a blade. “You see, my little assistant would do anything for me.” His chuckle was dry, short, and devoid of emotion—a sound you were intimately familiar with. “So, do what you will with her, and we’ll conclude our arrangement.”

The words struck like a thunderclap, dousing you in a cold wave of shock. Your body froze, your mind racing to process what he had just said. You turned to him, wide-eyed and pleading, hoping—praying—for some sign that this was a cruel joke, a test of your devotion. But the cold detachment in his dull, brown eyes offered no comfort.

The monster loomed closer, his presence suffocating, his malevolent aura wrapping around you like a vice. Your chest tightened as fear clawed its way up your throat, and you finally understood. Alastor had summoned this being—a blasphemous act, all for some dark purpose. Was this your fate? Had he lured you here to offer you as a sacrifice?

Tears burned in your eyes, the sting mingling with the sharp ache in your chest. Your nose tingled as you fought to hold back a sob. You had said you would do anything for him, but now the weight of that promise crushed you.

Would you die for him?

Could you?

The monster’s low, guttural chuckle rumbled through the room, a sound that vibrated in your very bones. His eyes glowed with a hellish light, his razor-sharp teeth gleaming as his grin widened, promising pain. You hiccuped, your trembling gaze darting back to Alastor, silently begging him to stop whatever horror he had set in motion.

As the monster drew closer, his towering form engulfed you. You whimpered, your eyes squeezing shut, bracing yourself for the agony you were certain would follow. But instead of searing pain, there was a gentle touch—a feather-light brush of fingers against your skin.

Cautiously, you opened your eyes, your breath hitching as you met his gaze. The malevolence was gone, replaced by something softer, almost…tender. His grin had dulled, the sharpness of his teeth no longer as menacing.

“My, I was such a bully to you, wasn’t I, cher?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though not to startle you. Gently, he lifted your trembling hand, his clawed fingers cradling it with surprising care. His eyes fluttered closed as he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand, the unexpected tenderness unravelling the knot of fear in your chest.

“Al…Alastor?” The name slipped from your lips unbidden, your voice barely above a whisper. This creature looked nothing like your boss, yet his mannerisms—the way he spoke, the delicate way he touched you—felt achingly familiar.

The monster’s eyes snapped open, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Slowly, his gaze locked onto yours, the intensity in his glowing red eyes pinning you in place. His body shifted closer, his towering frame crowding you, but without the suffocating malice from before.

One hand slid to rest gently on your hip, the other cupping your cheek with a touch so light it felt like a whisper against your skin. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles, brushing the warmth of your cheek as though memorizing every detail.

“You’re as beautiful as I remember you to be, cher,” he said, his voice soft, almost reverent. The words were spoken as if they were meant for you alone, a secret shared in the space between your breaths. The tenderness in his tone sent a pang through your chest, your fear melting into confusion, longing, and something deeper—something that tugged at the very core of you.

Your eyes darted past the monster, seeking the warmth and steadiness of Alastor’s familiar brown gaze, but he wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he busied himself with tidying the scattered books on the floor, his movements precise, almost indifferent.

“I suppose you’d like an explanation?” The monster’s voice lilted with amusement, the tone grating against your raw nerves.

You tried to speak, to demand answers, but your throat felt constricted, the weight of fear pressing your lips shut. What could you possibly say when confronted with something so unnatural, so wrong?

The monster’s grin widened as he studied your silence, his laughter cutting through the tension like jagged glass. “My younger, alive self, I might add,” he began, voice dripping with mockery, “decided it would be a brilliant idea to summon a demon. And what a surprise—I managed to transcend time itself, back to when I still drew breath. Ha!”

He chuckled, the sound lighthearted, as if he were recounting an amusing anecdote instead of explaining your potential doom. With an unsettling ease, he began to sway you side to side, guiding your body like a puppet, as though a melody only he could hear played in his mind.

“W-what?” you stammered, your voice barely audible, the weight of his words sinking in.

The demon leaned closer, his glowing red eyes narrowing as he held you in his gaze. “You see, cher, your dear father was planning to pull out his support. Said the new age of entertainment was approaching,” he purred, his tone lowering, his words curling like smoke around you. “He claimed the radio was a dying medium. Can you imagine?”

Your heart stuttered, the implication dawning on you in jagged pieces.

Before you could process further, the demon pulled back, his face twisted into an unsettlingly cheerful grin. “So,” he continued, his voice unnervingly jovial, “my younger self decided to strike a deal with me.”

Without warning, he yanked you closer, your body pressed firmly against his towering frame. His claws trailed lightly along your arm, his grip firm yet almost reverent as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His sharp teeth flashed in a grotesque mockery of a smile as he leaned in, his words soft and poisonous.

“Help him convince your father to keep his investment in the radio business,” he explained, “and in return, I get you—for one night. However I please.” He sighed wistfully, as if the thought alone was a gift.

“I…” The swirl of emotions in your chest was unbearable—fear, disgust, betrayal, and a growing sense of dread. Your stomach churned, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The enormity of what he was saying crashed down on you like a tidal wave. Alastor had sold you. Sold you to this…this demon for a fleeting deal.

Your voice wavered, cracking under the weight of your panic. “P-pl-please,” you whimpered, trembling in his grasp. “I-I can convince my father. I swear—please, just don’t hurt me.” A tear slipped down your cheek, hot and bitter, the first of many as your resolve crumbled into despair.

Behind the demon, Alastor’s voice cut through the moment, sharp and impatient. “Think of it as another…act,” he said with an air of dismissal, waving his hand as though the entire situation was trivial. His arms crossed over his chest, his expression tight with irritation. “I’m ordering you, for one night, to experience pleasure with another man, ah, rather an otherworldly being. Surely, you love following my orders, don’t you?”

His grin was forced, brittle at the edges, and his gaze was devoid of the warmth you had once clung to. The coldness in his voice pierced you deeper than the demon’s claws ever could.

Something deep within you cracked, a fracture so profound it reverberated through your entire being. The tears came harder now, streaking down your cheeks in silence as the pain hollowed out your chest. Your voice faltered, swallowed by the void left behind by his betrayal. You were adrift, unmoored, and utterly broken.

Before you could fully crumble in the demon’s arms, his voice cut through the storm of your emotions, soft yet laced with disapproval. “My, my, my,” he sighed, shaking his head with an air of mock disappointment. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the air crackled, and tendrils of shadow unfurled from the floor like living smoke. They coiled around Alastor’s limbs, binding him in place.

“Hey—” Alastor managed to bark before one of the tendrils silenced him, curling tightly over his mouth. His eyes burned with malice, glaring daggers at the demon. The raw hatred radiating from him sent a shiver cascading down your spine.

The demon tutted, wagging a clawed finger as though scolding a misbehaving child. “Tsk, tsk. I’m quite certain our mother taught us better manners when it comes to treating the fairer sex, wouldn't you agree?” he chided, the red monocle adorning his eye gleaming in the dim light like a sly wink directed at you.

He turned his attention back to you, and before you could shrink away, his arms enfolded you in a firm embrace. “Now, now, cher,” he murmured, his voice a warm, honeyed drawl. “No need for tears. I dare say, I’m truly amazed. Imagine… falling in love with me, despite everything.” His head tilted, amusement dancing in his crimson gaze as his grin softened ever so slightly.

Your muscles locked, your mind too frazzled to process his words. Your wide eyes remained fixed on Alastor, bound and seething within the shadowy restraints. “P-please, Mr. Demon, y-you’re hurting him,” you stammered, trembling as helplessness gripped your frame.

“Oh, sweet thing, don’t you worry about him,” the demon cooed, his tone light yet edged with a strange finality. “And for the record, I’d prefer it if you called me Al.”

“A-Al?” The name felt foreign on your tongue as you hesitantly turned your gaze back to him.

“That’s right,” he replied with a theatrical flourish, a microphone staff materializing in his hand out of thin air. He stepped back, spreading his arms as though addressing an invisible audience. “Allow me to properly introduce myself!” His grin widened, impossibly sharp. “I am Alastor—the Radio Demon. I hail from the future, though I come bearing tidings from Hell itself! It's a pleasure to meet you, again! Haha!” His laughter echoed, rich and chilling. “But for you, my darling, you may simply call me Al. I much prefer it that way.”

His words sank in like stones, heavy and impossible. This demon… this creature who had embraced you so intimately… was Alastor. Your Alastor. The very thought clawed at your sanity, pulling you deeper into the pit of madness.

“How… how is this possible?” you whispered, the question barely audible over the hammering of your heart.

His response was another snap of his fingers, the sound sharp and commanding. The plush sofa in the corner of the room shimmered and transformed, warping into a small, inviting bed.

“Anything is possible with a little magic, darling,” he said with a devilish grin, his hand slipping to the small of your back, guiding you toward the bed. His voice dropped, a velvet purr curling through his words. “And my time here is fleeting. So, cher, allow me this one indulgence—to feel you once more, as I’ve longed to do.”

“Y-you’re Alastor,” you murmured, your voice soft, trembling as your mind wavered on the precipice of disbelief and reluctant acceptance. It felt surreal, like a twisted fairy tale brought to life.

“The one and only,” he declared with a radiant grin that sent a jolt of familiarity straight to your heart. For a moment, your breath hitched. That smile—it was Alastor’s, unmistakably his. The way his lips curled, the self-assured confidence radiating from him—it mirrored the expression you’d seen so many times after his broadcasts, a smile brimming with satisfaction and happiness.

But now, that smile belonged to this—to him.

As he followed you to the bed, his movements unhurried yet purposeful, you found yourself sinking into the mattress, your body trembling with a cascade of emotions you couldn’t contain. The instant he sat beside you, you threw your arms around his neck, clutching him as though he might vanish into smoke if you let go. Pressing your face against his chest, you whispered, voice quivering under the weight of your heartache, “W-why are you in Hell?”

Tears spilled freely, soaking into the fine fabric of his jacket. Your words, soft and trembling, carried a deeper pain than you realized. “Why?” you repeated, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your blurred vision making his grin all the more surreal.

The concept of Hell clawed at your mind—a place of endless torment, unimaginable cruelty, and eternal suffering. The thought of Alastor, your Alastor, enduring such a fate twisted your stomach into knots. Your hands, trembling with hesitation and sorrow, rose to frame his face. The grin on his lips remained unchanged, unfaltering, though its presence felt like a knife plunged into your chest.

“I-is it scary?” you asked, voice breaking under the weight of your despair. “Is it… painful?” The tears came harder now, spilling like a deluge, each one carrying another fragment of your breaking heart. “Is there…” you hiccuped, searching his eyes for something, anything, “…anything I can do? To…to save your soul?”

For a moment, he froze, his crimson eyes fixed on you. Then his lips parted, and laughter spilled forth—a sound both melodic and unhinged, a discordant symphony that sent shivers rippling across your skin.

“Oh, my!” he exclaimed between peals of manic laughter, his head tilting unnaturally. With a sickening crack, his neck twisted in a full circle, the motion so grotesque you flinched. He turned his warped grin toward the immobilized Alastor, bound by shadows in the corner of the room. “She doesn’t know?” he howled, the sound echoing as though bouncing off invisible walls. “Hahaha! She doesn’t know! Oh, this is rich!”

You stared, frozen in both awe and horror, as the man you loved unravelled into something far stranger, far darker. The resemblance to Alastor was undeniable—the mannerisms, the way he carried himself—but there was something else, too. Something foreign, something… wrong. He was a blurred reflection, a distorted echo of the man you thought you knew.

Without warning, his head snapped back to face you. Before you could process the movement, his lips descended on yours, the suddenness of it stealing your breath. You stiffened, your body rigid with shock. But then his lips moved, tender and familiar, in the exact way Alastor used to kiss you. The familiarity melted your resolve, and against your better judgment, your fingers brushed against the lapels of his jacket.

His hand came to rest on yours, gently clasping your trembling fingers.

“Cher,” he murmured, his voice a soft, aching melody. His lips brushed against yours again, as though afraid this moment would slip away. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, cher,” he whispered, the raw longing in his tone unravelling something deep inside you.

He pressed you back onto the bed, his weight settling over you like a ghost of memories long past. If you closed your eyes, you could almost convince yourself it was him—your Alastor. It was so easy to believe it was his hands, his voice, his breath against your skin.

“I’m not… with you...down there?” you whispered, your voice breaking as he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, breaths mingling.

For a fleeting moment, something unspoken flickered in his crimson eyes—pain. Then it was gone, replaced by his ever-present grin. “Of course not, silly girl,” he said, his voice laced with a deceptive lightness. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his touch gentle despite the shadows that clung to him.

“Your soul, of course, went to Heaven,” he continued with a wistful chuckle. “How could it not? You’re far too pure, too precious for the likes of Hell.” His words were tender, yet they carried an undertone of something far darker. Something that left you both mesmerized and terrified.

The way Al held you was intimate, possessive, and far too tender to be anything other than the embrace of a lover. It was as though, in some distant future, you and he were entwined in a life you could only dream of.

Could it be true?

Your gaze shifted to Alastor, who was furiously struggling against the shadow tendrils pinning him in place. The sight of his thrashing form, his narrowed eyes burning with frustration, sent your heart pounding. The sound of your pulse roared in your ears as conflicting thoughts raced through your mind.

Perhaps, in the future, the world had changed—laws once meant to keep you apart finally lifted. Perhaps Alastor had grown to see you, not as an assistant, but as someone worthy of his love. Perhaps, together, you’d built a life, a family, and shared moments of happiness you could scarcely imagine now.

But then, a darker thought surfaced. Perhaps Alastor had died, his soul condemned to Hell. If that was true, and this demon before you was proof of that fate, would your future self feel the same unbearable ache at being parted from him for eternity?

Tears welled in your eyes as the thought took root, threatening to undo you entirely. You buried your face against Al’s chest, his warmth anchoring you as you fought to calm the whirlwind of emotions. Hugging him tightly, you slowed your breathing, trying to chase away the storm of uncertainty.

“I…” you started, but your voice faltered. You cast a glance back at Alastor, still bound and silenced, his struggle relentless. The words caught in your throat, and you pressed your lips tightly together, unwilling to voice your fears.

“What’s wrong, cher?” Al whispered against your hair, his voice soothing and laced with curiosity. He began peppering light kisses across your forehead and hairline, each touch feather-soft yet disarming. “Is it something you don’t want my present self to hear?”

Your body tensed in surprise. How had he read your thoughts so clearly?

He grinned mischievously, a spark of devilish delight flashing in his crimson eyes. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the shadow tendrils tightened around Alastor’s head, shrouding his eyes and ears. “There. Now he can’t see or hear us!” Al giggled, his claws tracing idle patterns down your arm before moving to the buttons of your dress.

“I never told you how much I admired your dresses, did I, cher?” he murmured, his tone dipping low, intimate.

“W-what?” you stammered, breath hitching as his fingers worked with slow precision, unfastening each button one by one.

“You always tried so hard to catch my attention,” he said, his voice husky, tinged with regret. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your collarbone with a tender kiss. “And I, stubborn fool that I am, ignored the signs—despite my obvious interest in you.”

Another kiss landed on your other collarbone, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. His words sent a shiver coursing through you. “Have we made love yet, cher?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Love? The word echoed in your mind, foreign yet tantalizing. You and Alastor had shared moments, stolen kisses, and even acts of passion, but love…? You weren’t sure if anything between you had ever been tender enough to call it that.

Your silence was answer enough. Al hummed softly, his lips quirking upward. “I suppose that tells me where I am in the timeline,” he mused, his fingers gliding over your skin as he peeled your dress away.

His sharp inhale was audible, his hands reverent as they traced your bare form. He cupped the curve of your breast with a featherlight touch, his claws grazing your skin before sliding down to rest at your navel. The intensity of his gaze made you feel both vulnerable and cherished, and your heart ached at the dichotomy between his tenderness and the sharp edge of danger he exuded.

“Such beauty,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, filled with awe and longing. “How I must have adored you…ah, How I adore you even now...” His words trailed off, his lips returning to claim yours in a kiss that was soft, searching, and impossibly bittersweet.

You stifled a moan, the sound barely escaping your lips as your heels dug into the mattress. Heat coiled low in your belly, but a nagging thought held you in place. If this truly was Alastor, you knew how much he relished control. Surely, he’d expect you to stay still, waiting for his next command.

“Does this form disgust you, cher?” Al’s voice sliced through your thoughts, low and rich, dripping with desire.

His words startled you, and for a moment, you were lost in the depths of his crimson gaze. Disgust? The notion was absurd. If anything, this form was fascinating—intoxicating. Your mind had already accepted that this demon was, in essence, Alastor, and now you couldn’t help but marvel at him. The fiery red of his hair spoke of passion, his sharp smile held a mischievous allure, and those ruby-like eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger.

“N-no,” you stammered, heat rising to your cheeks. “I-I just know you like to take control… I didn’t want to upset you or make you stop.”

His ministrations paused, his claws resting against your bare hips, sending shivers racing along your skin. The top of your dress hung open, exposing your brasserie, while the fabric was bunched around your hips, leaving you vulnerable beneath his touch. He hovered, his knees pressing close to the apex of your thighs, radiating heat and tension.

“What is it you wanted to ask me, cher?” Al inquired, his voice soft yet commanding, drawing you into the moment. “My present self won’t hear a thing. This might be your only chance to know.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest. You’d heard countless tales of how meddling with knowledge of the future often led to ruin. But this wasn’t about destiny or fate—this was about Alastor, the man whose stoic mask never faltered, whose true heart always remained hidden behind an impenetrable wall.

You took a shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you… love me? In the future?”

The question hung in the air, fragile and trembling, as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You dared to meet his gaze, bracing yourself for his response.

Al tilted his head, his ear-like tufts flopping to one side, his crimson eyes narrowing with an unreadable glint. Then, with a soft chuckle, he countered, “Do you love me now?”

The breath hitched in your throat, but you forced yourself to nod, summoning every ounce of bravery to seize this fleeting moment of truth. “Y-yes,” you confessed, your voice trembling yet resolute. “I… I do.”

For a heartbeat, silence enveloped the room, thick and heavy with unspoken emotion. Then, Al’s expression softened, his grin shifting into something that resembled bittersweet longing.

“There isn’t a single day I haven’t thought of you while in Hell, cher,” he murmured, his voice rich with a reverence that sent your heart spiralling. His claws traced a slow, deliberate path along the edges of your underwear, the sensation both thrilling and overwhelming.

“Not a single day,” he whispered, his words a tender confession as he gently peeled the fabric away. His touch, so soft yet searing, seemed to convey every unspoken emotion, each one wrapping around you like a vice, leaving you breathless and yearning.

You weren’t sure why the tears came, hot and relentless, welling in your eyes until they spilled over. A sudden ache bloomed in your chest, overwhelming and raw. Without thinking, your trembling hands flew to cover your lips, muffling a quiet sob. “I’m sorry,” you whispered shakily. “I... I didn’t mean to cry.”

The words felt inadequate, your voice small beneath the weight of the moment. You weren’t even certain why you were apologizing—perhaps because you’d never heard him like this before. Alastor’s voice, always sharp and full of confidence, now carried a vulnerability so deep it left you breathless. That softness, that tinge of hurt, was foreign and startling, and it wrapped around your heart, squeezing until it ached for him.

“Shh,” Al soothed, his voice low and caring as he leaned in to kiss away your tears, each press of his lips feather-light and reverent. “There’s no need for apologies, cher. Just let me...stay with you.”

His words were a promise, spoken with a quiet urgency that made your breath hitch. His claws slid beneath the lace of your bra, cupping your breast with a surprisingly warm touch, even gentle. His fingers splayed across your skin, firm yet careful, as though he feared breaking you.

A soft sound escaped you when you felt the faint tug of a zipper being undone. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, and when he pressed the heated length of himself against your core, you inhaled sharply, your back arching ever so slightly. His pace was slow, almost excruciating, as he guided himself inside, inch by inch, allowing you to feel the stretch, the fullness, the raw intimacy of the act.

“Ah,” you exhaled, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as he continued, filling you completely. The pleasure was deep and consuming, his every movement precise, yet tender in a way that left you trembling beneath him.

A sudden snap echoed in the room, and Alastor—the present Alastor—gasped loudly, finally free of the shadows that had silenced him. “You bastard,” he snarled at his future self, his voice hoarse from restraint. “You absolute—”

“This is how you treat her,” Al murmured with a grin, his tone tinged with amusement, though his attention never wavered from you. He shifted his hips, filling you to the hilt, and a soft cry of pleasure tumbled from your lips, mingling with a moan that seemed to echo in the dimly lit room.

He groaned above you, the sound rich and guttural, his breath hot against your skin as he nuzzled against the crook of your neck. Each movement made you keenly aware of him, the way he stretched and filled you, the way his body seemed to fit yours so perfectly. His claws brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear as he whispered, “Oh, look at you, my cher. Look how beautifully you take me.”

This was unlike anything you’d ever experienced with Alastor before. It wasn’t rough or commanding, nor was it tinged with the sharp edges of teasing and denial. This was different—soft, intimate, and achingly...gentle. It was as though, for the first time, you weren’t simply giving yourself to him; you were sharing something mutual, something sacred.

“Wrap those lovely legs around me, cher,” Al murmured, his voice low and intoxicating. You obeyed without hesitation, curling your legs around his waist and pulling him even closer. The sensation was overwhelming, his movements sending waves of pleasure that left you gasping, clutching at his jacket as if it were the only thing grounding you.

He captured your lips in a kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a dance as he swallowed every moan and whimper that escaped you. The intensity built rapidly, pleasure coiling tightly in your core until you felt as though you might shatter from it.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped against his lips, the words barely audible. “I’m so close, I don’t think I can hold back.”

Your fingers curled tighter around his jacket, clutching it desperately as you tried to hold on, to prolong the moment just a little longer. But the pleasure was relentless, building higher and higher, until it consumed every thought, every sensation, leaving only him—only this.

Al chuckled warmly, a sound rich and velvety, like dark chocolate melting against your ears. It carried a hint of mischief, yet something darker lingered beneath it. “See this?” His voice was smooth, teasing as he turned to face Alastor.

Your gaze followed, and a rush of heat flooded your cheeks as your eyes landed on the unmistakable bulge pressing against the front of Alastor's pants.

Alastor’s lips were pressed into a thin, trembling line, his expression a storm of rage and humiliation. His dark eyes burned with fury, darting between you and his future self. “Just get it done and over with,” he growled, his voice taut with barely contained anger. He thrashed against the shadowy tendrils that restrained him, but they held him fast.

“Oh, but we have all night,” Al sang, his voice almost melodic, a sinister contrast to the tension in the room. “Tell me, how many times have you robbed her of her pleasure?”

Before you could process his words, Al shifted your position with a surprising ease. You found yourself facing Alastor, your back pressed flush against Al’s chest, your legs spread wide and entirely exposed. Heat flared across your skin, searing with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.

“See this?” Al murmured, his voice low as his fingers gently guided your chin, tilting your face toward Alastor. Your heart pounded, your breath hitching as Al’s grip anchored you in place.

You gasped as he entered you again, deep and relentless, stealing your breath with every thrust. “Oh—oh, A-Al,” you cried, trembling against his unyielding hold.

Al grunted softly, his lips curling into a smile. “Look at her,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. “See how beautiful she is, wrought with pleasure.” He thrust into you harder, the lewd, wet sounds of your joining filling the space.

Alastor’s expression flickered—anger, something unreadable, then averted eyes. He bit his lip harshly, a deep flush creeping up his neck, betraying his growing frustration.

“You’re close, cher,” Al whispered against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. “I can feel it—the way you clench around me, so tight, so perfect.”

He was right. The tension coiled within you, sharp and demanding, pulling you toward the edge.

You tried to fight it, to hold back, but it was futile. A tidal wave of ecstasy crashed over you, tearing a cry from your lips as your body trembled with the force of your climax. Al’s hands guided you through it, his movements unrelenting as he drew out every last shiver and quake of pleasure.

As the haze of your release began to fade, your breath came in ragged gasps. Al held your face gently, his thumb brushing your flushed cheek. Your eyes flicked to Alastor, catching the way his hips moved almost imperceptibly, his lips parted, panting slightly as his gaze fixated on you. His anger seemed momentarily forgotten, replaced by something darker, something needy.

“How many times have you robbed her of this?” Al’s voice was soft, but his words cut sharply. He kissed your cheek, his cock still nestled deep within you. “Shall I right your wrongs? For every pleasure you denied her, I’ll give her double.” His chuckle was light, teasing, and yet his tone carried a promise of endless indulgence.

Your body trembled at the thought, your mind spinning. Could you even withstand more? The lingering pulse of your release still coursed through you, leaving you breathless and yearning.

“Shut up,” Alastor spat, his voice thick with venom. “Are you done yet? How much more of this absurdity must I endure?” He turned his head sharply, his expression a mask of disgust, but there was something unspoken in his eyes—a flicker of hurt that struck a chord within you.

It shouldn’t have stung, but it did.

“Typical,” Alastor sneered, his anger boiling over. His lips curled into a cruel grin. “I always knew you’d open your legs for—”

Before he could finish, a shadow tendril coiled around his throat, cutting him off mid-sentence. His words dissolved into a strangled gasp as his body stiffened.

“Alastor!” you cried out, panic flaring as you instinctively tried to move toward him.

But Al pulled you back against his chest, his arms locking around you. “Don’t fret, cher,” he said smoothly, snapping his fingers. The tendrils vanished instantly, and Alastor collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for air.

You watched as he rolled onto his side, spittle dripping from his lips as he sucked in desperate gulps of air. Your chest ached at the sight of him, weakened and furious all at once, but before you could speak, Al’s lips brushed your temple, his voice soft and unnervingly gentle.

“Some wounds, cher,” he murmured, “are better left to fester.”

Al’s hips began to move again, a slow and deliberate grind that sent jolts of sensation through your overstimulated body. You bit your lip, trying in vain to stifle the shameful moans that spilled from your throat. Every inch of him seemed to ignite a fire within you.

“Don’t ever,” Al murmured, his voice dropping into a cold, cutting tone that sent a shiver racing down your spine, “disrespect my woman like that.”

The words were like a proclamation, and before you could process them, his hand tightened around your breast, his movements becoming forceful and unrelenting. His hips snapped against yours, filling the room with the sound of skin meeting skin, each thrust pushing you closer to another crescendo of pleasure.

Al’s lips found your neck, searing hot kisses trailing along your sensitive skin before his hand guided your face to meet his. He claimed your lips with a ferocity that left you breathless, his tongue exploring you in a way that felt both possessive and intimate, tracing your teeth and stroking the inside of your cheek as though savouring every part of you.

Your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of your previous release, hypersensitive to every movement. Yet, the way Al continued to thrust into you, his pace calculated but demanding, stirred another wave of pleasure rising too fast for you to suppress.

You moaned unabashedly, your head tipping back as you tried to keep your legs open despite the overwhelming sensations. Al’s kisses turned savage, his lips and tongue trailing down to taste your collarbone and the curve of your shoulder. Before long, your vision blurred, and your body arched into his. Your walls clenched around him, gripping tightly as your second orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave.

You cried out, your voice breaking as pleasure coursed through your veins. Every nerve in your body seemed to light up, leaving you trembling and weak. Your muscles spasmed around him, your breath hitching with every aftershock as you slowly slumped against his chest, utterly spent.

“Y-your woman?” Alastor’s voice broke the spell, sharp and incredulous. He coughed, clearing his throat before finally finding his footing and standing upright.

“Last I checked,” he continued, his tone rising with indignation, “she wasn’t even in Hell with you—with us!” His hand went to his neck, rubbing the tender skin where the shadow tendrils had choked him moments before. His darkened eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer, his voice brimming with outrage. “You’re insane.”

Before you could react, Alastor reached for your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He tugged you forward, your weakened body pulled unceremoniously into his arms. Your head fell against his chest, and you felt the warmth of him seep into your skin. His hand slid possessively to your hip, grounding you as he glared at his future self.

Al leaned back, a picture of ease and command, lounging as though he were a king on a throne. He regarded the two of you with a smirk, a glint of amusement in his ruby eyes.

“She…” Alastor began, but his voice faltered. His grip on your wrist loosened until his fingers slid away entirely. His gaze dropped, his anger giving way to something quieter, something aching. “She lives in an entirely different world than us. Than me.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling heavily over you.

You turned slowly, your eyes lifting to meet Alastor’s. This was the man you had fallen for—the one you had dreamed of, the one whose guarded heart you had hoped to reach. His expression struggled to wear his usual impassive mask, yet, his jaw tense and there was something raw in his eyes, something he didn’t dare speak aloud.

The air between you hung thick with unspoken words. And as you looked into his face, you realized just how fragile this moment truly was.

Alastor’s fingers brushed a strand of hair back from your face, the motion hauntingly familiar to the one his future self had performed. His touch was gentle as he tucked the strand behind your ear. His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw something vulnerable flicker there—only for it to vanish beneath his ever-present smile.

“You remember, don’t you, dear?” His voice was smooth, almost casual, but there was an edge to it, like the sharp bite of a slap. “What we have, what we are... it’s just for—” he paused, his gaze holding yours for a fraction too long before finishing, “fun.”

Fun.

The word echoed in your mind, hollow and cold. All the hope that had swelled within you moments earlier, kindled by Al’s words, dissipated instantly.

Fun.

It was what you and Alastor had agreed upon. A fleeting arrangement, a temporary indulgence in each other’s company, meant to burn bright and brief before the inevitable end. It was never supposed to be more. Never meant to last.

Fun.

That was the word that cut through you, sharper than any blade. You had known this from the start, hadn’t you? Once your father found the perfect match for you, you would disappear from Alastor’s life forever. That had been the unspoken agreement. Yet somewhere along the way, the lines blurred, and your heart betrayed you.

You glanced toward Al—the demon who claimed to be Alastor’s future self. His words, his touches, his teasing... was it all a game? A cruel trick to see how far he could bend you, how much hope he could ignite only to snuff it out?

Your awareness sharpened as embarrassment crept over you, your vulnerable state of undress now unbearable. Your arms instinctively crossed over yourself, clutching at your dress as you tried to cover the skin that felt too exposed, too raw.

The dress you had painstakingly chosen for this evening, carefully picked with Alastor in mind, now hung loosely, undone and crumpled. Your hair, once meticulously brushed and curled, was now a chaotic mess. You had spent hours perfecting your makeup, only for the tears streaking your face to smear it into ruin.

You looked like a fool.

The urge to flee surged within you. You couldn’t bear to stay here, not like this. But even as the thought crossed your mind, another, more painful realization followed—if you left, what would happen to the deal? Your heart ached at the cruel irony. Even now, after everything, you still cared about him. About what he wanted. About fulfilling your part of the bargain.

For him.

Tears welled up in your eyes again, spilling over despite your best efforts to contain them. You forced yourself to look up, but not at Al. Instead, your gaze found Alastor—the man you had fallen for despite all the odds, despite his impenetrable walls, despite knowing he would never truly be yours.

“H-how much longer,” you began, your voice trembling as you struggled to hold back the tears, “must I satisfy the demon, Alas—” Your voice faltered, and you lowered your head, your next word barely above a whisper. “S-sir?”

For a long moment, Alastor said nothing. His face was unreadable, his whisky brown eyes scanning your dishevelled appearance with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You wanted to disappear under his gaze, ashamed of the image you must have presented to him now.

But then, to your surprise, he moved closer. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out, his long fingers brushing against your trembling hands. Without a word, he began to button your dress. One button at a time, his movements were delicate, almost reverent.

There was no teasing in his touch, no mockery in his expression. Just a quiet, unexpected gentleness.

His lashes fluttered briefly against his cheeks, soft and fragile behind his round glasses. When he spoke, his voice was low and filled with quiet resolve. “You should wait outside, dear,” he whispered, his words carrying the faintest tremor of tenderness. “At least let me take you home. It wouldn’t do to have a lady out this late.”

Moments like this, where he allowed a sliver of gentleness to break through his sharp edges, made your heart both race and ache. You clung to the sound of his voice, the kindness laced within it, even as uncertainty churned in your chest.

“What about the demon—” you began, the question heavy with fear and concern.

He silenced you with a single, sharp look. His frown slowly curled into a grin, that eerily familiar expression that always danced between charming and menacing. “No need to worry about that, dear,” he said lightly, though his tone darkened as he shifted his gaze to the demon. “Unless the demon wishes to force his cher—” he spat the title like venom, his disdain palpable “—to pleasure him.”

The air grew taut, charged with a dangerous energy. The red devil, Al’s supposed future self, froze for a moment, his grin tightening as his eyes narrowed. It felt as though the room itself bristled with his restrained fury. Then, almost too casually, he smoothed a hand over his pants, fixing himself, preened his dishevelled hair, and adjusted his monocle with precision.

“That would mean our contract is null and void,” the demon drawled, his words slow and deliberate. He tilted his head slightly, studying Alastor with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s fine,” Alastor replied evenly, his voice firm, yet calm. Without waiting for a response, he gently but firmly pushed you toward the door. “Go. Wait for me outside.”

You hesitated, torn between obedience and the instinct to stay by his side. Your eyes flicked between Alastor and the demon, the two of them locked in a silent, smouldering battle of wills. Finally, with a reluctant nod, you turned to leave, your steps faltering but resolute.

You had barely taken three steps when the devil’s voice stopped you, his words drifting through the tense air like smoke.

“Cher?”

Your shoulders jumped up, muscles stiff with unease as you turned back toward him. The sight of his inky, unnatural tendrils from before lingered in your memory, a haunting reminder of how effortlessly he could hurt—or kill.

The devil’s grin had frozen in place, his sharp eyes scanning your face, your body, as though searching for something he couldn’t find. Slowly, his expression shifted. His two tufts of hair drooped, softening against his head, and for a fleeting moment, his imposing presence seemed almost weak, vulnerable.

“I hope you have a lovely night, my darling,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something that almost sounded like sorrow. “Ma chère,” he murmured, tilting his head as if bidding farewell to something precious.

Before you could muster a response, Alastor’s figure stepped between you and the demon. His back was to you, but his presence was unyielding, protective. Without turning fully, he spoke firmly, “Go. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Your heart felt heavy, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts as you finally obeyed. With trembling steps, you walked out of the office, leaving the two behind without daring to glance back.

Now came the hardest part.

Waiting.

Standing outside, the minutes dragged on, each one longer than the last. Your thoughts spiralled, dread filling the space left by the closed door. Would it be Alastor who emerged, or the devil? Or worse—would the door open to reveal Alastor lifeless on the floor?

Clasping your hands tightly, you sank to your knees on the cold ground, closing your eyes as tears pricked your lashes. You prayed, your whispered words trembling as they left your lips. You begged forgiveness from a merciful God for allowing a demon to touch your body, for the sins you had committed, and for the sin you were willing to bear if it meant Alastor would emerge unharmed.

The only thing you wanted now was for him to be safe.

Safe, and with you once more.

The moment the door clicked shut, Alastor turned his glare on the devil who dared call himself his future. “For a devil, you are quite…” he sneered, his sharp teeth glinting, “pathetic.”

His future self barely flinched, idly inspecting his cuticles as though the insult was nothing more than a passing breeze. “Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, raising a brow without lifting his gaze. “I must say, it’s rather odd to look back and see just how foolish I once was.”

Alastor’s jaw tightened, a vein visibly pulsing at his temple. “You mean to tell me that you’ve clawed your way to becoming an Overlord—one of the highest ranks in Hell, no less—and yet, here you are, chasing after some privileged little gir—"

“That woman,” his future self interrupted coldly, rising to his full height. His red eyes blazed with a dangerous light, casting an oppressive shadow across the room. “She is my—no, our—love.”

Alastor scoffed, his disgust palpable. “Love? What rot.” He folded his arms tightly, his long fingers curling into his sleeves as though restraining himself. “I don’t have the time, nor the desire, for such sentimentality. There are far grander things to pursue, far more thrilling paths to follow.” His grin widened, jagged and bloodthirsty. “And I’ve never been one to let anyone dull the taste of the hunt.”

The future Alastor chuckled low, his voice dipping into something almost pitying. “Ah, yes. Look at you,” he mused, his tone softer now, though no less unsettling. “So young, so single-minded, so…” His eyes flickered with something indecipherable. “...untouched by the weight of eternity.”

He turned then, pacing with a languid grace, his shadow stretching and twisting unnaturally as he moved. “Eternity, you see, changes a man,” he continued, his voice almost wistful. “It sinks its claws into your mind, warping it, forcing you to reminisce on the past whether you want to or not.”

Alastor said nothing, his body rigid and his gaze locked on the man pacing before him. Theatrics, he thought with a sneer. It seemed Hell had done nothing but make him more insufferable.

The future him paused, his back to him now, his shoulders rising and falling with a quiet, steady breath. “She—cher—loved us,” he said softly, the words slipping out like a confession he hadn’t meant to make. When he turned, his expression was unreadable, but his crimson eyes burned. “She stood by us even when she knew. Even after learning our delightful little secret.”

Alastor’s stomach twisted, though he couldn’t quite say why. He forced his expression to remain unchanged, his grin fixed in place like a mask he’d long since perfected.

The future him tilted his head, studying him with something that felt far too intimate, as though he could see the cracks beneath the surface. “She looked me in the eyes,” he murmured, his voice softening with the memory, “and she asked,‘Can I stay with you?’”

Suddenly, he barked out a laugh, loud and bitter, throwing his head back as his hand swept over his face. “Can you believe it? Standing there, dripping in another man’s blood, and she had the gall to ask me if she could stay with me?”

His laughter died into something quieter, darker. When he looked back at Alastor, his manic grin was gone, replaced by an expression that seemed caught between amusement and sorrow. “How utterly, ridiculously foolish of her,” he said, his voice laced with something tender.

Alastor’s mask of indifference faltered for just a moment, his mind racing, though his lips curved back into place as quickly as it had fallen. He couldn’t let this man—this thing—see any weakness. But the words lingered, echoing in the silence that followed.

"Sounds like she stays with me for quite a while," Alastor murmured, his voice low and contemplative. The realization settled into him with a quiet sort of confidence. If the girl remained enamoured with him for an extended period, there would be no need for his future self's assistance. She could keep persuading her father to funnel money into his radio broadcasts.

He didn't need this thing anymore.

His future self chuckled softly, the sound dark and humorless. “Oh, she does stay with you. And you, in all your stubbornness, deny your feelings for her. Even after your death.” A wry smile curved at his lips, tinged with something far heavier than amusement. “You let her marry another man. You didn’t even stop her wedding.”

“I had no right to,” Alastor replied flatly, though his jaw tightened imperceptibly.

“You didn’t kill her husband when he started beating her.”

“It was no longer my business,” Alastor said through gritted teeth, his fingers curling into tight fists. “What happens between a man and a woman bound by marriage is their affair.”

The words barely left his mouth before a horrible, grating white noise filled the room. It clawed at his ears, drowning out his thoughts. He staggered slightly, looking up just in time to see his future self begin to unravel.

His once-dapper figure twisted grotesquely, hair growing shaggy and wild, teeth sharpening into jagged yellow points that glowed unnaturally. His eyes warped, pupils flickering like shifting radio dials.

“She was hurting,” the figure hissed, his voice a cacophony of static and rage. “And you did nothing to protect her!”

Dark, gnarled antlers sprouted from his head, resembling the twisted, lifeless branches of a dead tree. His elongated form loomed over Alastor, arms stretching unnaturally as if to choke him, though he stopped just short.

“She died,” the future self spat, his voice fractured and trembling with fury. “Beaten to death by that pathetic excuse of a husband. You could have saved her! You should have saved her!” He paused, his grinning mask fracturing into countless shards. "I should have saved her. I should have helped her." His voice became a manic chant, each repetition more unhinged than the last. “Help her… help her… help her!”

Alastor took several measured steps back, his disgust plain on his face. His eyes burned with disdain as he straightened his posture. “That girl means nothing to me,” he sneered. “She’s just a means to an end. I will never become you.”

The creature froze mid-motion, his grotesque form suddenly still. His eyes widened, as if struck by an unseen force, before his body began to shrink and contort, growing smaller and smaller.

“Oh,” he whispered softly, his voice hollow and distant. As his monstrous visage faded, he seemed more man than demon, his expression frozen in something between grief and longing. “She died before you...before me. She was in Hell first…” His gaze fell to the floor, searching for something unseen. “If I’d died first, I could have protected her…from the extermination... If we’d died together…” His voice faltered, trailing off as he stared vacantly at the ground.

The future self’s eyes widened in a sudden, dawning realization as his body began to dissolve completely. His time was up.

The future version of himself turned his face sharply toward Alastor, his crimson eyes wide and frenzied, his grin stretching impossibly as if carved into his face. “Help her, help her, help her,” he chanted, his voice trembling with mania and desperation. Each repetition was a dagger, sharp and insistent, stabbing at the silence between them. “You’ll regret it. You’ll—”

But before the final word left his lips, his form unravelled completely. He vanished like smoke caught in the wind, leaving behind nothing but the faint, chilling echo of his last plea.

Alastor stood frozen, staring at the empty space where his future self had been. The chair that had grotesquely morphed into a bed returned to its mundane, wooden form with a soft creak. The room fell still, save for the faint metallic tang of blood in the air, remnants of the summoning ritual still staining the floor.

A low, derisive laugh escaped him, dry and humorless. It reverberated in the quiet room, a hollow sound that dissipated as quickly as it came. “Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, straightening his tie with deliberate care. “Utterly ridiculous.”

There were hundreds, thousands of people suffering in the world. People beaten, broken, and killed every day. Why should one person’s pain matter more than the rest? His muddy brown eyes flicked to the door, the barrier between him and you. He could feel your presence on the other side, waiting.

Always waiting.

And yet...

He shook the thought away, his lips pressing into a tight line. You were nothing but a means to an end. A convenient piece in his grand design.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Alastor inhaled deeply as the oppressive, sulphur-laden air of Hell greeted him. The thick atmosphere clung to his skin, sticky and suffocating, as if the very realm wanted to remind him of where he belonged. He was home—or rather, back in his territory.

He straightened, a flicker of hope igniting within his chest, faint and fragile. Perhaps his younger self had listened. Perhaps the warnings had sunk in, sparing him the endless torment of regret.

But as he stood there, he felt it—the empty, unchanging void where new memories should have been. Nothing was different. Every moment, every sensation of you, was still confined to the past, untouched by the intervention of his other self.

His shoulders sank slightly as he pushed open the door to his residence. It groaned on its hinges, a mournful sound that echoed through the dark, cavernous halls. His home was vast yet barren, shadows swallowing the corners of rooms that had long since been abandoned by warmth.

There was no trace of you. No scent, no sound, no faint whisper of your laughter to greet him.

Oh.

A bitter realization settled over him, heavy and unrelenting. He would spend eternity as he always had—without you. Once more. How fitting, he thought, for a sinner like him.

He pressed his lips against his trembling fingers, his eyes closing as he forced himself to draw upon the fading memory of your face. The way your eyes lit up with that wide, innocent wonder. The delicate flush of your cheeks that sent his chest tightening in ways he’d never admit aloud.

“You look wonderful today, cher,” he murmured to the silence, his voice soft, almost reverent. Words he’d always thought but never dared to say.

“My, is that gift for me?” His laughter cracked as he spoke to the void. “You shouldn’t have... Truly, I’ll treasure it.”

“Did you do something with your hair?” he asked, his tone warm and practised, though his grin faltered. “It looks lovely, cher.” He smiled into the empty room, knowing the words would never reach you.

Then, his voice fell to a whisper, a confession carried by the air of a hollowed-out life. “Ah... I love you, ma chère. I do.” The words tasted bittersweet, aching with all the emotions he had locked away. “I love you,” he said again, softer this time, like a prayer. “Stay with me?”

For a fleeting moment, he let himself imagine the impossible. You, smiling that radiant smile that warmed his cold heart. Your arms wrapping around him tightly as you whispered a resounding yes.

A life he would never know.

A life he had willingly forfeited.

Now, all that stretched before him was an eternity without you.

An eternity of silence.

@safination and @redfoxwritesstuff this month was your birthday month. So happy birthday baby girl 💖🎂

Please follow #DRP Smutmas 2024 to get all the latest updates of our stories!

Wanna hang out with me? Come talk to me at Voxtek Server!

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bunnysbrainrot · 1 year ago

Text

He Wants to Watch

Kinktober Prompt: Doggy Style

Relationship: Sam Winchester x f!Reader, Dean

Content: Explicit sexual scenes, rough sex, dirty talk, creampie, unprotected sex, (lowkey) breeding kink, degrading, voyeurism/exhibitionism, Sam is a little greedy

Summary: It's time for round two, and the younger Winchester hasn't had his fill. Dean is generous enough to let Sammy have a turn, but not without watching exactly how his brother pleases his girl.

** Guessing Game is part 1 - For full context, and more smut, go ahead and read it! I apologize that this is shorter than usual, I’m working on some bigger pieces, and transferring everything to AO3!

Thirty minutes have passed since you collapsed into Dean's mattress, totally sated and limp from pleasure. The two brothers lay on either side of your lax form, caressing your skin with peppered kisses along the way.

Sam locks eyes with his brother, a devilishly curious look glinting within them. Dean's look darkens - a silent agreement.

"How you feeling, sweetheart?" asks Dean, tucking loose hairs away from your cheeks. During the last round, you'd built up a decent sweat that stuck your hair around your temples.

You shift your legs, assessing your soreness. To your surprise, it's not as intense as you'd thought it would be - and paired with the careful massage from the brothers, your recovery time was hurried.

"I'm wonderful," you sigh. Movement comes from behind and a thick warmth presses against your ass.

Sam snakes his arms around your middle and tugs you toward him, away from Dean. There isn't a hint of jealousy on your boyfriend's features. In fact, it seems like he could actually be enjoying this. Sam grips gently at your jaw and cranes your head to face him. That same overwhelming darkness still pools in his eyes; it was a type of shadow that could melt your insides before they're ravaged again.

The blackness of Sam's eyes is not an invitation, or a flirtation. No..

It’s a warning.

Not a word is said as Sam hitches your leg up. You're splayed wide on your side, now with your messy pussy in full view for the brothers. Dean's gaze settles on your displayed cunt, and its proximity to Sam's cock, throbbing and leaking from your past round.

Minutes before, Sam demanded to have you to himself, his words less of a request than a warning. Watching his brother fuck you thoroughly, all the while flaunting what he couldn't have, sent a rush of jealousy through Sam. His cock ached for your dripping cunt - longing to bury itself inside of your walls. It was his right to do so, just as much as his brother.

Sam grips the base of his cock and guides it between your thighs, lining his shaft between your slick folds. He gives a few steady thrusts to lead the head of his cock across your clit, still sensitive from earlier. You whine, looking to Dean.

Darkened eyes greet you. Dean wears a wide, pleased smile on his face, as if watching his brother fuck his own girlfriend could be a source of pride.

"Sammy wants his turn."

A moan escapes you when Sam’s cock brushes against your clit. He slides through your slick folds with a sharp gasp - your warmth kisses the sensitive head, tensing his back from the brush of pleasure. You look to Dean with a confused expression, but your furrowed brows relax when Sam’s cock fixes at your wet hole, eager for his own opportunity.

Your hips relax at his touch and allow Sam to ease his way inside. Sam enters you with a hiss through his teeth. Warmth envelops his cock with every inch, stretching you slowly.

You cry out, whipping your head to look at Sam as he pushes himself inside. His face is contorted in ecstasy, and he lets out a low moan when you clench down onto his length. It’s Dean’s voice that helps encourage you to take more of his brother.

“There you go, baby, just relax. Let Sammy take care of you,” he murmurs, lowering his hand to his groin, taking hold of his own length, pumping himself slowly.

Sam, to his credit, is a bit more endowed than your boyfriend, and he feels absolutely glorious. He has more length to stretch you out, as opposed to Dean’s gift of girth. Regardless, by the time he’s bottomed out, you’re satisfyingly full, mewling into the sheets. He needs to move. You need to feel him.

You buck your hips onto his cock, sinking him into your fluttering walls. A low groan escapes from his chest, thrumming against your back.

“Fuuuck, she’s tight,” he moans, throwing his head against your shoulder.

Dean hums in agreement, still stroking himself next to you. His eyes rove over your form - shaking, moaning, and clenching around Sam’s dick.

After a moment, your slick coats Sam’s length enough to let him in fully, bottoming out in your pussy with a soft groan.

You steady your breathing. You can feel how nicely your pussy is stretching to his size - he’s in your stomach, your lungs, everywhere. He’s far bigger than how he felt down your throat. Apparently your mouth can accommodate him perfectly, but your tight cunt is another matter.

He moves, ever so slightly, dragging his heavy cock through your tight walls to the tip. Sam plunges in with earnest. You cry out at the deeper strike.

Sam’s hand whips around your front to your throat, placing a finger on either side of your windpipe, squeezing down. Dullness throbs through your head as you struggle for a proper breath. His hand eases it’s grip, and the blood rushes heavily back through your head, gifting you a dull ache in your temples, and a thundering rush of adrenaline.

“S-Sam, faster, please,” you whisper. He groans in response, snapping his hips into yours.

The pace becomes relentless. Sam takes no time easing you into it like his brother does - he takes your request and sprints ahead with it, delivering blow after blow to your ravaged pussy.

Dean watches his brother’s cock work itself inside of your entrance, glossy when it leaves with your slick.

“Rougher, Sam.”

Dean’s command shudders through him, and Sam reaches for your waist, shoving you onto your stomach. From this angle surely he can strike deeper. Harder.

With a grunt, Sam hauls your hips upward, slipping from your pussy and giving you a cold kiss of the air. A whimper escapes you, pleading with him to return his heat.

You squirm to brace yourself on your elbows. A warmth prods at your stretched hole - Sam’s cock teases your needy pussy with the thick head of his length. The silence in the room is not one of awkwardness; instead, it happens to add a new erotic element of being watched. Observed by Dean.

Craning your head you can see Dean’s lazy smile as he fucks his hand. His eyes are glued to your expressions, waiting anxiously for it to warp as Sam enters you again.

He does so in one swift thrust. You’re thrust into the sheets again, falling limp into the mattress with the overwhelming pleasure.

Sam’s name slurs around your tongue. Whether it was in protest or pleading, you couldn’t tell. The force of his snapping hips set your nerves on high alert, every inch of you surges as he moves. Your name tumbles past his lips, drawn out like a song. His voice has your back arching - with the deep rumble of the utterance, like a prayer and curse all in one.

His hips sharply snap against your ass. All cohesive thought vanishes as his cock pounds against your cervix, sending a full throb through your cunt. If you weren’t sore with Dean from before, surely you’d have trouble moving now.

“Letting me use you right after my brother,” Sam growls, “you’re such a dirty slut.”

The abrasive words ignite you, leaving you to moan softly into the blanket.

“And I’d bet you want my cum, too, huh?” his voice is laced with venom, as filthy as your body feels, “I saw how badly you wanted Dean’s, I could tell you wanted more. Just a dumb cumslut, aren’t you?”

You manage a nod. Sam’s fingers card through your hair and gain purchase, jerking your head back, angling you to look at him. He braces himself into a kneel and crouches over you, angling himself to thrust deeper, crashing his cock into your sweet spot.

Sam’s voice brushes over your ear amidst the wet slaps of his balls hitting your drenched cunt. Each strike lands on your swollen clit, with small spurts of pleasure following behind.

“Dean,” he begins. Sam tilts his head to his brother, now more fervently pleasuring himself. His strokes are rougher with each passing second. Darkness blows out Sam’s eyes as he asks, “Can I finish inside of her?”

Dean’s brows twitch with annoyance, but his expression shifts. He gives a simple nod.

Go ahead.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” he groans. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll give you plenty.”

You can feel Sam’s smile against your ear before me takes the lobe between his teeth. He talks lowly to drive himself closer. While his brother may take his time to please you, it’s not Sam’s job to prioritize that. This is his once chance, and he’s not patient under the pressure.

“Pretty little cum dumpster,” his words strain, “Two brothers in the same night - fucking filthy. You’re one depraved bitch.”

The words strain the tightness welling in your abdomen. You’re about the snap, but based on Sam’s faltering thrusts, he may beat you to it.

“Please-“ you choke.

“Quiet,” he orders, “you take what I give you, when I give it to you.”

Having no control in it doesn’t upset you in the slightest. After all, you were the girl turned whore when you decided to fuck your boyfriends brother.

His jutting hips lose their rhythm as his orgasm approaches. Sam hisses at the tension in his abdomen before his release spills into your abused cunt, coating your walls with white.

“Shiiit,” he exhales. Sam unsheathes from your used hole, staring pridefully at his cum leaking from your pulsing pussy. It flows downward, covering your gleaming folds and stiff clit in a white sheer. Underneath him, you whine into the bed, clenching your cunt onto nothing, keeping his seed inside.

You pry your eyes open to look for Dean. You find him with his hips slacked and cock leaking into his hand. His own cum stains his stomach in a white gloss. He flutters his eyes closed, completely sated.

Sam helps ease your hips back down onto the bed; he steps away after muttering something about ‘cleaning up’. A moment later he returns with a lukewarm washcloth, tending to your messiest areas, and then working on himself.

He lounges on the bed to your side. You pant softly to come down from the high. Sam’s cum still seeps between your slick folds, reminding you of the filthy deed you two did.

Perhaps out of respect for Dean, Sam doesn’t kiss you afterward. His comfort to you is to stroke a hand through your hair idly as Dean recovers. Your boyfriend grumbles your name before reaching for you.

You give him a once-over, seeing as he hasn’t cleaned up his own ‘aftermath’. You arch an eyebrow at him.

“Clean yourself up, and then we’ll talk.”

You hear Sam’s breathy laugh from behind. Dean rolls his eyes and reaches for the discarded washcloth, doing as you requested.

Hi y’all, I hope you enjoyed! If you did, it would be a huge support if you reblog! Happy Kinktober!

#fanfiction #supernatural #spnfandom #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #bunny writes #kinktober

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omenics · 1 year ago

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YAY I'm glad you want to write vamps!! I always welcome more Castlevania Dracula x reader content! feel free to choose the general scenarios, but if you're comfortable writing it I'd love to hear about how he handles being tempted by your blood 👀

𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐀.

› ..your taste is like ambrosia, the nectar of the gods. gn reader. — i got carried away with this guys vampires draw out the worst in me LMAO. if this is too intimate and eyebrow raising im sorry i love vampires and their stupid metaphorical actions for romance.

Dracula is ancient. He is old. He has walked the earth for centuries, and has learned to ease his bloodlust. Yes, he is very well-acquainted with the temptations that comes with vampirism, and he does his best to keep his fangs clean, for he is mot the man he once was.

It is enticing. The smell that emits from your pretty pulse points, the way your heartbeat echoes and reverberates off of the castle walls drive his bloodlust farther. But he holds back. He will not succumb to his primal instincts. Not yet, at least.

But the day will come. He knows it will, for when your neck flaunts itself through the collar of your clothes he feels his façade slip and his hunger grow.

So the day comes, he holds a hand gingerly and sinks his teeth into your wrist. No, it is not the neck, but he feels like this is more appropriate than biting you in such an intimate place. He would not do anything you did not wish and would take it slowly, which is why his fangs would dip into the supple skin of your wrist; to ease you into the puncturing pain that will become familiar to you.

To Vlad, the act is intimate. He savours it, taking his time to ensure comfort and relish in the taste, smell, and essence. So when the time comes and his fangs graze your neck, he feels your pulse quicken under his lips, and his hand would make its way to the side of your head and softly entangle it in your hair, craning your head to the side for better access. Agonizingly slow his fangs would pierce into your flesh, drinking like a starved dog.

If he could he would stay there for eternity, to bleed you dry because your blood tastes like ambrosia, the food of the gods. He will not succumb to such basic and primal instincts no matter how much he wants to. He will not become more of a monster than he already is. Instead he would drink in the gasps that leave you, the pained hitch in your breath when he punctures your neck. He would not try to soothe you, too drunk on the taste he neglected for so long.

But the way it tastes on his tongue would drive him mad. It would simultaneously ease his bloodlust and drive it, making him want more. Enticing you were, so utterly cruel, but he would not lose himself in your scent. He would not allow it. You would not be a personal blood-bank for him, you are so much more than that.

You are his Achilles heel with your sweet taste. You would make him crumble to his knees just for a taste. He is weak for you, your scent and your smell. He becomes nothing more than a starved man when his fangs puncture your neck and tongue lap up the sweet, sweet nectar that oozes out and down your sweet skin.

#𖤓 MAIN — my writing.#guys this is the closest i will only come to writing smth as intimate as this #vampires control my life #not proofread btw #i wrote this while waiting for thanksgiving dinner 😭#dracula x reader #vlad dracula tepes x reader #dracula tepes x reader #vlad tepes x reader #castlevania x reader #vampire x reader #castlevania headcanons #castlevania imagine #vampire imagine #vampire headcanons #idk what else to tag

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cruel-hiraeth · 4 months ago

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i can never stop thinking about standing full nelson with zoro…

the feeling of utter weightlessness is intoxicating—as is the reprieve from control. it’s a rush, allowing your body to be handled entirely by your lover, coaxed to the precipice of pleasure through his strength and adoration.

while it’s inarguably zoro’s favorite position (a precious opportunity to flaunt his physical prowess in a way that leaves you boneless and crying for more), he’s insistent on easing you into it, ever mindful of your limits.

you know when it’s coming with the telltale darkening of his lone eye, the impossible deepening of his thrusts, the restless slide of his calloused fingers across your softness, the gravely hum of his filthy words against your throat—

yet it happens so suddenly that you have no time to react. he rises to his feet and flips you to face outward before squatting down to lift you up, bulging arms trapping your legs at your chest, wrapping his broad hands around to cradle the back of your head.

when his tip nudges your entrance, you tremble; and when he finally pushes inside, it knocks the breath from your lungs. tears glitter in your eyes as you’re forced to take it all—everything he gives you, from his fat cock to his unabashed groans to his endless praise:

you’re perfect like this… you’re perfect for me… there’s no one but you… i’m yours… you’re going kinda dumb, baby, but—f-fuck—so am i…

#this is so so sooooo disgustingly self indulgent i’m. ahem. i gotta go now byeeeeeeee #i just think it’s the perfect mix of animal instinct and sappy intimacy!!!!!!!#as is fucking everything with him #also sorry for the repeated line i edited it #— musings #— roronoa zoro #— one piece #zoro x reader

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sugairsstuff · 11 months ago

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Hii,

I have a request I love protective Rhys so can you do a Rhys x reader where someone insults her and Rhys gets all overprotective and angry, like how dare they insult my mate🤭

I hope you have a great day and thank u for writing it

Bye❤️

i’m sorry for taking so long to write this! i hope you enjoy my spin on the prompt <3

i’m flattered

rhysand x fem/reader

warnings: none

description: a noble has quite a lot to say regarding your appointment to high lady. as much as you’d like to do it yourself, your loving mate swoops in to put them in their place.

Coming to the Court of Nightmares to play pretend in these political dances veiled in the disguise of a party was never something you were excited about through all your immortal years of knowing Rhysand. So, naturally, you were feeling an extra weight of anxiety now that you would be attending as the High Lady of the Night Court—therefore a major piece in what was originally just Rhysand and the Court of Nightmare’s game of chess. You understood your mate morphed himself into an entirely different person as he believed that the one way to keep this imbalanced section of the Night Court under order was to keep them intimidated with the illusion of a cruel leader—for who would challenge someone who held no moral bounds?

While your mate had years—if not centuries—of practice in carefully carving this mask to wear at a ball that wasn’t even a masquerade, you had only been High Lady for two years. Before that, you kept your head low or simply did not attend the events held in this part of the court. It goes without saying that you were extremely prone to criticism, which was especially worrying in a place that was kept under control through the guise that they were not allowed to question their authority.

Alas, your lover insisted that it would be better for you to attend with him. Rhysand promised that you were safe there in his company (and that the food and drinks would be to your liking), while urging that it was better to show your face and prove that these Fae did not make you afraid than stay behind and let them mumble amongst themselves. Because, of course, this court was no longer run by only the High Lord, so now you needed to demand respect as well.

Standing in the mirror, you decide that at least it was somehow easing to be wearing such an elegant gown to the ball. With long sleeves and a deep plunge, your black dress hugs your curves and falls over your hips to the floor. You thought it was a nice touch that the ends of the long skirt are flecked in white that gave the illusion you had just waded through a pool of stars. Your hair is done up nicely as well to flaunt your neck and the silver jewels decorating it, the light piece of jewelry falling deep on your chest.

“I’m wondering if bringing you may be a mistake after all,” a familiar voice hums lovingly behind you. You whirl around from the mirror, brows furrowed as you watch your mate expectantly for an explanation.

Rhysand chuckles, raising his hands in a surrendering gesture as he pushes himself off of the doorframe he was leaning against, “You are one beautiful distraction, darling. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stay focused on politics when I have the brightest star in Prythian right at my side. That’s all.”

You roll your eyes regardless of the fact you’re now sure you didn’t need to put blush on when doing your make up earlier. “Oh, yeah, cover it up, Mr. High Lord,” you huff in faux annoyance, though perhaps some real insecurity.

Rhysand was quick to notice that, and even quicker to invade your personal space by wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you to his chest. “Don’t forget Mr. High Lord needs his Mrs. High Lady there,” he coos, grinning when his cheesy words evoke a sweet laugh from your lips.

You decide to change the topic rather than continue to brood over the inevitable reality of the ball you are about to be an unwanted spotlight in. “Is everyone else ready?” you ask, thinking of your friends who also are expected to be attending due to political reasons. Azriel, Cassian, and even Mor were always expected to at least show their faces.

Rhysand nods idly, clearly too distracted by you to shift his mind to be thinking about them. “They’re waiting, but I’m sure they won’t mind it if we’re a little late,” he says, grinning like a feline as he leans down over you to try and capture your lips with his. You evade Rhysand’s flirtatious attempts to seduce you by leaning back and resting your palm against his chest.

“Nuh-uh. No way am I being late to this thing,” though you pause and return his playful grin, “though if it goes well, maybe we can celebrate later. The zipper on this dress is pretty difficult to undo,” you hum.

“I’d be glad to lend a hand with that.” he winks, smiling like a fool as his boyish attitude earns yet another laugh from you.

Rhysand was a tempting sight to be seen, though. It appears as though he wanted to make you two look like dynastic royalty with the way you both are dressed, perhaps to look utterly untouchable to the rebellious crowd you are about to endure. His suit was pitch black, tailored perfectly to hug his V-shaped waist and embroidered with deep purple lacing at its hems. His sleek black hair is pushed back with what you assume is gel, though either by Rhysand’s doing or its own failure some of raven strands had fallen down over his forehead. You couldn’t help but make the allusion of you being the stars and him being the milky way.

“Alright, let’s go before you get too carried away,” you insist. And with that, Rhysand pulls you closer to him and winnows you to where your friends wait—some more impatiently, as Azriel stands with his arms crossed and an accusing expression at the two of you for being late.

By the time you arrive in the Court of Nightmares, you realize the party wasn’t starting without Rhysand and you. The throne room was done up extravagantly to meet the expectations of the High Fae citizens of Hewn City, the pure silver decorations a stark contrast to the deep, shiny ebony that the room was etched from.

Beautiful faces all around the room turn to watch you and your mate enter, their drinks idle in their hands and their conversations paused so that they can get a good look at the new High Lady. You swallow, keeping your chin up and moving on to the main floor alongside your mate. The back of Rhysand’s hand brushes yours, and when you turn to look up at him you see that he’s offering you his arm. You link your elbow with his, allowing him to lead you the rest of the way into the parted crowds.

When the pair of you begin to near the dais, you see only one throne sits at the centre of it. Rhysand seems to have this planned, though, as he gently guides you away and lets go of your elbow once you reach a small cluster of nobles. Of course, it all came down to symbolism and perception, because rulers who are supposed to be equals should have their own thrones to sit, and holding on to you when not walking would be seen as more controlling than chivalrous.

“High Lord, it’s been quite some time since you’ve visited,” one of the Fae spoke. Her features were sharp and dark, brought out by her even darker makeup. To your surprise, she turns to look at you, “And you’re not alone. You must be our new High Lady, I’ve never seen you at any of the parties here.” the nameless female hums, her gaze dragging down along you. You can see in her brown eyes she finds nothing to criticize as she releases a small ‘hmph’ of both disappointment and approval.

“Yes, I am. I’m glad to finally have the opportunity to visit Hewn City properly.” you respond, offering a small, neutral smile. You decided that maybe if you treat these people politely, and not allow any snide remarks to outwardly anger you, they would see you as immune to their judgment and would back down.

The female raises her brow. Rhysand later would tell you her name is Emelia, daughter of a family known for trades. But when you glance to your side, you realize your mate has been pulled aside with Mor in what looks like an unpleasant conversation with Keir, the steward of Hewn City.

Emelia decides to strike while you’re alone, having no respect for someone who, technically, wasn’t her direct authority, “Well, that makes it sounds like you weren’t allowed to visit the Court. Why, does your High Lord keep you at arm’s length?” she drawls, sipping her golden-flaked wine in a weak attempt to hide her triumphant smirk.

Your back straightens, stunned for only a moment at her implication. “Well, it’s just a little difficult finding free time to revel so often when there are duties I must see to for the Night Court as a whole. I’m not sure if you will understand, however, considering how many of these occasions you’ve mentioned you spend your time going to.” you quip, quickly realizing that being nice and courteous to people wouldn’t work, and that Rhysand was unfortunately right to maintain equilibrium in Hewn City through intimidation.

You leave Emelia fuming in your wake, not bidding her a farewell as you head to Rhysand who now converses with Keir alone. Your mate looks relieved when he sees you coming, moving like a wisp in your black dress across the ebony throne room. The male to his left, however, looks less than pleased to see you coming in contrast.

“Keir,” you greet as Rhysand bends to kiss your cheek in loving greeting.

Keir only says your name in return before looking to Rhysand. “Well, that’s all from me, enjoy your fun, Rhysand.” he says, sending a scrutinizing look your way before departing.

Your mate lets him go without the satisfaction of a response. Rhysand sighs, turning to face you and reaching a hand to adjust the positioning of your necklace. His hand brushes against your collarbone as you meet his eyes. “Was she giving you trouble?” he says, recalling that he had to leave you with Emelia, “I felt some tension on your end of the bond,” he murmurs, careful of the level of his voice due to the room being full of prying, pointy ears.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” you assure him, taking your turn to do some adjusting by straightening the sculpted fabric of his overcoat. You thought you had managed yourself well with Emelia, who you assume was somewhere between a jealous young female to another rebellious citizen spewing the opinions fed to her by others, and your confidence began to return until you and Rhysand were silent enough for a conversation to reach your ears.

“Look at her. Dressed like a queen and yet she does nothing for the Night Court,” a male voice scoffed. You hear female and male voices laughing almost forcefully in adoration. The male continues, his voice only slightly muffled from the crowd and the distant music, “All I’m saying is, I don’t even work in politics and I could probably do a better job than her.”

After some more irritating cackling, a female voice pipes in, “The dress is tacky, anyway.”

With your heart in your stomach, you don’t even have the chance to look around and locate the owners of these voices as you notice your mate has already walked the few feet over to the small group near the edge of the throne room.

You worry that following after your mate and standing there as he, you assume, chides the yapping male, you make your way to the nearby refreshment table. Azriel thankfully stands there, who seems to be avidly trying to blend into the wall in order to avoid conversing with the unpleasant guests.

“Pretend we’re having a conversation. I’m eavesdropping.” you tell him once you arrive, and Azriel responds with a joking ‘yes, ma’am’ as you become another one of the pointy-eared eavesdroppers.

“Cielo,” you hear Rhysand drawl, a wicked grin on his face as he inserts himself into their conversation. Satisfaction begins to lift your heart back into place as the group’s laughter comes to an abrupt halt.

“Are you implying you think you’d be a better High Lady for me?” Rhysand hums, brow raising at Cielo, who now looks stiff with embarrassment. “Really, I had no idea you harboured such feelings for me, I’m truly flattered.” Rhysand continues just enough so that Cielo’s friends have turned their amusement to their rather humiliated looking pal.

Rhysand takes a step forward, a few inches taller than the glaring male. “I’d hate to break your heart, but if you ever speak about your High Lady and my mate in such a disgusting manner again, I will make an example out of you as to exactly what the punishment is for disrespecting your authority.” and just as his friends began to snicker, Rhysand’s sharp violet gaze turns to them. “And that goes for all of you,” he snaps. Rhysand stalks away, leaving the small crowd of Fae in silence as he finds you next to Azriel.

“You know,” you say cheekily, “I could’ve handled that, too.”

Rhysand sighs as he takes a glass of wine from the table, likely wanting some alcohol to stroke away the flames of his temper. “I know, darling. Sorry for beating you to it, I just couldn’t stand by and listen to them spit bullshit like that.” he scoffs. You can’t be bothered to be mad—too busy gleaming in triumph and pride over your love’s protectiveness.

“Well, I think they learned their lesson,” you giggle, glancing to the group who now watch you and Rhysand in weariness rather than entitlement.

“Good. If they can’t appreciate what you do for them, they could at least keep their mouths shut.” he hisses. You rest your hand on Rhysand’s elbow to bring his attention back to you.

“Why don’t we dance? That way, no one can judge us for not speaking to anyone.” you suggest.

Rhysand takes your hand and kisses the back of it, “I like the sound of that.” he agrees.

After a night full of dancing and more inevitable political conversations, you and Rhysand winnow back to the House of Wind as you call it a night. You find yourself standing in front of your long mirror, trying to reach back to undo the finicky zipper of your dress. You see Rhysand take a step closer to you in the mirror and feel as his hands snake into place on each side of your waist.

“So, how about that celebrating?” he grins to your reflection.

#acotar #rhysand #rhysand x reader #a court of thorns and roses #high lord rhysand #high lord of the night court #the night court #night court #rhysand x y/n #rhysand x you #cassian x reader #azriel x reader #azriel #cassian

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in-the-multiverse · 1 month ago

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While almost everyone carves wooden things, Golden Fool went for shiny. He was the one and only goldsmith on the server and took pride in making beautiful jewelry. It was mostly for himself: dozens of bulky rings so he could flaunt a new combination every week, chandelier earrings ranging from gothic to floral, torque and festoon necklaces when he felt extra fancy, simpler and lighter necklaces on the days that called for a minimal (but still quite stylish) look

The gemstones that were skillfully embedded in them came from…around the server. Didn’t matter where, everything was his anyways. He stood clear of the “cursed” crystals the wizard man had. Ugly plastic

No one else was allowed to wear his jewelry. There were, however, very few exceptions

Milkman isn’t one to wear big, fancy shmancy gold. He likes how they look, but honestly- they’re too clunky and noisy for him. The first thing Fool made for him were gold buttons to replace the wack plastic ones on his jacket. Just a pop of color, a little glamour with a geometric pattern. Halfway through the smithing process, Fool had an idea for a matching gold patch on his hat. Then two extra buttons for the end of his jacket sleeves as well. He tailored them in with care

They were small, dapper, perfect, and Milkman loved them. His partner admired the new look in the mirror. There was an extra shine to him —and not just literally— confidence lit up his face, he had an extra pep in his step as he walked around the server, and those long hours Fool spent making the ornaments look just right became very worth it to see Milkman a little happier

Every now and again, Milkman came to him with a sheepish request for new gold. He promised he was doing his best to not accidentally fall into the void. It held up to be true. As the months went by, void deaths become scarce and the occasional creeper was to blame for lost accessories. And every time he asked for new ones: Fool gave the same deep sigh, crossed his arms and asked “So what design would you like this time?” Milkman always complimented the speed it took for them to be created, and he was delighted by the extra surprises thrown in

Fool didn’t tell him about the hidden chest filled with an array of golden buttons, patches, gemstone hat charms, and hat pins. He saw this coming

In the early days, Vintage wanted to wear dangle earrings with cherry wood flowers. It took a lot of trial and error. During a hangout, she carved off more than expected, kept trying to save it as a smaller design, kept misjudging cuts, until her earrings became sad little chunks. It had been a long week and she almost gave up on wood carving right then and there

Fool sat down next to them and shared a handful of stories where he screwed up gold smithing. Like- taking a sip of molten gold instead of the cup of coffee that was right next to it, or that time he sneezed while etching a very complicated pattern and continued one millimeter off, one exhausted afternoon he chipped off gold from his skin instead of his project—ouch—, and boy was he glad no one else was around the day his (unchecked) workstation collapsed on itself and he had to literally play the floor is lava. With each retelling, he was met with a surprised laugh and the frustration eased from Vintage’s shoulders. She wasn’t alone in making mistakes. If Fool went through it and still made amazing works, it wasn’t hopeless for her

He taught her a couple tricks to get 3d shapes a little closer to what she imagined in her head. Gold smithing and wood carving were very different processes, but any idea began at a sketch

Two weeks later, Vintage gifted him a charm bracelet. It was decently detailed and adjusted nicely to his wrist. Not shiny, but their pride at finally making something look cute and the time they spent on it was more than enough to graciously wear it. A couple days later, Fool surprised her with a beaded bracelet, gorgeously flower themed. They could be matching!

Vintage adored it and showed it off to anyone who stopped to have a conversation with her. When the others yearned for a cool shiny thing like hers, she gave a sweet smile and teased them for being on Fool’s enemy list. Because even if birch was on neutral grounds with someone, it was only a matter of time before crime and chaos fell their way. Anyone who wasn’t a friend was kept at arm’s length. Which meant— no shiny for youuu

One day it disappeared. Must’ve gotten lost in cherry’s god awful storage system. Vintage felt so, so sorry they lost it. They knew Fool spent precious time on it and they’d hate to be a bother asking for another one. But Fool shrugged it off, it was no biggie, really. In fact, it gave him the opportunity to indulge in designs he sketched out. By the end of the week he made a new friendship bracelet, charm necklace, and cuff ring that suited her unicorn horn nicely. Vintage was so happy she nearly cried, she thanked him over and over and promised to keep them in a better place

A few weeks went by, and she was utterly distraught at losing them. All of them. She swore up and down they were in her enderchest, she did wear them out one fancy evening, must’ve forgotten to put it back. They said they checked all over cherry kingdom and retraced her steps, but no shiny :(

Again they lamented to Fool, and again he workshopped another few accessories to replace those. By the 4th time, he started to question her genuineness. His gifts never lasted longer than 3 weeks, it seemed more like a scheduled “disappearance”. It was by chance he spotted her strolling on the edge of the shopping district with her new jewelry. She clasped them off, held a fistful of his work over the edge, and let it drop

He stopped talking with Vintage after that. She’d been acting weird lately anyways. Their handcrafted bracelet went to the void, too

And when Milkman accused him of working behind his back— oohhh

Fool stormed up to the hidden chest and melted everything back into a pot of liquid gold. It was his and he could do whatever he wanted with it. Have it ready to be refurnished into new accessories for himself. Milkman would never get anything new, either

When the Halloween Ball rolled around, he made sure to wear the most exquisite gold he’s ever made. He wanted eyes on him. He wanted people to feel jealous when they looked at him. He wanted admiration like no other and hoped it would draw the others to him. Novelty was the gateway to trust. Just. Everyone to give him another chance

Look at how incredible his gold smithing was! Didn’t you want something shiny too? Didn’t you want to be his friend?

Eyes definitely looked in his direction. But the longer the night dragged on the more self conscious he became. People kept their distance. Fool swatted away any naive hope that dared fester in his lonely soul. Of course they did. They should. Everyone was hiding something, exchanging whispers and glances that could only be about him. How dare he dress himself as a spectacle, and beckon attention when none of them deserved it. Everyone had a weird thing going on with them. Everyone had it out for him. What else did the void want? More of his jewelry? His kingdom? They had to be working together. They wanted to take more from him. He couldn’t trust these…these—

A glint of gold called to him

Amongst the crowd, a singular hat pin shined underneath the chandelier lights. Milkman was lost in his own world, giggling and dancing with someone else

Fool heard the gold on his skin crack and crumble

The greedy one having a love language of gift giving was a pretty big deal

The Librarian knows this, and they know they aren’t here to be a replacement. They leave his goldsmith workshop alone

Let it collect dust

#skyblock kingdoms #bangs fist on table #sobs #thefoolsfam #sadmilkman #vintage applesauce

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tinydefector · 10 months ago

Note

Hi i don't know if you are taking requests for bayverse but if you do can i get bayverse Ironhide x female reader, fluff and smut. Good luck of you do❤️

Minx

Warning: Smut, Oral fem receiving.

Word count: 2k

(Bayverse) Ironhide x Fem Human reader

Before I start, I'm not very good with writing Bayverse bots, so I hope this came out alright.

Also, I hope I did the reader well, I dont really write fem reader.

Request and ask open, read pinned post

Masterlist

Ironhide Masterlist

---------

She's using his revision mirror again to touch up her lipstick. It wouldn't bother Ironhide as much if it wasn't for the fact she was flaunting herself at him while they were driving.

Ironhide let out an exasperated vent. On the surface he tried to remain stoic, but inside circuits were frayed from the incessant primping and preening whenever she had the chance to ride in his cab.

"Must you always fuss so much?" he grumbled, unable to keep the irritation from his voice. "I am driving, in case you've forgotten. And I suspect your antics are meant more for distracting me than seeing to your own looks."

She had been batting her lashes and smiling his way ever since they departed their last stop, and his patience for such frivolities was running low. so for now he strove to ignore the human's attempts at getting a rise out of him, less he ran them off the road.

His engine rumbled in a weary sigh. "Focus on the task at hand, little one. We'll be back at base soon enough."

She shoots him a smile in his mirror again. "And here I thought you enjoyed my company, getting sick of me already Hide?" She teases him.

Ironhide's engine responded with a grumble that was half irritation, half amusement. As trying as his Minx could be at times, he had to admit her bold spirit was refreshing and she did keep him on his toes.

"In small doses only, little witch," he retorted, though without any real bite to his words. "Your antics might be tolerable in brief stretches, keep your optics on the road, less we get ambushed by Decepticons"

Still, there was a certain grudging fondness in the way his voice. For all her mischief, the human's fearless nature was what had drawn him to her, she wasn't military but a chance encounter had him on the run with her from Decepticon fire.

In her own tiny way, she helped ease some of the weariness that had built up over countless vorns of endless conflict. Her voice he could listen to for aeons.

Part of Ironhide didn't truly mind the company...so long as she minded her manners while in his cab, and kept her hands to herself while they drove.

"Fine guess I'll have to show off for someone else back on base" she states. He knows she's trying to get under his plating, and she knows how to get him.

His engine rumbled warningly at that comment. While he knew she was just prodding him to get a reaction, the suggestion of flirting with another stirred a possessiveness in his circuits.

"Watch it, fleshie," he growled, though without any real heat to the words.

"Keep carrying on so and I may be inclined to park your backside right here until we're done," he blustered. But his warming cab and rumbling engine betrayed that any real ire was short-lived where she was concerned. Still, it wouldn't do to let her think she'd won so easily.

Soft laughter falls from her lips, " jealous bot" she shoots back at him as the two finally arrive back at base.

She gets chatty with security At the entrance to N.E.S.T

Ironhide's engine uttered another warning grumble as she chatted away with the other humans, seemingly having forgotten her promise to mind her manners. His patience was wearing thin after the long drive, and he'd had just about enough of her frivolous games.

Pulling up as close to the hangar doors as his alt mode would allow, he popped open the driver side door with a pointed snap. "Out. Now," he rumbled, unwilling to play chauffeur any longer while she was in her mood to cause chaos.

When she turned back with that coquettish smirk, Ironhide growled deep in his intakes. "Don't test me, fleshie. You've had your fun, now get inside like I said. Unless you'd rather I carry you in?"

He knew full well manhandling the human would be crossing a line. But she had a way of pushing all his buttons without fail.

She slowly moves to get out of his front seat. Her hands linger on the dashboard for a moment before she steps out onto the concrete. She's quick to walk inside after giving his tailgate a slap, a small laugh leaves her as she runs.

With a grumble and hiss of hydraulics, Ironhide transformed once she had cleared his cab, looming over the hangar entrance. Ironhide let out an annoyed huff of exhaust as the girl once more tested his patience, That sharp little slap to his tailgate was the final straw.

Revving his engine menacingly, Ironhide rumbled forward until his massive bulk filled the hangar entrance, blocking any hope of escape back out the entrance. "Minx," he accused, optics narrowing at the smiling human within. "Do you enjoy pushing me this far every time?"

Despite his gruff tone, there was no true anger. After all this time, she knew full well how to get under his plating without ever crossing a line. And loathe as he was to admit, some small part of Ironhide even admired her spirit.

Still, there were consequences to be had for such teasing. Leaning in until he is eye level with her "Consider this your official timeout, fleshling. Until I deem you've learned your lesson, you'll remain right where I put you."

With that, he sealed the hangar shut with a steely grinding of gears. "Iron!" She squeals out only to gasp more as Ironhide grabs her before continuing further into his hanger, his human in hand. Her legs dangle between his digits as she holds onto him. "Oh my God you're an ass! Give me a warning next time" She shoots back at him

Ironhide huffed a gruff chuckle at the human's outburst. "And miss that precious little squeal? Not a chance, fleshie."

"You know full well your games grate on my circuits, princess," he rumbled lightly. "A little fear is good for the spark. Keeps you on your toes and out of trouble." Not that he would ever hurt her.

Once she was steady on her pedes again standing on their shared berth, more so crudely made slab with piles of her blankets and pillows on it "Consider that payback for your mischief, little pest. Next time, mind your hands and that smart mouth, lest I find a use for them." His field pulsed warm with amusement.

Soft little noises leave her as Ironhide's digits wrap around her pressing gently into her side, back and against her chest.

Ironhide vented softly as his powerful digits carefully cradled the human's tiny frame. For all their teasing and bickering, in quiet moments like this he was reminded of just how fragile organics were.

His field pulsed warm and gentle, laced with protectiveness as he gradually increased the pressure, testing her limits but taking care not to crush even an ounce of strength. "Comfortable, little one?" he rumbled softly.

When she offered no protest, Ironhide began slowly massaging her back struts, mimicking the way she sometimes soothed his aching finger joints. Though his plating was rough-hewn metal and her skin oh so delicate.

A rumble rose from his frame, vibrating through her in a sensation she called a "purr." His optics were lidded in contentment, focusing only on her within his grasp.

She slowly leans back into his touch. And as his digits travel further down she arches into his touch a small whine falls from her lips. She slowly grinds against Ironhide teasing digit. trying to make him get the picture of what she wanted and why she had been teasing him all day.

Ironhide's engine revved sharply in surprise at the reaction his gentle touch elicited. His optics shuttered briefly. "Minx," he scolded gently. "All this torment was for my attention, then?"

Lowering his face close, he nuzzled her tiny form with care before capturing her lips in a chaste kiss, its slow and soft, flesh against metal. Another whine leaves her lips as she looks up at him. "You've been too busy recently, I missed you" she states as he lays her down against the piles of blankets. Slowly hiking her dress up only to be met with nothing underneath. Ironhide stilled, intake caught in surprise at her display. His optics roved hungrily over the tempting view before him, unable to deny the allure of her plan so cunningly executed.

A low rumble rose from his chassis. "Devious creature," he purred, engine revving at the wanton invitation in her gaze. How could he refuse when she had so clearly orchestrated this?

His name softly falls from her lips. Her eyes flicker to where he kneels in front of the berth. Leaning down, he nuzzled her frame with utmost care "All this just for me?" His field pulsed hot and heady as he traced the seam of her folds with a single digit.

Rising temptation warred with duty and honour. But her needful whine as she canted her hips persuaded him. Slowly Ironhide runs his glossa across sweet skin. She whines loudly when he leans down and runs his glossa between her folds sucking softly on her clit before he delivers back into teasing. Her hands grip his helm quickly. "Ironhide please" she calls out.

His glossa is enveloped in tight velvet warmth. His intake caught on a groan at sensations. He could never get enough of how sweet she tasted, she is sweeter than pre war energon candies. Ironhide rumbled deeply at her pleas, the sound vibrating through her very core as he worshipped her flesh. Making her gasp and cry out brought him no small amount of satisfaction to reduce his teasing femme to putty in his grasp with nothing but tongue.

"Easy, little one," he crooned against her wetness. With maddening slowness he circled her clit, cataloguing every hitch of her breath, every whimper and sigh. Ever so carefully Ironhide delved his glossa inside.

Ironhide rumbled deep in approval as she rode his glossa without restraint, soft hips bucking against his mouth. making her pleasure his sole focus in that moment. Her cries and moans only spurred him on, lapping eagerly at her slick flesh.

One hand braced against her hip to hold her steady, But Ironhide was far from passive, pressing his glossa as deep as he was able between each thrust. The vibrations of his rumbling engine only enhanced every sensation.

When her hips began to canter erratically, Ironhide redoubled his efforts. Cried out moans leave her lips as her orgasm hits, hips bucking in irregular patterns as she sobs out Ironhide's name. With one final curl of his glossa, he felt her walls flutter madly around him. Greedily Ironhide lapped up every drop of her release, savouring this sweet taste.

Yet still he craved more of her intoxicating and addictive taste, seeking to prolong her bliss for as long as was within his power.

Carefully he manoeuvred her limp frame until she straddled his glossa once more, keening softly as the hypersensitive flesh of her clit met his eager mouth. Slowly Ironhide tongued her folds, memorising every detail as her flavour grew sweeter still in her fluttering aftershocks. "Ironhide!" She moans out loudly.

One of his hands trailed maddeningly along her back, tracings her spine, caressing and stroking anew. Ironhide growled around his mouthful, greedily drinking in every drop he could as shudders wracked her frame.

Retreating only when she sagged fully sated against him, Ironhide cradled her close to his chassis, content merely to hold her. Her breathing calmed as he nuzzled her adoringly, spark swelling with quiet joy.

She lays content against him, soft pants leaving her lips as Ironhide brings her pile of blankets up for her. She slowly snuggles into him through the blankets. Ironhide himself is content to put off mission reports for his little minx.

Ironhide's engine rumbled softly in wordless affection as the human curled contentedly against his chassis, safely wrapped in makeshift padding. Her soft respiration and fluttering pulse cycled down into sated recharge, safe in his guarded embrace.

Adjusting until he was lounging comfortably, Ironhide idly stroked her naked back, tracing glyphs into soft flesh

Until then, Ironhide was content simply to monitor her recharge and bask in the aftermath. The closeness of her tiny frame to his mighty systems never ceased to stir something deep within.

Her presence soothed the savage rages of battle, tempering even his trigger-happy impulses into something nobler. "Minx" he mumbles softly before settling in to recharge himself.

#transformers #transformers bayverse #transformers ironhide #Bayverse #bayverse ironhide #transformers x reader #transformers x human #Ironhide #Ironhide x reader #Ironhide x human #tf ironhide

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justanoasisimagines · 4 months ago

Text

First Impressions.

Summary; Bruce is distracted when he meets you at a Gala Pairing; Bruce Wayne x Female Reader WordCount; 552 Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

Bruce navigated the room with practiced ease. He slipped into the room with precision. Bruce knew exactly what to say, and who to say it to. Bruce knew the attendees who he needed to work harder to obtain what he wanted.

Events like this Bruce often remained focused during a Gala such as these. Albeit, he often found himself bored. It was all about keeping up appearances.

However, Bruce was distracted tonight. A long flowing black gown glided across the floor. Eyes met momentarily as Bruce allowed a subtle smile to grace his lips. A mirror image as you brought a champagne flute to your crimson-painted lips.

Bruce didn't care for any other guests tonight. Except you. He wanted to make your acquaintance. Suddenly, Bruce was no longer engaged in the current conversation. He nodded his head, providing short answers. Desperate to end the conversation to make his introductions.

Bruce allowed the conversation five more minutes before he made his excuses. He took two champagne flutes from the waiter passing by.

You were alone, taking a breather from the constant barrage of questions and fake pleasantries. Unlike many you were attending because you cared about helping under privileged children. Unlike those who were heard to spread and hear gossip.

"You look like you could use this" Your eyes glanced up to be met with the hose for the evening. Blue eyes met yours. "Thank you, this place looks beautiful." You examined the room taking in the sight. His team had done an amazing job. Except Bruce couldn't admire he view because he couldn't take his eyes off of you. You were breathtaking.

"I can't take the credit. I have an excellent team. They're the ones who made it possible." "Well then you have a great team, Mr. Wayne, you should be proud." "Thank you and please call me Bruce." Bruce angled himself towards you, interested in taking in every minuscule detail about you. That was only the beginning for Bruce, he wanted to know you inside and out. Bruce's nerves were on edge. He'd never been so compelled before. Never by another person. "So what brings you here tonight?" "I work alongside the charity. You're doing excellent work you have no idea how much of an impact the donations will have getting kids off the streets, giving them a chance at life." Bruce admired the way you spoke, The passion in your voice, the way your animated hands reiterated that. "I'm always willing to help any way I can. Gotham's youth are going to bring change. It's something I'm passionate about Bruce observed your smile widen. "I wish others here tonight held your sentiment. Most are here for the publicity and the idle gossip. Tonight's more about flaunting their wealth. They will not give a second thought to the children tonight." "Perhaps we could arrange dinner? Talk about the ways I could help. I'd love to get more involved. "Thank you, I don't know what to say." "Say yes. Let me take you out. Somewhere more intimate and less pretentious. We can talk about everything and make a plan. Bruce gave you a moment, hoping this could provide the opportunity to get to know you and create a different change rather than fighting Gotham's underbelly. "Sure I'll go to dinner with you."

#dc imagines #Dc imagine #Dc one shot #dc oneshot #Bruce Wayne imagines #Bruce Wayne imagine #Bruce Wayne one shot #Bruce Wayne oneshot #Batman imagines #Batman imagine #Batman one shot #Batman oneshot #heroes versus villians #Drabble

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thee-horny-thicky · 11 months ago

Text

Consequences

So a while back, I wrote what was supposed to be the beginning of another fic, about Suguru losing his girl to Satoru. However, I never picked it back up. With Savior concluded, I'll probably start working on it soon. Until then, enjoy this snippet :)

Every little choice you make has the potential to affect the very course of your future. Asking someone how they’re doing may prevent them from ending their own life. Deciding to ask a stranger for directions can lead to meeting your soulmate. Waking up too late can save you from being a victim of a brutal attack. Accepting a drink from a stranger can lead to you being kidnapped and sold. Driving your car just a little too fast can result in you dying a fiery death.

Making little choices that alter your life and that of those around you is the very basis of the butterfly effect. Your actions always have consequences, after all.

Suguru Geto was now learning this the hard way. Not answering a few texts, rejecting some invitations to hang out, and missing a few days of school seemed like minor choices. He hadn’t been in the right headspace for the past few weeks. Riko’s death had impacted him, and every day, he regretted not allowing Satoru to slaughter those fucking twisted cultists.

Their applause continued to echo through his head, the memory of the way they rejoiced at the death of an innocent girl never failing to sicken him.

He’d thought nothing of taking time to himself to cope and intended to make it up to every single one of his friends. You, most especially. He’d begun to long for the feeling of you in his arms and planned to treat you to a date night to apologize for his absence.

But actions have consequences, and the consequence for his was seeing Satoru flaunt you around the school. Unlike him, the heir of the Gojo clan had no reservations about showing you off to the world.

And why wouldn’t he? You were so quick-witted, a living challenge to the idea that pretty girls couldn’t be intelligent or capable. Your cursed energy could turn explosive, and he delighted in seeing the sadistic smile on your gorgeous face as you blew up 1st-grade curses with ease. You weren’t from a major clan, but you were from an upper-middle-class family of sorcerers that’d traveled the world, making you miles more experienced than most of your peers.

Your knowledge was something he loved about you, and your technique was something he admired about you. He adored seeing you high off adrenaline and caught up in a battle, how light your laugh sounded, the way your pretty eyes gleamed. The nature of your technique made you destructive, and you embraced that wholeheartedly.

You’d been the yin to his yang, and he allowed you to slip through his fingers.

Suguru hadn’t wanted to broadcast your relationship, not ready to fully commit to you. He was a part of the strongest duo, and that came with a lot of responsibility, which allowed little room for love.

Or, so it had seemed, as Satoru seemed to be juggling the two just fine. Because unlike him, Satoru had taken Riko’s death as a testament to how short life was and didn’t hesitate to take his chance with you.

He regretted not adhering to your pleas to publicly claim you, and anger would flare inside of him every time he wondered how long you held feelings for Satoru. Surely, his time away from you wasn’t enough for your feeling to fade away.

But either you were a damned good actress, or you’d truly fallen out of love with him, and transferred your feeling to his white-haired friend. The two of you were caught up in your own little world, giggling as Shoko looked at you and Satoru in disgust. Watching the two of you was sickeningly sweet, and whereas the brunette seemed repulsed by your bountiful PDA, it only made Suguru bitter.

It should be him holding you, not Satoru. The man already had everything, being blessed in every way imaginable. He had looks, money, power, and a stupidly large personality. Surely, it wouldn’t be too much to let Suguru have you? If anything, you should be his reward for all he’s gone through, not another thing he’s lost.

Satoru brushed his lips over yours, and though the kiss was chaste, it was too much for Suguru to bear. Were you trying to make him jealous, allowing your ex’s friend to be so handsy with you?

As Shoko faked a gag, Suguru shot from his seat. His friends look at him in confusion, while you merely rolled your eyes. When you look at him, there was no bitterness or satisfaction in your gaze. No, it was worse with that, as your eyes held no discernable feelings for him. It was a far cry from the way you looked at Satoru, so full of affection, the same you way used to look at him.

“You good, bro?” Satoru questioned; his arm wrapped around your shoulders.

No, he wasn’t, and his best friend was part of the reason why. He never gave much thought to the flirty comments Satoru aimed your way, because that’s just who Satoru is, a flirt. He thought it was just playful banter, not that he was expressing his true feelings for you.

How wrong he’d been.

“I’m fine,” he gritted out, gathering his things.

He could tell none of you believed him, but he didn’t care. He needed to get away from you and Satoru before he did something he’d regret.

“Where are you going?” Shoko asked, twirling the stick she kept in her mouth.

To find a curse to brutally kill. He needed a way to release his jealous rage.

“I have something to do.”

“Oh, wait, before you go, we’re going out tonight,” Satoru revealed, gently stroking your back as you leaned against him. “Wanna come?”

And see you all dolled up, wrapped around Satoru, and pretending he didn’t exist? He’d have to pass.

“I’ll see.”

“Oh, c’mon,” you whined, finally acknowledging him. “We haven’t hung out in so long!”

He had to hold back a scoff at your faux concern. If you really did care, you would’ve waited for him until he was ready to come back to you.

“…I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll text you the deets,” you said, ignoring his hesitance as you pulled your phone from your pocket.

Nodding, he began to walk away, stopping when his phone buzzed. His eyes widened at your message.

You: Stop being a little bitch and text Satoru back. He misses you.

You: I know you’ve seen them.

He quickly put his phone away, worried he’d throw the device if he stared at your texts much longer. Of course, you didn’t miss him. No, you were only concerned about Satoru.

Turning back, he shot you a glare, but your focus was again on Satoru. Not even Shoko noticed him, too concerned about making fun of you two.

Not bothering to hide his soured expression, he stomped away. Maybe he would go out tonight, just to put a damper on yours. Perhaps, he’d find a pretty thing to cuddle up with as you had with his best friend, though he doubted he’d elicit a reaction from you. Regardless, he needed some way to get the bitterness out of his system, and fucking it out might just be the best release possible.

So, as he stomped away, he fired off a text to Satoru to let him know he’d be in attendance.

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queenshelby · 1 year ago

Text

An Illicit Affair

Part 12: The Greenhouse

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

Dressed in a black dress, you arrived at the university event early, ensuring that everything was running smoothly.

The hall was decorated beautifully, with fairy lights strung along the walls and fresh flowers adorning each tall table. The sound of soft music filled the air, creating a romantic atmosphere while waiters walked around, offering drinks and canapes.

As guests trickled in, you scanned the crowd, searching for the people you knew. You spotted James and Lucy standing near the entrance, laughing and chatting with others. Just like Cillian and the chair of the UNESCO board in London, James was a guest speaker at the event and since you, amongst some other students, were organizing the fund raiser, you had to act professional and polite towards everyone attending.

Your gaze then wandered across the room again and, eventually, you spotted Cillian who was accompanied by his wife Danielle and Max.

The sight of them sent a rush of conflicting emotions through you. You wanted to see Cillian yet dreaded the encounter.

After ignoring his text message a couple of weeks ago, following your date with James, you knew that your encounter with him might be awkward and Danielle's presence didn't ease the situation either.

She looked stunning herself and, ever since she married Cillian, she never missed an opportunity to showcase her wealth and influence as, clearly, she enjoyed his celebrity status more than he did.

Danielle dressed up like she owned the fashion industry, wearing a white dress. Her blonde hair was styled to perfection, cascading effortlessly down her shoulders, and she flaunted her 4,000-pound designer bag with pride.

Max too was dressed to impressed, wearing a black suit and a slim tie.

He couldn't deny that he looked good, but there was a slight awkwardness to his demeanor, a shadow of pain lurking behind his confident façade. His gaze shifted discreetly to you, a small frown creasing his forehead before he turned his attention to the person beside him.

Cillian, on the other hand, gave you a knowing smile and you knew that, at the very least, you had to greet him and his wife.

So, mustering up your courage, you approached them, smiling awkwardly.

"Y/N," Danielle greeted you, extending her slender arm, offering her manicured hand. "It is so good to see you again," she said, her voice dripping with artificial warmth just like when you had visited Max's family home in Dublin some time ago. There was always something odd about her but you knew to remain polite nonetheless.

"It's good to see you too, Mrs Murphy," you muttered, shaking her hand briefly before also greeting Cillian and Max with a friendly nod.

"Hey," Max greeted you casually, his gaze lingering on you longer than necessary.

"You look incredible!" he added bluntly, a playful grin spreading across his lips. That remark took you aback but you smiled anyway, hoping that no one noticed Max's comment.

"Thanks," you responded shyly, your cheeks burning red in embarrassment as you quickly moved away from him.

"And, how have you been Mr Murphy?" you asked Cillian politely without making direct eye contact, simply to avoid having to further engage in a conversation with Max.

"Good, thank you," Cillian replied, his tone low and gravelly. "You?" he asked, his gaze flickering downwards, a ghost of a smile touching his lips.

"I'm doing alright," you assured him, allowing the silence to stretch between you just before Danielle whisked her husband away, seeking an introduction to Professor Smith from the UNESCO board.

"It has been good to see you Y/N. I am glad you are doing okay," Cillian remarked coldly while casting a sideways glance at you.

"You too," you nodded and watched him disappear into the throng of attendees as a strange mix of frustration and hope coursed through you, stirring up old memories and fantasies you had tried to suppress.

Despite your apprehension towards engaging with Cillian again however, the event progressed rather smoothly, with various speakers sharing their experiences and insights on the importance of education and literacy.

Cillian in particular delivered a moving speech about education and empathy, weaving together personal anecdotes, and compelling statistics that brought the audience to think of the importance of being kind to one another.

"Oh god, this is getting so old," Max murmured, standing next to you while listening to his father speak. "Didn't he say this stuff a million times before?" he asked rhetorically, rolling his eyes.

"Well, for what it is worth, I think your dad's speech is quite good and articulate," you defended Cillian, unable to help yourself despite Max's cynicism.

"Yeah, but I have heard it a hundred times before," Max countered, crossing his arms defensively.

"Fair enough," you shrugged your shoulders. "But, nevertheless, it is still relevant, isn't it?" you reasoned, raising your eyebrows. "Empathy in an education setting is important, especially nowadays, in the age of social media," you argued, catching Max's attention.

"When did you become a fucking expert on social issues like this?" Max retorted, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"I mean, I'm not an expert, but I know a thing or two about it," you responded coolly, turning to look at the stage where Cillian was wrapping up his speech. "I see many patients in hospital who inflicted harm upon themselves because of bullying. It is a big issue," you told Max as Cillian ended his presentation with a powerful call to action, urging everyone present to make a difference in the lives of others.

The room erupted in applause, and Cillian graciously acknowledged the support.

As the crowd dispersed, you caught him glancing at you from the speaker's podium. The intensity behind his eyes held a peculiar mixture of warmth and longing, which caused a tremble of anticipation to ripple through your entire body. With every beat of your pulse, you became increasingly drawn to this man again and, feeling increasingly overwhelmed by your emotions, you decided to step outside for some fresh air, hoping to find a moment of peace amidst the chaos.

You leaned against the wall, closing your eyes, letting the gentle breeze brush against your face for just a moment as, suddenly, you heard some footsteps.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Cillian approaching you with a questioning expression on his face.

"Need some fresh air?" he asked with a gentle smile, causing you to nod.

"Sometimes, the noise indoors gets overwhelming, doesn't it?" he continued, gesturing towards the open door. "Makes you want to retreat somewhere quiet," he added, a knowing spark lighting up his ice-blue eyes.

"Yes, exactly," you echoed, grateful for the understanding in his words.

You glanced back inside the room to check if anyone else had joined you outside. When you realized that nobody was paying attention to you and Cillian, you let out a sigh of relief.

The moment felt heavy with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver glow on the grounds. As the wind rustled through the trees, sending whispers of leaves dancing, you could feel Cillian's gaze on you. His proximity stirred a flutter in your chest, and you found yourself lost in his ice-blue eyes.

"You really enjoyed that, didn't you?" you said, finally breaking the silence.

"Enjoyed what?" he asked, puzzled by what you meant.

"Giving that speech," you clarified, biting your lip nervously. "It's empowering to see someone so passionate about something they believe in," you confessed, feeling a wave of admiration wash over you.

"Ah," Cillian nodded, his gaze flickering downward, thoughtful. "Yeah, it is something I don't mind talking about, I suppose," he said humbly, and, in that moment, his piercing blue eyes held a certain depth and maturity, making you feel drawn to him, his charisma undeniable.

"You suppose?" you giggled, unable to contain your amusement. "I thought you loved speaking in public," you teased him playfully, shaking your head in disbelief, knowing that, usually, he hated the attention.

"Well, sometimes I do," Cillian admitted, his gaze drifting away as it danced with the memory of the moments he spent addressing the audience. "But, honestly, I prefer smaller crowds," he added, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

You laughed at his honesty, sensing that he felt comfortable around you. This realization made you blush, a sudden surge of warmth enveloping your entire body.

"You should consider doing more speeches like that," you encouraged him, placing your hands on his arms gently. "People listen to you because of you who are. So they're impactful," you added, locking eyes with him.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Perhaps," he conceded, his voice barely louder than a whisper as, through the door and windows, you heard the next speaker, James, being introduced to the crowd.

"You should probably go inside and listen to your boyfriend speak," Cillian suggested, arching an eyebrow mischievously. "Or he might get jealous," he added, his lighthearted humor making you laugh.

"What makes you think that I am dating James?" you asked Cillian, a flush of heat coloring your cheeks.

"I just assumed," Cillian shrugged, his eyes flickering nervously. "You seemed close," he explained, his voice trailing off.

"He's not my type," you replied, shrugging your shoulders dismissively. "Anyway, we're just friends," you added, your voice cracking slightly.

"Well, that's good," Cillian responded, a hint of relief washing over his face. "Because I think he seems a little too arrogant for you," he then teased, causing you to furrow your brow.

"Is that so, huh?" you replied coyly, glancing at Cillian with a sheepish grin. "Well, you might be right there," you admitted, feeling a tingle of excitement course through your veins. "He is a little arrogant and I still feel somewhat drawn towards a certain kind of actor, so...," you said, your voice dropping to a hushed whisper.

Cillian's breath hitched and the air between you crackled with electricity, and you could hear the faint thrumming of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The tension between you was palpable, and you knew that you were playing with fire.

"A certain kind of actor?" Cillian repeated, his gaze fixated on you.

"Yeah, but unfortunately he is unavailable," you added, your voice trailing off as Cillian's ice-blue eyes bore into you, a storm of emotions brewing in the depths of his pupils.

"I really miss you, you know?" Cillian whispered quietly, his voice trembling slightly. "I just cannot get you out of my fucking head," he admitted, reaching out to touch your hand, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin lightly.

"I know," you murmured softly, leaning closer to his ear, your breath hot against his neck. "And, I wish I could say that I hate you for ending things the way you did, but I get it. I get why you did it," you confessed, your voice thick with emotion as Cillian closed his eyes, savoring the sweet sound of your voice as it resonated in his eardrums.

"Let's take a walk," you then suggested, pulling him toward the campus gardens. "I need some space to clear my head," you confessed, eager to escape the crowd and the looming threat of discovery.

"Okay," Cillian agreed hesitantly, following you through the grand entrance of another campus building, located on the other side of the greens and the parking lot.

"Where are we going though?" Cillian asked you cautiously, his eyes darting left and right, scanning the area warily.

"Just somewhere more private," you whispered back, the scent of your perfume wafting tantalizingly under his nose. He could feel an insistent throb beginning to stir deep within his loins, straining against the confines of his trousers.

"Alright," Cillian agreed, reluctantly releasing your hand. "But remember, we can't be seen together," he reminded you sternly, his tone laced with suppressed urgency.

"Don't worry, I got this," you reassured him confidently, slipping your hand into his and intertwining your fingers with his before pulling him into the garden nursery, a small but secluded greenhouse not far from the function hall.

"Here," you said, stepping inside, the dimmer light of the greenhouse engulfing you both in a warm cocoon of shadows.

The greenhouse was illuminated by soft glowing lamps hanging overhead, casting eerie silhouettes on the glass panes in front of you. The smell of damp earth and decaying vegetation permeated the air, a sharp contrast to the elegant surroundings you had just left behind.

"Can you imagine what would happen if someone saw us here?" Cillian muttered nervously, his voice quivering slightly.

"No one comes in here at this hour," you responded, taking a step closer to him, pressing your body up against his. "Trust me," you added seductively, tilting your head slightly to lock eyes with him.

"Are you sure?" Cillian whispered in your ear, his warm breath fanning out against your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"Yeah," you murmured, leaning in closer, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. "Let's just enjoy this moment," you breathed onto his shoulder, gripping his hand tightly.

"For tonight, yeah," Cillian agreed, pulling you closer, his fingers tracing lines along your bare arm before, finally, he pressed his lips on to yours.

This time, the kiss was different - deeper, wilder, more desperate. It was almost primal as you both fell back against the nearest bench, your bodies colliding with the hard wood surface with a dull thud. Cillian pulled away from you for a second, panting heavily before gazing at you through half-lidded eyes.

"Fuck, I missed this," he gasped, his voice hoarse and strained as he traced your jawline with his fingertips delicately.

You couldn't resist the temptation any longer and kissed him back, passionately, your tongue exploring his mouth eagerly.

"Y/N," Cillian moaned, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly, pulling you even closer until you could feel his erect cock against your thigh.

You reached down, cupping his erection through his pants, and groaning in response.

"I missed this too," you panted, stroking him roughly through his trousers while he quickly unbuckled his belt.

"Let's get these off," he whispered hoarsely, his breathing labored as he tugged your dress up past your hips, exposing your underwear.

"Hmm, but we better be quick," you told him before reaching beneath your dress and sliding off your panties and letting them fall on to the dirt covered floor.

"Agreed," Cillian grunted as you then lowered his zipper completely and slid his jeans down to his knees.

His cock sprang free, and you immediately climbed on top of where he was sitting. You then reached down in between you to stroke the tip of his cock and guide it right to your wet pussy. He grabbed your hips and helped you lower yourself onto him while he stayed seated. Your inner muscles instantly clamped down on his hardness, and he groaned loudly as his cock disappeared inside you.

"Fuck, Y/N," he gasped, watching you carefully. "You're so tight," he complimented you, squeezing your asscheeks gently.

"Oh god," you whimpered, grinding your hips against him, enjoying the sensation of being fully impaled on his cock.

"This feels fucking amazing," you admitted, looking directly into his eyes, feeling incredibly vulnerable and exposed.

"So fucking good," you repeated, rocking your hips against him harder.

"Shh, not so loud," Cillian hissed, glancing around nervously to double-check that no one had entered the greenhouse.

"I can't help it," you pleaded, burying your face in his sweat-soaked neck while trying to muffle your cries.

Cillian groaned loudly, his grip tightening around your waist as he thrust upwards into you.

"Fuck," he hissed, his fingers digging into your flesh painfully.

The rhythmic slap of your bodies smashing together sounded harsh in the otherwise silent greenhouse.

"Tell me how good my pussy feels, Cillian!" you whimpered, grinding your hips against him while his cock twitched inside you.

"Fucking perfect," he growled, his hands now resting on your ass, squeezing it tightly. His cock slid in and out of you with practiced precision, his strokes steady and deliberate. Each thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body, and you couldn't help but cry out in ecstasy.

"Oh god, yes," you moaned, clutching handfuls of his shirt as, suddenly, you couldn't hold it any longer.

Your orgasm came crashing down on you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing uncontrollably against his own.

"Fuck, fuck," you screamed, clawing at his skin desperately as you bucked your hips wildly, cumming all over his cock.

"That's it," Cillian growled, his voice strained and raspy.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, slamming his cock into you mercilessly, his balls slapping against your ass repeatedly.

"Jesus, I love it," he added, his grip tightening around your waist.

"I love it too," you moaned, running your fingers through his hair lovingly. The intensity of your lust and desire for each other seemed impossible to contain, yet you both reveled in the forbidden nature of your encounter.

"I've missed you so much," you whispered, your voice hoarse and ragged.

"I've missed you too," he responded, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his emotions.

"I want you to cum inside me Cillian. Please," you begged as you rocked your hips back and forth, meeting every thrust with equal force. "Please fill me up with your cum," you whined, arching your back and throwing your head back, your hair falling down like a curtain of silk.

In response, Cillian buried his face in your neck, sucking and kissing the tender spot behind your ear. It drove you crazy, and you began to grind against him harder, feeling his length throbbing inside you as, eventually, he reached his climax too.

You could feel his cock pulsing, spurting jet after jet of hot sticky cum into you, filling you up completely.

"Fuck, that was amazing," you whispered breathlessly, collapsing onto top of him, your sweat-slicked skin sticking to his.

"Definitely," Cillian agreed, holding you close, your faces mere inches apart. You could sense the beating of his heart under your cheek, the warmth of his breath on your temple. In that moment, everything felt right. You felt whole until, eventually, you had to break it up and head back to the function, which is where Danielle was already looking for her husband.

"Where have you been?" she asked him as you both returned separately, through different entrances.

"I just needed some air after the speech," Cillian told her casually as he reached for a drink while Danielle gracefully pulled a leaf from his hair.

"Some air?" Danielle arched an eyebrow skeptically as she fixed Cillian with a scrutinizing gaze. "Okay," she added, brushing the stray strands of hair off his forehead, which is when she noticed a stain on the collar of his otherwise pristine white shirt.

She squinted suspiciously, her lips curling into a thin line as she spotted what appeared to be some make up. Red lipstick mixed with a stain of foundation.

To be continued...

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@heidimoreton @nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @forgottenpeakywriter @smailaway @sophiaaguirred

#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you

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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 years ago

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i'm sorry if this is rather redundant but what does task for 141 think of the engel herself? we know soap told her to stay away from könig before almost getting shanked by him but what do they all think of this abolutely batshit insane girl? also that lil tidbit of ghost clearing his throat after seeing engel wear her pretty dresses??? 👀

Ok so the thing is other operators fear König and have come to the conclusion that this man is insane. Some even think König shouldn’t be allowed to work in a field like this – actually, he shouldn’t be walking freely at all! They fear his impulsiveness and bloodlust and dread the day this guy fucks up a mission in his battle frenzy.

So if they fear König and consider him a lunatic… they would surely view a girl who wants to be with him mentally unstable as well 🫠

Their first reaction might be pity and concern: how did this guy pull such a sweet and kind girl in the first place? Is she alright, should someone do something? Should someone... save her...? (No one would have the courage I'm afraid)

But when they see how König is around her (flaunting his knives and acting like a proud gorilla full of testosterone) and see how the "sweet kind girl" is around König (smiling, at ease and flirty), they are slightly horrified. When they see she’s not a victim but actively pursues König’s company and admires him, they're kinda like, "Oookay then..." It appears this damsel doesn’t need saving because clearly, she isn’t in distress!

Also. König is so possessive and territorial he wants to leave no doubts as to who this woman belongs to. He holds her hand all the time when they’re together, going on those walks for example, and if somebody sees them he will automatically tighten his grip and pull her closer. Anytime she visits him König makes sure everyone hears them. People try to avoid paying attention to it but cannot help but hear how reader gets loved very profoundly in this gunman’s room. “You look tired,” and “Yeah I couldn't get any sleep last night I wonder how come” would become a dry joke around the barracks soon.

And yeah, reader walking around in those pretty dresses certainly attracts attention! She's practically glowing. It only adds to everyone's bitterness, however. Especially the male operators are getting more and more annoyed. Every man walks around blue-balled and tired except König, and it makes them despise him even more. What a mad, lucky fucker... And what's even more fucked up is that even though he’s getting some nearly every day, this dude shows little to no signs of calming down.

#answered #könig headcanons #yandere könig

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cilil · 6 months ago

Text

Gentle June

AN: I'm almost done with June, @tolkienpinupcalendar x) this one's a little gift for @sauron-kraut. Enjoy!🖤

❀ Prompt: Lingerie & body worship | Mairon x Khamûl ❀ Synopsis: Khamûl loves serving his Maiarin master. ❀ Warnings: Sensual, smutty, master/pet, pet play ❀ Short oneshot (~600 words)

"Have you made yourself pretty for me, my pet?"

A long-fingered hand idly reaches out, golden rings gleaming in the evening sun.

Khamûl nods, a little too fast, a little too eager. He's already slipping out of his silken robe to show the Maia just how pretty he can be, how he wants to be pretty for him.

Mairon's cat-like eyes follow his every move, curious, appreciative, greedy. The perfect porcelain his face appears to be made of shifts; the hunger is visible by the time silk drops to the floor and reveals soft skin and living flesh underneath. His smile reveals fang-like canines. Khamûl isn't sure if he's seen them before.

Nevertheless, he shows himself, happily puts himself on display. Perhaps it's hubris to think he could be appealing to a Maia. Perhaps it's hubris to think he could survive it for long if he did in fact succeed. But he has Mairon's attention and flaunts his body.

Only lace adorns him now: A frilly strip of fabric around his waist — reminiscent of a tiny skirt, yet so short that it barely conceals anything — and another small piece covering his private parts, held in place by twin strings that wrap around his thighs and backside. Khamûl has forgone even his jewellery, believing it to be an affront to his lord's masterful craftsmanship.

Mairon lifts his hand and motions for him to join him on the bed.

Without hesitation, Khamûl follows. He climbs onto it and then crawls, as is befitting for his role as a divine being's mortal pet. Enraptured, he watches those long, deadly fingers reach out and grasp his chin.

"Undress me, then serve me."

"Yes, master."

Mairon lets go and Khamûl demurely lowers his head. It's an honour to be allowed to serve him. He shan't disappoint.

Hands trembling with the sheer joy of his task, he loosens the sash around the Maia's waist, parts heavy robes, uncovers gleaming, gold-tinted skin, fair and ethereal like his divine kin, beautiful and terrible like the scorching sun. He bows his head to kiss his master, worshipping every inch of skin he can reach. Khamûl feels Mairon's fingers snaking through his locks, sharp nails scraping against his scalp, and moans in delight.

The surge of pride that overcomes him when he's met with an already hardening cock is dizzying, but he allows himself no time to dawdle. Eager and obedient, Khamûl takes it into his mouth, requiring no guidance from the hand still resting on his head, and begins sucking the Maia off.

Mairon lets him enjoy himself for a while, then asks, "I trust you prepared yourself in advance?"

Khamûl nods vigorously, his head bobbing up and down in the process. He's become increasingly good at this, but now a different service will be required of him.

With the ease of picking up a doll, Mairon pulls him upward by his neck, smiles and lazily pats his thigh. "Sit."

The command is clear, and Khamûl doesn't hesitate. He moves to straddle the Maia's hips, pulls the strings between his legs aside and guides his hot, hard length inside him, slowly sitting down; he has been generous with his preparation, stretching and oiling himself diligently, and yet the process is never quite painless.

Khamûl wouldn't have it any other way, though. Glory comes at a price, as Mairon has always told him.

His back arches when he finally takes his master all the way, his breath quickens, his nails dig into impervious immortal skin.

"Very good, pet," Mairon coos and caresses his thighs. "Now move."

And this, too, Khamûl does. He trembles and gasps and moans, yet swears to himself that he won't stop until he either has served the Maia to completion or until his mortal body gives out.

Thanks for reading! ♡

taglist: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @blauerregen @bluezenzennie @destinyeternity1 @edensrose

@elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @just-little-human @urwendii

#tpcgentlejune #mairon #sauron #khamul #nazgul #mairon x khamul #sauron x khamul #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fanfic #lotr smut #silm smut #silm fanfic #silmarillion fanfiction #silmarillion #cílil writes #my writing #minors dni

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merbear25 · 8 months ago

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hellloooo could i be so bold as to request cc and fem reader, perhaps with a bit of accidental voyerism/exhibitionism ? maybe during the time ceasar would've been on the sunny idk :bluesmileemoji:

Ohohoho you most certainly can be so bold, my dear anon. I’m always happy to write for my favorite gassy goat. 🤭 This took me awhile to finish writing because I kept getting lost in my own imagination 😵 but that's not necessarily a bad thing, right? I hope you like what I've written for you 💜💜

CW: NSFW, MDNI, no plot just smut, fem!reader, voyeurism/exhibitionism, mutual pinning, oral sex (both receiving), fingering, vaginal penetration, cream pie

Such big words for someone so small

How could you just saunter away like that? This whole back and forth you two had created was making his head spin. Such a sharp tongue delivered with poise was a deadly combination—one that had you lingering in his mind for longer than he’d like to admit.

Though the Straw Hats questioned why you entertained him or gave him any form of attention, you shrugged off their passive judgments. You couldn’t help yourself; this banter you had was too fun to let go of. Seeing his flustered face, feeling like you caught him off guard: it kept bringing you back for more.

Excusing yourself to your bedroom, you allowed your triumphant gaze to scan over Caesar once more, savoring that soft pink dusted across his cheeks.

Mulling over your self-proclaimed finishing blow, he grinded his teeth. Refusing to let you have the last laugh, he snuck away to finish it properly.

Huffing at your inability to even close your own door, his eyes caught a glimpse of your exposed back through the crack. Jumping back, he pressed himself against the wall. Processing what he just saw, the image of you in your bra was now burned into his mind. Wanting to be sure he wasn’t just seeing things, he cautiously peeked through the crack again. You’d removed your skirt as well, unknowingly flaunting your body right in front of him.

Such delicate lace hugging your curves, the color suiting your skin tone so nicely, both were making you appear more angelic than you really were. Rearranging his pants to accommodate the tightening fabric, he’d momentarily forgotten about the annoying clank of the chains.

Swiftly moving back, he cursed himself for having such little restraint that he couldn’t walk away from the temptation teasing him on the other side of the door. Faint hums drifted to him, your sweet melodies acting as a siren’s call, luring him in to indulge in your own fantasies.

When he hesitantly peered through the gap once more, you were ready for him. Unhooking your bra in a deliberately seductive manner, letting it fall to the floor as you swayed your hips to help ease yourself out of your delicates. You bent down to take them off, showcasing your most sensitive areas to your uninvited guest.

His breath hitched at the sight of your bold striptease. Entering your quarters, he was still a bit dumbfounded by the little show you were putting on. The coy smile that danced upon your soft face didn’t leave when you laid down on your bed. You were undoubtedly testing every fiber of self-restraint he was desperately holding onto.

Arching your back slightly, you spread your legs, allowing the slick sin between them to glisten.

When he didn’t come rushing over to you, you gave a soft whimper. “You have so much will power,” you whispered. Your fingers trailed down your stomach and began sliding over your clit. A soft moan passed your lips. “I could never be that strong.”

Promptly locking the door, a devilish grin spread across his face. “Tell me, my dear. How can such a pretty mouth be laced with such lewd words?”

Taking in the way your body twitched under your own touch, he let out a low groan while he released his burning desire for you. “Show me what else that mouth is good for.”

Tugging on your legs to pull you to the edge of the bed, he smirked down at you. The way the lust in your eyes glazed over when you were confronted with his intimidating length was a sight to revel in. Knowing you’d never be able to take him in that dainty mouth of yours, the effort you put in was still just as exhilarating.

Caressing the shaft as your tongue lined the back of it, coating it all the way up to the tip where you licked the precum off like a lollipop sent shivers all throughout his body. Shuddering from your clear skill, you moved lower, sucking carefully on his balls as your hands twisted and tugged on his throbbing cock.

Thrusting into your grip, he panted through each wave of pleasure you were gracing him with. Tangling his fingers in your hair, his hands began shaking from the oncoming orgasm, letting the little clinks and clanks of the handcuffs play as blissful music.

“W-wait, wait,” he croaked, his voice gravelly from the pent-up emotion. “Let me taste you.”

Without hesitation, you positioned yourself further back and spread your legs for him. Your willingness to give into your desire fanned the flames in him, causing them to rampage and become unruly. The hunger in his eyes made you quake with anticipation as he removed his gloves, wanting to feel every part of your soft skin.

Plunging a finger past your drenched folds, he relished in your sudden cry of euphoria. Removing it after a few good pumps, he caressed your trembling form as he tormented your neglected clit. Watching you squirm under him, he pushed two fingers into you, then three, working you for everything you had to offer.

The show you were putting on was impossible to hold himself back from. Lathering your needy cunt with his eager tongue, he suckled and moaned into you as your hips bucked against his face. He was painfully reminded of his confinement, whimpering slightly from the restraints and so desperately wanting his hands to be able to roam over your gorgeous body freely.

As your moans grew more shrill, he rutted against the sheets. Knowing they clung to your sweet sleeping form each night, draping over your soft curves made him roll his eyes back while each of his senses were being bombarded by the euphoric aroma filling the room.

“I need you inside me,” you cried out.

Hastily repositioning himself, he propped himself up against your bed frame, allowing you to climb on top of him. That slack jawed expression on your face as you pressed your hips down on his, fully appreciating how quickly he filled you was one of the greatest sights to behold.

Your motions started out slow and unsure while you were still adjusting to his length. Seeing you struggle with fully taking him inflated that sadistic ego of his. A sly grin painted his lips while his eyes wandered over the now smeared purple kiss marks across your lower half, enticing him to play with your clit.

Such fervor was met with your own, encouraging you to pick up the pace. Tossing your head back, you steadied yourself when you leaned back. Your breasts chaotically bounced in an alluring motion the further you tried to push him deeper inside. With the beauty of your passion unraveling before him, he could feel his own release quickly following suit.

Gripping your hips so tightly they were sure to bruise, he grunted and forced you down on him as he pumped all of the angst and lust he had for you deep within your womb. Collapsing back between his legs, he admired his hot cum dripping out of your still spasming walls.

Realizing that neither of you considered the volume exuding from the room, you brushed it off. You didn’t really care if they judged you for your taste in men. It was more interesting like this anyway—having such a taboo partner made everything that much more exciting.

#x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #one piece x you #op #caesar clown #one piece smut #one piece caesar clown #caesar clown x reader #caesar clown one piece #op caesar clown #caesar x reader

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neonlight2 · 2 years ago

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Please can you write about the boys not wanting jaehaera to marry prompt

Thank you ❣️

Sure babe, thanks for the request, hope you like it. 🥀

Warning: incest?? (Not actually related but… adoption??), implied vulgarity/smut

Jaehaera Targaryen (OC) x House Targaryen, Hightower, and Velaryons

Masterlist:

The boys don’t want Jaehaera to get married just as much as she doesn’t…

To preface, there is no doubt every Lord AND Lady would have their eye on Jaehaera. More so when she comes of age, because as you do— and you will come to see, she does things that surpasses beliefs by then.

Along with the strife for power and wealth, many will simply be enticed by the princess. She is a striking sight to be held. Differing greatly from her family, yes. However the opposition within her beauty only makes her all the more mesmerizing… to everyone.

Her hair, longer and thicker than even the lion on the crest of the house of Lannister— whom would try and fail in humiliating rejection. It was black as obsidian and would sway when not put up. Sometimes, even when it was up, strands would fall, effortlessly finding the middle of her back.

That of which was her biggest controversy.

Her back.

Great lines, mimicking that of lighting within a raging storm, ran across her back. From nape to the bottom of her spine it spiraled and branched to vast whatever left on the sides. It contrasted her skin in every season. Turning a deep red in winter as her skin grew fair from the frosty air and decaying leafs, and white as bone as the sun’s rays caused the air to go hazy in one’s eyes, whilst sinking into flesh— making her a glowing bronze.

Many nobles found her lack of shame for them to be obscene. She seemed to like flaunting them, purposely wearing backless dresses, or ripping her tunics as to “feel the breeze against her skin”. That was the excuse that put Viserys at ease, for at least she was not simply laced by binding leather or cloth, which covered only as much as deemed necessary by Jaehaera. The decision always came down to her mood really.

Yet, as it became normal to people of court, those whom admire her couldn’t help becoming enticed by the scars. Later enticement lead to lust, and the princess was no stranger to things of that nature.

If anyone was lucky enough to even touch the princess, one would live in content for the rest of their life. To bed her was another, far too good to be described by any that had anyway… or maybe too dangerous. (We’ll find that out later.)

As Jaehaera became one with her body, controlling her limbs to her advantage in strategy of battle and manipulation, as well as the curves she had grown fond of, more took notice.

And those that had loved her before it all, well… it wasn’t long until they could no longer idly stand by.

Daemon felt as if he had been struck…

the moment he arrived on king landing soil he had at least expected his brother to welcome him home, being as that he was the one to send him to the wall in the first place. But when his feet hit the ground, and all he was comforted by was the sound of singing not too far away. Was there to be a celebration he knew not of? Daemon refused the idea of being left out of a party, and a part of him was eager to know that this mascaraed was for his victory.

News flash… it wasn’t.

He walked in, already stripped of armor, which he disposed of on the way there, and his eye grew wide. The magical purple of his iris had diminished into the blackness of his pupil. The sight in front of him was something he’d remember always; a cherished memory he wished to relive, yet was only satisfied whilst dreaming.

There she was, at least two feet taller than when he had left, spinning in circles. Her hair was let free, spiraling around with her, making those within her circle have to duck in cover or allow distance in between themselves and the Princess. She was a sight to behold, flush that traveled down all the way to her collar bone, skin glistened in a thin line of sweat from the activity. Daemon would bet that she had been like this for hours. And that was the only thing that irked him; he’d been too late to see the beginning.

While Daemon’s eyes took in all he could, the prince couldn’t help but noticed how her attire changed. How it caressed the curve of her breast, more full than before, whilst gripping her waist tight— as if to tease him. She had always been dangerous, but as Daemon felt his heart skip, he knew that she was now lethal.

“Brother! Finally you’ve joined us!”

His brother had never seemed more irritable.

Viserys was quick to beckon his brother, pulling him into a hug when able. He was definitely more drunk than sober. And it would seem he had his niece to thank for that.

“I thought it best to have a celebration for your return uncle.” Said a familiar voice, one he’d also missed and brought him great warmth.

Oh his princess.

“So this was your doing then, Rhaenyra?” He smiles, cocking his head at her coyly.

Laughing, a small blush creeping onto her face at his attention, she shook her head. “I thought to have a celebration, but Issa qēlos demanded it be done right here.” My star.

Glancing back onto the dance floor he noticed his raven haired beauty was no longer there. “Well she is a force to be reckoned with, that much I know hasn’t changed.” He stated, brows scrunched as he searched.

“Oh a lot has changed while you’ve been away Dae.”

Zipping around, he’s faced with shadow like girl. “Jaehaera.”

Raising a brow teasingly, she tilted her head to look past his shoulder at Rhaenyra. “I suppose he forgot his promise.”

Dawning on him as quick as an arrow, Daemon laughs. “Then allow me to apologize with a dance, Issa jaesa.” My goddess.

She took his hand without hesitation this time, only stopping his lead to whisper into Rhaenyra’s ear— making the pair giggle.

It would seem he’d have to catch up on inside jokes.

And he was right. Daemon’s chin rested comfortably against the crook of her neck, her head now too much of a stretch for him to place it there. As sad as he found the loss, secretly, the Prince couldn’t help but love the fact his nose was nestled close to her jaw. If he were to croon he’d feel her pulse. But he knew better than to do that in front of his brother. Especially since he’d only just returned.

“I’ve been a bit bored without you.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Daemon practically purred.

She hummed in confirmation, “Rhaenyra and Alicent have been the only people to keep me sane around here, and poor Queenie already has to deal with her own pestering suitors—,”

Jaehaera’s almost tripped due to Daemon’s feet halting at an obnoxious speed. She was just about to snip at his behavior when she met his eyes, which were anything but playful. Backing her head slightly to get a better grasp of his expression, she noticed a vein twitching at the side of his head.

“What?”

The word was harsh, force through gritted teeth as his hold on her grew more secure. His arm now wrapped around her middle, whilst his other intertwined with her own.

He was intimidating, no one could say otherwise, but Jaehaera knew better. He’d never actually hurt her, on purpose anyway.

“Don’t ‘what’ me Daemon, and don’t look at me like that. I’ve done nothing wrong.” Jaehaera remarked, pushing her body against his to make him move once again. She didn’t need her father being suspicious of their sudden stop of festivities.

“And it’s not like you’re the one being bothered by a bunch of pompous pricks.”

Shifting his tight jaw, Daemon exhaled deeply through his nose and ease back as much as he could. But his eyes had a mind of their own, jumping to every lord around, marking each one that even dared to glance at the princess as a target.

“What has Viserys said—?”

“He told me that I could do as I wish.”

Daemon’s shoulders loosened at that.

“I’m guessing you put them all in there place then?”

“All the arrogant ones,” she stated with a small smile. “Some were quite polite actually.”

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Daemon twirled her ferociously before picking her up to tower above all others.

“Is that what pleases you? Politeness?”

Biting her lip to surprise a giggle, Jaehaera stared down at Daemon— those amber eyes lit aflame. “Respect is nice, but I do enjoy good groveling.”

Nodding, Daemon lowered the princess slowly till they were face level. He was going to whisper sweet, nasty things to her, wanting to see her blush desperately, but she beat him to the punch.

“I do like my lovers on their knees.”

A guttural moan found itself lodged in the rogue Prince’s throat. “I’ve made you insatiable haven’t I, Issa jaesa.” My goddess.

“You and Rhaenyra alway insist to feed my ego,” she shrugged playfully, slowing as the dance came to an end.

“I’d gladly take the blame. Something divine as you should be worshipped. Settle for no less.”

“I think you just don’t want me to get married.”

“No lord nor lady here deserves you.”

And he meant every word. From then on Daemon was a menace. If anyone approached her and Jaehaera didn’t seem the least bit amused— they were done for. Even in some events where they did please her, Daemon could not help but for jealous by the loss of attention. Sure, he could share with Rhaenyra and his brother, perhaps even lady Alicent at times, but he refused to let anyone outside the tiny circle Jaehaera had made up for herself have her. He was never one to cage her in manner of physicality. It would be hypocritical of him. But he always made it known when it did displease him.

Then he was either scolded or given the attention he had been begging for. Both made his blood hot and his head fuzzy. As long as he kept those addictive eyes on him, and her hand free.

Aegon was a passive aggressive little fucker…

He would shamelessly throw himself onto Jaehaera, being the clingy bitch he is. It didn’t matter if they were at a huge gathering or in their own company— Aegon was touching her in some way or lingering in her vicinity. It had been that way since he was young. She was the only person he ever longed to be with always. And if he wasn’t it was one of two reasons:

1. Jaehaera was traveling, which much to his disappointment was more often than not.

Or,

2. He was compensating for the lack of attention she was giving him by drinking his weight in wine or surrounding himself with women who kept his mind fuzzy enough to imagine that Jaehaera was there with him.

Oh, and Aegon was by far more vulgar than his brother in his affections for her.

It shouldn’t be a shocker how dirty Aegon is. In most regard, Jaehaera was the only figure he ever looked up to and felt completely loved by.

His father thought him a waste of space, a disappointment to his mother, and he fell short completely to his siblings. Not to mention he had little to no relationship to his sister Rhaenyra nor her children— even though he did quite miss his friendship with Jace, whether he admitted or not.

The single bonding factor for his family was her. And in a way, he loved her more for it.

But then again, Jaehaera was there for most of his childhood. Which meant while he was going through puberty, she was the only woman beside his mother and his sister that was around him most of the time. And he found her glorious.

He found that the maids he haphazardly fooled around with to be nothing in comparison. Thankfully however, he did treat them respectfully in that regard. He was still a proud prick about his status, but there’s no way he’d be disrespectful to a woman— especially one he’d slept with, while Jaehaera was around.

She definitely covered for him in the beginning. After finding him balls deep in one of the older ladies of court, when Alicent had been searching for him at during a banquet, she could only laugh to herself and tease him about it later. Nonetheless, she told Alicent he was taking a piss and would be back soon enough.

He would for sure test his limits with her. At first he’d hang on her figure whilst she discussed formal business, totally unamused and making himself busy by playing with the long strands of hair falling to her back. His cheek would lay heavy on her shoulder, collecting sweat in between as time went on, and his fingers would trail. Once he let them glide delicately against her scars, liking the differing texture in skin. At first it could even be counted as innocent, which would only last for a few moments. Soon his hand would trail down, and Jaehaera would sway him hard enough to make him hiss and back off. He’d give her a “sweet” grin and speedily kiss her neck before running away.

Being that as it may, he didn’t take it to kindly when Lords would approach her. Ladies he didn’t mind, and he would admit that it was because he was rather fond of Jaehaera’s ambiguity within sexuality. He just didn’t like when there could be a legal tie involved. And if any lord was to be with her, there was a higher chance to push marriage.

Not to mention, if we’re being completely honest, he just doesn’t like when she pays attention to any man other than him. This included his brother to an extent. But most of the time he needn’t worry, because his family always seemed overly protective and possessive of Jaehaera. So he wasn’t alone in his efforts.

Although, there was an infamous spectacle involving him and Lord Lannister…

“Have you lost your mind boy?!”

Aegon blinked slowly at his father, waiting for this to all blow over, as if dismembering the son of a high lord were a small mishap.

“Father, the only one who’s lost anything is Lord Lannister—,”

“What in the seven hells were you thinking?!” Viserys bellowed

Aemond could help but scoff out a laugh, surprisingly proud of his older brother. To be fair, if Aegon hadn’t done it, he would be the one being scolded.

“Lord Lannister crossed a line—,” Aegon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. His head was pounded something fierce, and he couldn’t decide whether to blame the alcohol he had a few hours before or this whole conundrum.

“What? Did he harm your ego so far that it gave you the means to cut off his finger?”

“My king,” Jaehaera stepped forward, brushing Aegon’s side with a gentle hand to his shoulder— a gesture of comfort— without looking at him. “I will speak for him.”

Viserys let out an exasperated exhale, “You protect him too much. The boy has to learn to justify his actions.”

“Father, I only did what anyone else in this family would have.” The prince watched as his father scoffed, taking the hand Jaehaera offered instantly. His mother, Alicent stood by, inching her hand to grab the other in order to feel some relief.

Even she seemed to not believe him.

“Lannister put his filthy hand on Jaehaera.”

Everything went still. All that could be heard was a quick wince come from the tall princess.

She really wished to keep that a secret. Enough trouble had begun already.

“Father, it’s been taken care of.” Her words were meant to coo away any violent thoughts warping Viserys mind, but it hardly worked with so many around.

“You should have aimed for his whole hand.” Alicent stated, anger flashing in her eyes.

“Ali!” Jaehaera hissed, yanking away her hand.

She only received a flickering glance before Alicent shared a knowing look with her husband, then moving toward her son. Eventually kissing his cheek while muttering, “Well done.”

He smiled like an idiot for the rest of the day. Cause I’m his mind…

He still had a chance.

Aemond was possessive, and he wasn’t shy about it…

But he was far more strategic and regal in his affection or actions. Unlike his brother, he understood the importance of court.

Aemond’s touches were subtle and his words witty. He would take every opportunity to compliment Jaehaera. He would even go as far to put the thought of a ball, festival, or banquet into his mother’s head; it was all in hopes of seeing Jaehaera and spending numerous hours with her.

For most of his childhood, her presence was capricious. She came and went faster then the seasons changed. The kingdom would be lucky if she stayed for a month, for there was always work to be done across the sea. There was a rumor that if she and her dragon were to stay longer than a moon’s time then they’d turn to ash. Sadly, Aemond couldn’t prove them wrong.

But when she did come home, it was always when she was urged by her family. Of course, the request had to be occasional, or she’d discard every other one in the fire of Shykros breath or the salty mist below them. Most of the time they knew the chance of impending dance would lure her back.

One of his fondest memories with her was when she had come home two days before the timely hunt of the season, followed by a sleepless night of eating, dancing, and fucking. No one slept of their own free will; it was only until they could no longer stand or ached to move. By royal decree. Part of the few Jaehaera had set into motion.

As she spared with him, a exuberant smile etched into her face, Jaehaera practically twirled with every turn. Disarming him in few minutes, she always picked up his sword (which she gifted him) and spoke eagerly. “Again.”

Dare he say, he’d never seen her so elated during training. Sure, Aemond knew her to be playful and cunning. Perhaps a bit mischievous at time— wicked when provoked— but otherwise she was always calculated while sparring. She practiced like it was battle. As if she would die that very session. The only sign of humanity during the process was shown at the end, after her opponent laid on the floor beneath her. Sometimes if she was too far gone she’d even have them pinned, her foot on their chest and her blade hovering just above their neck.

Rare, but he’d seen it. She was ravenous and chaotic, yet so controlled. Aemond was enthralled by Jaehaera, and he made it known. (Much like Daemon in that regard.)

“Why are you so happy Fae?” A nickname he’d given her in his youth after she told him the tails of fairies and mythology. While magic flowed through his veins, he thought her the definition of magic.

“Why wouldn’t I be happy?” She quipped back, flipping her sword around her hand. “My whole family is to be under the same roof.” Jaehaera was beaming at the thought.

Aemond couldn’t help but feel torn. He loved that expression she was wearing, but what brought her happiness also meant he lost pieces of her. Parts of herself she would give away to his sister and uncle.

“Gods I haven’t seen Nyra in forever.” Jaehaera let out a proper giggle. Eyes shining bright. “Daemon will be there too no doubt. That is if his petty fit is over.”

“It’s diminish the moment he hears your attending.” Aemond said, his tone sharper than he meant. Their blades meeting briefly in the same second.

“Yes I suppose. I haven’t seen him in a month, and I know by the lack of responses to my letters of Dorne he and Nyra’s aren’t necessarily pleased.”

Furrowing his brow, he blocks her advance and lunges to the side. She pounced to the opposite. “Why is that?”

“I was propositioned five times. A valiant effort I’ll give them that.” Jaehaera laughed as her mind wandered far. “I almost said yes to one.”

Aemond couldn’t help but grind his teeth.

He knew she loved Dorne. Everyone knew she loved Dorne. She found their customs more comely than the pristine life at court. It was natural for her to fit in there.

That frightened her family to no end.

Locking his jaw, Aemond fueled his anger into his legs. And for a short time he even managed to back her close to the wall. But they never made it there.

It was quickly over after Jaehaera hit the hilt of his sword, making him stagger— she didn’t care if the sword grazed her skin. Her eyes were always on the prize. Soon enough he was on the floor. Both could only hear each others heavy breathing and the thumping in their chests.

Except Aemond’s heart was fueled by adrenaline and worry.

“I cut you—,”

“It’s alright. My move was risky. You did very well.”

“No, I should have—,”

“Aemond,” she looked down at him, tone stern and hand reached out. “You did well. You’re improving.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Aemond nodded with a downcast expression. His hand finding hers.

“Would I lie to you?”

“No.”

“Then don’t look as if I have. It’s a happy day, and I expect you to have a glorious time. I can’t dance with moping feet.”

Sure enough, Aemond perked up. She danced with him for almost half the night. In the beginning of the banquet he had her all to himself. He would have accompanied her during the hunt, but Dameon had to fucking steal her the moment he arrived.

Aemond knew he’d have to be a fool not to count Daemon and Nyra as competitors. Seven hells, he felt jealousy creep up his spine when his own mother and siblings had her attention.

He knew about his mothers past with Jaehaera. It was the plot to most of his bestie stories as a child. The fondness of Alicent’s voice while talking about her seeped into his ears like wax on paper. Sealing a decree like a code of honor. Only as he grew older did he recognize the emotion he knew all too well within his mothers eyes. And his brother and sister were no better.

So he’d use the similarity in interests to his advantage.

If Jaehaera was on training grounds, so was he.

If she was in the library it was because he had ordered new books, told her of them, and awaited for her there. Where they would talk of philosophy, fantasy, politics, and morality. Often whilst sitting in close proximity— enough to be considered in each others laps (head, feet, hips, all were touched when in reach).

He’d ride beside as they flew through the sky. Their dragons kindred. Sometimes they’d race, sometimes Aemond watched as she do tricks— practically hanging from her saddle.

And if this weren’t enough…

He’d place his hand strategically wherever was closest to touching another person. If they were in a group, and someone’s shoulder was close enough to brush against Jaehaera’s— Aemond’s hand was there in seconds. No one but family deserved to touch her, and even then he felt limitations.

He’d see Aegon kiss her skin and cling to her “like a child”. The bastard was more cunning then he let on.

Most of the time he had the strength to let it go, but other times he simply walked over and kicked his brother in the shin.

Holding her hand was his predominant way for showing his affection. He wasn’t shameless like Aegon. He saved farther physicality for private. There he was more aggressive. Constantly grabbing what he was allowed, nudging the rules as him and Jaehaera talked by the fire in his or her room— hand creeping and molding into her thigh.

OH— and the level of obsession he has with her back is insane. Sure, before his own scar, he found them mesmerizing, but after the incident they took on an entirely different meaning for Aemond. He knew how it felt. To be marked. For all the world to see.

What people didn’t know was that her scars didn’t stop at the end of her spine. They went till the middle of her thighs, circling around them like snakes. And a few even made their way around her rib cage, just below her breasts.

Only few had seen them (cough cough– Daemon and Rhaenyra, and a few others you’ll meet), and he’d only got the chance because she needed help replacing her bandages one day after coming back from battle.

She’d never let the maesters treat them. She thought them imbeciles. And if she were to be open— as she was with anyone she allowed to see; they always asked the same question: “How did you get them?”

It was a sensitive topic for her. And the story only made Aemond feel even more encompassed by his love for her. (That’ll be a story for later.)

Let’s just say, he rubbed that in his brothers face— tastefully. No details of her tale, but enough to get back at Aegon for his vulgar comments.

Aemond always kept his eyepatch off when they were alone with each other. Simply because Jaehaera had picked out the very gem laying in his socket, and she said “You look beautiful.”

Let that sink in.

Jacaerys and Lucerys felt the same in this regard…

Both agreed that no one (lord, lady, or ruler) would be worthy of Jaehaera. It was simple as that. A shared idea amongst the whole family. She was the one thing that could unite the feuding sides.

However— unlike their cousins— they viewed Jaehaera like another mother. So while Aegon and Aemond had their own selfish ideals— along with their mother and Daemon— the boys just wanted Jaehaera to be happy.

Yes, they were Rhaenyra’s boys. But they were also her boys.

And from what they could see, and the way in which she spoke to them, she already was happy. Traveling was her passion, and they never wished to see that disappear. She was their idol, who they looked up too (other than Rhaenyra).

She taught Jace everything and anything to do with swordsmanship and whatever else he needed or wanted. The same with Luke. She treated them equally, distributing affection evenly through words of praise, tight hugs and loving pats atop their heads.

Luke never felt left out for his lack of experience in sword craft, nor was he shamed for not wanting his position. She praised him for his kindness and compassion, while others mocked it for weakness. Jaehaera urged his love of music and poetry, and often snuck him out of the palace (as well as Jace if he wished to come) to travel to foreign lands. It didn’t matter if he’d have to go to schooling with only an hour of rest. He’d do it every night if he could.

Jaehaera never once made Jace feel pressured in his title, being heir to the throne— when so many questioned his legitimacy. She would simply say, “if they call you illegitimate than I am a fraud.” For if he could defend her name with valiance and ferocity , then why could he not do the same for himself. She never denied that he was of Strong, but she never let him say that he was not Laenor’s son. Her dear friend doted more dutifully to those boys than most fathers in general. He was, in every sense she believed important, their father.

So… both were more supportive than the rest in the notion of her getting married. Secretly, they may hope she’d marry someone close to them so they could see her more (a little bias towards some suitors). But as long as Jaehaera is happy, they are too.

(We’ll talk about Laenor later, just know he’d support whatever she’d want caused they’re each others emotional support people. Besties for life.)

Viserys hated the thought as well…

and was ever so delighted upon hearing her destain for the idea as well. Hypocritical of him, he’d admit. Pushing for one daughter to marry while pending the other for as long as able; it was chaos he had a hand in. But in his heart and mind he knew it must be that way. But his word always guaranteed the very known truth…

Jaehaera was not to be touched, unless she wished it so.

***

(Definitely gonna do the girls later, but I think it’s kinda obvious that they’re somewhat the same as the boys.)

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