#but im not made to sleep on the floor every single day.

[cryptic-science]

okay so the hell zone has been cleaned using the carpet cleaner. it took me from 4:53 to roughly 6:29 to do this one area.

im giving it some time to dry now, and then im gonna vacuum it once more.

pretty much all thats left before i can have a bed again is to clean the bedframe area, clean and put some stuff in the hellzone, and then move some shit around so i have room to move my box spring and mattress.

my bed may be shitty (my mattress has a spring that will literally stab me, the wood of my boxspring is all chewed up, they are both old and crusty as hell, there are holes in the bottom of my mattress, and thats only the half of it really), but im so tired of sleeping on the floor.

[starpunkssgalaxy]

another sbg headcanons post 🤝

- ash will randomly get the shakes after everything that happened in the phantom dimension, if you look through her phone camera roll a lot of the pictures are blurry because she cant stop her hands from shaking

- ^ aiden lends her his rubix cube (other fidget toys) to try and help her calm down and give her something else to focus on

- taylor lovesss rollercoasters and will always drag tyler along, tyler isn’t terrified but they’re definitely not his favorite

- logan has a pair of converse that he needs to retire so bad, these shoes are hanging on by a thread its so bad 😭

- aiden can fall asleep anywhere, like tf are you doing in the sink??? (if he didnt have insomnia. we all seen those eyebags he dont sleep lol)

- ben is really quiet when he walks so sometimes he’ll just appear behind you and scare the shit out of you

- when the group needs bait/a distraction everyone always turns to tyler and taylor. they use the “get help” strategy, its usually tyler leaning on taylor like hes hurt and taylor screaming for help (guys say yk what im talking about 😔, thor and loki?)

- aiden trying to lighten the mood after being in the phantom dimension: so.. smash or pass?

everyone else: 😐

- aiden the type to tell the exact same story 15 times to the group forgetting hes already told them the story but they listen every single time too

- logan knows how to breakdance??? he just busted it out randomly one day and everyone was floored 😭💀

- when ben is mad/annoyed he does that thing cats do where he’ll just slowly slide something off a shelf or table onto the floor

- group went roller skating once and obviously ash was amazing at it, and ben, taylor, and logan were pretty good as well but meanwhile aiden and tyler were just either tripping eachother, holding on to eachother for support or dying laughing when one of them fell and ate shit

- in class they were assigned those fake babies you have to take care of, logan? amazing at it but was so tired afterwards. ben? pretty good but is a heavy sleeper so slept through the baby crying. taylor and tyler made a good team but tyler almost lost his mind when the baby would just non stop cry. ash evil eyed this thing the whole time, would carry it around by the head 😭 also had her headphones on 24/7 because she couldn’t stand the noise. aiden left his in the freezer, and then couldnt find it for days.

- ben is INCREDIBLE at carnival games, even the rigged ones. the people that own the game booths have genuine beef with ben lmaoo

[cheriladycl01]

Kinktober 05/10/2024 Sebastián Vettel - 69

Plot: Sebastian always gets so frustrated racing Mark Webber, but he always has you to come home to and relieve those frustrations.

Warnings: Kinktober SMUT 69ing, oral (both m and f receiving), 18+ Minors DNI

It was just another one of those races. Where team orders didn’t come in and he was left riding behind Mark Webber. He had to share a podium in P2 with Mark and Lewis.

He was angry, as he was fighting for a championship and the way Mark was driving, in his opinion was unsafe and deliberately trying to cause a crash.

And too top the race weekend off, you were even there. You weren’t there to watch his half arsed podium celebration. You weren’t there to congratulate him after the race and you weren’t in his hotel room afterwards.

Admittedly it wasn’t you’re fault, you also had a very demanding job just like your fiancé and that meant you couldn’t be at every single race even though you tried.

So after a lousy night in the hotel where he was moping about, he eventually got on his flight back to Switzerland and made the drive from the airport to your shared home.

“Schatz? Are you home?” He shouted into the warm and cozy place he called home. He didn’t know why he asked if you were home as there were telltale signs you were.

The warm fireplace crackling away, the half drunk glass of red wine on the coffee table, your book left open on the sofa and the blanket in a scrunched up ball as if you’d just gotten out of your blanket cocoon that he always seemed to find you in whenever he came home to you.

“Ahhhhh Seb!” You cry running from another room and towards him. You pull him into a big hug, standing up on your tip-toes to kiss his lips.

“Mmmmm I missed you and your warmth” he said nuzzling into you, refusing to let go.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there this weekend, I know you’re frustrated with the team and how the race concluded, but you still got some good points, you took fastest lap and you’re still leading the championship” you smile kissing along his jaw, and you slowly feel some of the tension release. He had a nasty habit for unconsciously grinding his teeth, but as you kissed across his jaw you felt that relax.

“Mmmm im still kind of frustrated though Meine Taube” he admits, his thumbs rubbing circles on your clothes hips as he looks down at you with that look in his eyes that you know all to well.

“Not tonight, you look tired. Let’s head to bed, hmmmm? And tomorrow I’m all yours” you try convince him it’s better for him to sleep all the tension off tonight and you guys once refreshed and awake tomorrow can have fun.

“I haven’t seen you in a week and you’re denying me?” He asks with a smirk and a raised eyebrow, an almost glimmer of a challenge in his eyes.

“Because you must be tired from the race and the flight” you say softly.

“I’m never tired for you. All I want right now is for you to sit in my face” he says nipping at your earlobe before looking over your flushed cheeks.

“Wanna taste you” he says as he starts to nip away at your jaw as his wondering hands starts to unbutton the jeans you’re wearing. Once the button and zip are undone his hand dips down to rub your clit through your underwear, where he can already feel a wet sport forming.

God he was hoping they were light grey or light pink. Something that showed the wet spot as that always made him that little bit harder. He loved to see how he made you feel, as it was all him.

“Argh Seb, please” you beg looking up at him with those big eyes of yours that could have him melt on the coldest day of the year.

He moves you both to the floor in-front of the fireplace, as he pulls your jeans off slowly kissing down your legs as he unveils more and more skin and then finally your jumper. You shiver at the cold a little, before the cracking fire can be felt on your back.

Seb starts to strip off himself before he lays down on the fluffy fur rug that of course he’d strategically placed in-front of the fireplace for moments just like these ones.

“You know where to go” he says and before you know it you’re climbing on top of him, facing away. You hover over his face, one hand holding you up on the rug for support while the other starts to rub up and down on his hardened length.

As much as Seb loved it, you hated putting your full body weight on his face when he asked you to sit in it. So you’d always hover and wait until he pulled you into a position he was comfortable at. His hand came up to your hips and in seconds you were pulled down so you were flush against him. At first his nose was pushing against your clit until he moved forward so it was more his chin that was putting pressure that.

Soft moans left your mouth as his tongue started to dip in and out licking wet strips up and down and doing exactly what he knew you liked.

One you were comfortable enough to relax your weight onto Seb some more your own mouth came down around his top sucking lightly on the head before licking up the underside where the strong and prominent vein was. You licked over the slit a few times, little delicate touches here and there before your mouth started to fully get you work.

With Sebastian it always felt like an exercise because of his sheer girth. Your mouth struggled to fully let him in without some teeth scrapping against him, but it’s something with you that he’d come to love as you were so careful and for the most time it was all your mouth and tongue doing the work but when you moaned or lost concentration he’d feel that slight little scrape that had his hips thrusting up and forcing his dick further into your mouth.

You were accustomed to this kind of love with Seb, he would normally be too tired for full on sex when he came back from a race weekend after a long flight especially if it was in Asia or America and the time difference was as messing with him. So you mouth and throat had slowly started to learn what worked best for both his pleasure and to make you still be able to breath and not have that gag reflex.

His tongue was darting in and out of you, his hands still holding your hips, but you’d slowly started to rock against his face to get some more friction and you could practically feel his smirk against you.

“So beautiful, I could eat you up all day everyday. The only meal I want to enjoy” he groan into you a long and loud moan coming from you thanks to the vibrations of his low and raspy voice.

The feeling shot straight up your spine and pooled into your stomach a familiar sensations looming.

“Seb, fuck please” you said as you came up for a breath, your hand accounting for the sensations he’s lost from your mouth as your fist him speeding up your movements. Once you’ve got enough of a break your mouth starts again, your hands focusing on keeping pressure on the base squeezing firmly once in a while making his hips thrust up and throaty moans come from him.

The tension is building for both of you. His hips getting more frantic and the fact that your thighs have tightened around his head and your body basically laying on top of him, your boobs pressed up against his stomach.

“Oh Leibling” he moans into you and your vision is clouded, as that tight coil in your stomach unravels and your releasing, Seb doesn’t waist a chance to lap it all up, the pressure causing your legs to shake.

Your teeth accidentally scrape the underside of his dick, causing his to release into your mouth, his release hitting the back of your throat so suddenly you nearly choke.

Your mouth comes up, a string of saliva mixed with cum connecting the two of you as you swallow what was left in your mouth, the salty taste sitting with you.

You climb off of him, turning round to see the bottom half of his face covered in a sheen that was most definitely from you.

“How about a shower, and then bed?” He asks with a blissed out and relaxed look on his face. And you can’t help but feel a sense of overwhelming love that you have from this man, and can’t help but be grateful that you are his sense of safety and relaxation.

“Mmmmm I think I’d like that” you smile and nod.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[sunflowersteves]

you’re an addiction || m.o.

pairing || miguel o'hara x fem!afab!reader

summary || Everyone always thought Miguel was quiet and calculating, but you know him so much more differently.

author's notes || im so slutty for this man it's insane and I needed him to be soft

warnings || fluff, kinda emotionally constipated miguel, SMUT, praise kink, soft!dom, cockwarming, vaginal sex, unprotected sex [18+ only]

masterlist

“Baby,” Miguel’s eyes flickered from the screen of the computer to the wooded desk. He was trying real hard to concentrate—eyebrows furrowed and large frame standing tall.

“You need to sit still.” He said it so soft. He meant it to sound a bit more demanding, but how could he? You were sitting so good for him. 

Miguel wasn’t known for being a talker. Not really.

At the HQ, he barely uttered a word unless it was necessary. He had grown to like the quiet, empty space of silence. It seemed calming to him. It harnessed a full collection of him and his thoughts as they unraveled.

Until you. 

You were the one exception to the rule of silent Miguel. You were the light that speckled onto his stubborn, grieving heart. You were the cause and reason for every single curl of his lips as he watched you perform a mundane task.

He just couldn’t help himself around you. You dug up underneath his heart and made him want to spill every detail of his thoughts to you. He could never say no to you, either. It felt impossible to him when you bash your eyelashes prettily, and his heart palpitates against his chest. He is absolutely done for the minute you whisper his name softly in his ear.

Like, now. Miguel was supposed to be working on important briefing materials for a new mission. He was gathering evidence and needed to present it to the team in a couple of days.

You padded across the living room floors and sauntered your way into Miguel’s study. It was late. Impossibly late. You had woken up to an empty bed. Your hand had patted the mattress to find your husband, but he was nowhere to be found. You could never sleep without him, and if he was being honest, neither could he. 

“Miggy?” You called out. Your eyes flitted over Miguel, his broad frame hunching over the hologram computer. A pout had sprouted onto your lips because you figured he was nowhere near done.

“Hmm?” He says. His head didn’t even move from the work in front of him.

He could hear you make your way over to him, though. His lips couldn’t help but curl into a smile. 

Sometimes, he cherished nights like these. You would wake up in the middle of the night to find Miguel sitting in his study. You would wrap your arms around him, koala-like, and fall asleep on his lap. He would always smile as your mind dreamed of him—he knew from the small whispers of his name as sleep took over in full. 

“Can’t sleep without you.” You murmur.

He finally tears his eyes away to look at you. His heart thumped hard against his chest for what felt like the millionth time. Your pajamas hung loose onto your form as you rubbed one of your exhausted eyes.

He scooted the office chair back and tapped his thigh. “C’mere. I’ll be done soon, baby.”

You walked into his presence but didn’t sit just yet. “Promise?”

He breaks into a smile. “Promise.”

You climbed on top of his large thighs. You were straddling his waist and immediately enveloping him in a hug. Your cheeks were pressed up against his chest. If only you could see his smile now—practically beaming.

He scoots the chair back. He breathes in deeply to appreciate the feeling of your warmth radiating off onto him. You close your eyes, and he continues to do his work. His fingers pressed up against the holographic keyboard. He moved other components of the mission to the other—his eyes darting in concentration. 

You yawned against his chest and subconsciously pressed your cheek further into him. You thought about him.

You thought about the way his smile lights up when you walk into the room. You thought about the day he made pozole when you were sick. You thought about the way his body completely wrapped around yours with his broad frame. You thought about the way he held you in bed during the pretty, bright sunrise. You thought about how his hands groped the soft flesh of your thighs. You thought about the times he has left you dizzy from the kisses and bites to your neck. You thought about the way his cock left a burn from—

Now you got squirmy. So much so that, that was how he gave the initial scolding to keep you still. Even though it was soft, you knew when you needed to quit. Although, you couldn’t help it. Not when your mind eventually wandered off to the way his cock pounded into you this morning.

“I’m sorry, Miggy,” you lightly pouted. Your eyes were closed, and you were concentrating on Miguel’s heartbeat. You needed a distraction from thinking about how his cock always filled you up so fucking well.

His eyebrow lifted as he saw the split-second of mischief in your eyes before you closed them, but he still gave you the benefit of the doubt. “Oh, my sweet, sweet girl. Don’t be sorry.” Your fingers tightened around his shoulder. “I just need you to stay still, okay?”

You nodded, but you could feel the wetness leak onto your panties. With how thin your shorts were, your slick would eventually leak onto his thigh. You squeezed your eyes even tighter, but your attempt in keeping calm had already failed. 

You bit your lip as you watched the way his arms flexed from having to move around the hologram. Your pussy was fucking throbbing at this point, thinking about MiguelMiguelMiguel—

Then, he abruptly stopped. Your head lifted up from his chest in confusion, but he never said a word. He just raised you with one hand, and the other pulled down his sweatpants.

His cock sprang free, and he could’ve sworn he saw your eyes become slightly larger. The way his cock practically pulsated in his grip, always left you speechless. There was pre-cum that spilled against his tip, and you could see the vein that ran across the side of his shaft. It made your mouth water to no fucking end.

He gently sat you back down onto his lap. Your hands immediately went to caress the girth of his cock, but he snatches your hands in his.

He clicks his tongue. “You wanna be a good girl?”

Your mouth falls open, but you nod. “I do.” He looks unconvinced. So, you whine. “Please.”

There it is. He can’t help but smirk. “Since you can’t sit still, I’ll give you my cock.” His eyes locked with yours, and you looked almost excited. “But no moving, okay? Gotta be good for me.”

You’d take him in any which way and in any form. You wanted to smile in delight, but you knew the raise of his eyebrow would be an indication not to challenge him. Instead, you enthusiastically nod.

Satisfied, Miguel maneuvers your pajama shorts and underwear to the side with one of his talons—the fabric ripping slightly from the pure sharpness. 

His mouth drops open at the way your pussy glistens for him. “Oh, poor baby.” His finger teases your opening, causing you to gasp. “You just needed my cock, didn’t you?”

You wanted to cry out. You nodded, the desperation to feel him inside of you was becoming unbearable. “I need you, Miguel.” Your heart beat so loud across your chest that it was even hard to hear yourself. Everything felt hot and heavy—the air feeling thick.

Ever so slowly, he starts to let you sink down into his cock. You both moan from the euphoric sensations of being one with one another. “Fuckin’ tight.” He whispers, closing his eyes. "Eres mia."

He can feel the way you restrict around him, and he has to stop himself from thrusting up into you. All he needs is five more minutes, and then he would be completely done with work. He could be all yours for the rest of the night.

You whimper, “f-fill me up so good, miggy.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah? Am fuckin’ made for you, querida.”

He lets out a groan as your walls clenched around him from the statement alone. You could feel your juices start to leak down onto his balls. Soon, it would be his thighs.

He stares at the hologram once more, attempting to continue his work. Your head leans back against his chest once again. This time, though, you were filled to the brim. His cock stretched you just enough to let you see stars.

He was big. The fat tip of his cock was hitting your cervix as you barely bottomed out. The thought was starting to make you accidentally roll your hips.

Miguel bites his tongue as a moan threatens to escape. He tries to keep his composure because he knows that if he gives you one look, he's done for. He’ll give you exactly what you want because Miguel O’Hara can’t say no to you. You have him wrapped around your pretty finger.

“Bein’ so good, baby. Just a little longer.” If you weren’t already cock drunk and fantasying about how his cock makes you feel, you would have noticed the slur in his words.

His voice was deep and relaxed—the gruffness scratched against his throat. His words seemed fluid and almost combined into one. All he could think about was how wet you were—some of the slick was starting to drop onto your conjoined thighs. He could feel just how desperate you were, and your soft whimpers weren't helping. It was starting to make his head feel fuzzy. 

You nodded against him, but you weren’t listening. “Yes, Miguel.” It was just a habit for you. You wanted to be his good girl, and you are. You really, really are.

Your body jolts as his hand smacks the desk in front of him. It turns off the hologram, and you’re left with your mouth opening in shock.

“Fuck this.” He yells impatiently. “I can fucking feel how wet you are, querida. It’s driving me—driving me fucking insane.” His eyes lowered to see the expression on your face. It almost made him whimper.

Your gaze was fucked. You looked completely fucked out from the haze in your eyes and the way your lip wobbled. You looked like an absolute mess, and it was tearing Miguel up.

He could feel the wanton need to bury his cock even further inside of you—which wasn’t even possible at this point. An aching need to take care of you took over his thoughts and pushed against his chest. He needed you.

“Miguel.” You whimpered. It was as if that was the only thing your brain could come up with—him. You needed him just as much as he needed you.

He coos, “I’ve got you, baby. Fuck work. Those pieces of shit can wait.” His hands move to your waist and squeeze. “You’ve been such a good girl, baby. S-so fucking good for me.”

You yell out his name when he thrusts up into you. You could feel the way his cock pierced through every single part of you. “Miguel—f-fuck—”

His hands tightened around your waist before helping you grind against him. You could barely move, not with your mind reeling from the pleasures that send tingles down your spine.

"So fuckin' good for me, baby. You did so well." Miguel grits his teeth at the way his cock twitched inside of you, in and out of your wet pussy. "Jus' can't get enough of this pussy." 

You whined and whimpered—just as he continued to have you grind and thrust against him. “Please, Miguel. Please—” You were already so close. The tortuous waiting game that he played as his cock stretched you thin was starting to take its toll.

He could feel the way your walls spasmed against him—the way you tightened even more. He moaned against you. “Y-you can let go, pretty girl. You’ve been so fuckin good—”

One of his hands leaves your waist. His thumb pressed up against your swollen clit and swirled around your sticky wetness—the substance had pooled around the two of you so much that it made such a mess.

“F-fuck. Let go, baby. Give it to me. Fuckin’ give it to me.”

You scream out his name as his cock pounds into you again and again. Your cunt impossibly tightens around him, and your orgasm comes quickly as gush all over his aching cock.

The sweet sounds you made had sent him over the edge. He lets everything go right behind you and spills his thick, hot cum deep inside. “F-fuck, querida—fuck.” He wants to say your name over and over until it’s the only thing that can form on his tongue.

You collapsed against him with deep, tired breaths. Your eyelids wanted to slip closed and let the soft pillows of sleep take you whole.

Miguel smiles down at you and presses a kiss to your hair line then another to your cheek.

“Looks like it’s time for bed, hmm?” His finger swipes gently against your cheek. “Let’s get you all cleaned up first.”

You sighed against him, completely and utterly content. A wide smile was on your face. “Okay, Miggy.”

[sketchy-owl]

~Dorks in wonderland ~

Episode 5 various dorks x reader

Y/N: *surrounded by chaos*

Ace:Y/N PLEASE HELP ME!! WE NEED TO HIDE RIDDLE IS ANGRY AGAIN!

Deuce: We!? You were the one who made him angry!

Grim: I want tunaaaaa!

Y/N:.....💢.....

Floyd:*kicks the door open* Shrimpyyyy!!

*the door falls on the floor*

Azul:Floyd you shouldn't kick the door. The dorm is already old, it could break with your strength.

Floyd:Sorryyy~

Y/N: *stares at the door*....💢💢....

Ruggie:Yo! Prefect! Is Leona here? I can smell him!!! He must be sleeping in your bedroom again!! Oh!

Y/N:....💢💢💢....

Crowley:*appears from nowhere *Oh dear prefect! I'm glad you're here!! I was looking for you! You see there's this event to organize aaand...

Y/N:*grabs Crowley from his collar*...give...me...a....break*whispers*

Crowley:???😀 *confused *I beg your pardon?

Y/N:💢💢💢💢I said ....GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK ALL OF YOU!!💢💢

All of them:*silence*

Y/N:...everyday....since I've been here....YOU DID NOTHING BUT ASK ME ASK ME AND ASK ME TO DO EVERYTHING. I'm not A FUCKING ROBOT IM STRESSED AS FUCK HERE. BUT NOOOO YOU STILL WHINY LIKE FUCKING BABIES.

Ace:Oh god they sound like Riddle

Deuce:Shhhh...

Y/N*looks at Ace and Deuce* YOU TWO DO NOTHING BUT ANGER YOUR DORM LEADER HOW CAN YOU BE SO DUMB!?

Grim:Human calm down.

Y/N:YOU DO NOTHING TO HELP ME BUT DEMANDING TUNA EVERY FUCKING DAY.

Grim;Hiiiiiii*hides behind Ace*

Floyd:hehehe Shrimpy is angry how cute.

Azul:How unprofessional from them.

Y/N:unprofessional you say? YOU BETTER PAY FOR THAT DOOR OR I WILL TURN YOU INTO SUSHI.

Ruggie: *laughs a little*

Y/N:Oh you find this funny Ruggie? Is it funny that you can't keep an eye on your dorm leader and I HAVE TO KICK HIS ROYAL BUTT OUT OF MY BED EVERY SINGLE TIME!?

Crowley:*Tries to go away without being noticed*

Y/N*grabs his shoulder* Don't you even think to run away....

Crowley:But I have my headmaster's duties to fulfill??

Y/N:Dont make me laugh....You are the worst of them all....you give me most of your duties...I HAD TO FIGHT 6 FUCKING OVERBLOTTED STUDENTS WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU!??

Leona:Oi herbivore don't you known how to low your voice? I'm sleeping here. *yawns*

Y/N:.....

Everybody:*start shaking *

Ruggie:*scared for Leona*umh Leona...

Leona:Your bed is already uncomfortable so I would appreciate it if you keep it d-*can't finish the phrase due to a slipper on his face*

Y/N:*the one who throw the slipper with all their forces * THEN SLEEP IN YOUR FUCKING DORM YOU SPOILED LAZY ASS!

Leona:*fainted on the floor*

Y/N:anybody else wants to complain?

Everyone;* shrug their head* Nothing at all Sir/Ma'am.

Y/N:Good....now Y/N L/N,prefect of Ramshackle dorm will take a fucking nap. Deal with your problems on your own I'm on a break today.

[toonztown]

Mafia husband! x (GN) reader Part 2

It has been about 3 days since you've moved into the mansion, your 'fiancé' is constantly busy with work so to your delight you hardly see him. You still couldn't believe it just a few days ago you were a normal high schooler, average grades but now your staying in a house you couldn't afford in your lifetime to be married off to a member of the mafia.

You sat up in bed, you spend most of your days in your room, sleeping the day a away, hoping that this is all just a bad dream; only to find yourself disappointed every time you wake up.

just before you were about to go back to sleep, there was a soft knock at the door. "excuse me mr capone has requested you come down for breakfast at once." the voice on the other side said. you made an audible groan and you make your way out of bed, the last thing you wanted was food much less breakfast with Mr. capone. You knew denying would be a- foolish decision, he could kill you in a heart beat. You open the closet and are stunned by the amount of expensive clothing, not a single one of them looked worn, could it be? he bought them for you? You felt your heart warm ever so slightly at the thought, you shook your head. You pick out something that you liked and changed into it, not bothering to fix your hair, maybe if he finds you unappealing to the eyes he'll let you go? its a small chance but it gave you hope. now here you were, seated at a large table full of various foods you've never tried before and across from you was the man who brought you to this hell, Mr capone. Maybe this is a good time to question him when the time was right? you picked up your glass of wine, you didn't take a sip just stare at it then back at him. You gather the courage to finally ask him "so why me." you asked, your cold gaze fixed on him. your question seemed to catch him off guard for a moment, he tilted his head in confusion with a sly grin. "i have no idea what you mean dearest." he replied, downing a glass of wine, his voice had a hint of playfulness, he was totally taunting you.

now he was playing dumb? who does he think he is. You clench your fist into a ball before slamming it down on the table "dont act dumb! why did you chose me! why did you bring me here instead of just killing me! why do you want to marry me?!" through all your questioning and ranting he just stared at you silently, tapping his fingers on the table. He was going annoyed, maybe going on a rampage was not a good idea. once your anger died down you were filled with deep regret- ohh why did you do something so stupid, you sat back down. You grabbed the bottle of wine and drank it, if your going to die, might as well die intoxicated. Mr capone got up from his seat across the table and made his way over to you.

your cheek was met with a harsh slap that would have your face stinging for a while, he grabbed you by the hair and yanked your head back forcing your eyes to meet. Oh he was pissed.

"let us get one thing straight you little bitch. Firstly i didn't 'chose you' your father just didn't have the ability to have more attractive offspring, second if i wanted to kill you i would have."

his grip on your hair tightened. He then slammed your head onto the table, you could feel blood drip down your nose from the impact, you struggle to get away but this only made him do it again but harder.

" Finally, marriage is the ultimate way to have claim over you. this isn't some dumb little fairy tale where i 'fall in love with the innocent damsel.' your my slave, im the master. If you EVER, have that attitude with me again, i will send you home to your old man in a fucking body bag you worthless whore."

His words and the buzzing pain in your head made it hard to do anything but nod, he threw you to the floor and gave you a beating that you would never forget. you dont remember what happened next or how you got to bed. When you woke up, you found that your wounds were treated and a bouquet of expensive looking flowers on your bed accompanied by a note. you did not have to open it to know who it was from, i guess this was Mr capone's twisted way of apologizing after injuring you to the point of you having to passing out.

inside the note was the basic im sorry, please forgive me, i do it cause i love you and how he promises to never lay a hand on your ever again, you scoff at the thought, that was a obvious lie, did he think you were that stupid?

you crumpled the note and toss it across the room not caring where it landed, your head still hurt from how hard he grabbed your hair. If he was willing to beat you that badly for just questioning him, you fear what he will do if you try to escape. you lay back down in bed, silently cursing your dad and his stupid gambling addiction, if it wasn't for him you would be in school right now, even the worst of your bullies were better than being stuck with him. you turned and faced the wall, holding your now bruise ridden body. Pulling the covers over your eyes you drift off to sleep, dreaming of being back home with your parents, even your dad. ignoring the fact that you were to be wed, in just 5 days.

[doberbutts]

hello jaz, i'd like your opinion on something. i'm seeing a lot of dog trainers online go on about the benefits of crating in regards to making sure dogs are getting enough sleep and to always crate them when asleep. the numbers i see thrown around are 12-14 but more commonly 16-18. i have certainly seen a lot of improvement when i make sure my adolescent is getting enough sleep, but she is not crate trained (its really rare where im from) a lot of the advice on making sure the dog is settling is to isolate the dog, cover the crate in a different room and avoid coming anywhere near it, basically pretend they dont exist. im finding it really hard to justify locking up a social animal for 16-18 hours a day without any interraction. i specifically got a dog after years of having a cat (he was really sweet and loved companionship but it didnt hit the same spot as having a dog), as i like how engaged they are with you and seek interraction, it just feels unfair. am i antropomorphizing? is it not that big of a deal if they're properly enriched and excercised? what are your thoughts on this as a dog trainer and someone who had a dog with medical issues related to excessive crating?

Oh oh oh oh I had a very long conversation with a few good friends who are dog trainers about this one.

Now before I start, I do have to say that I do support crate training and in fact have crate trained the majority of my dogs, with Fenris being the sole exception and even he is, hmm, half crate trained at this point and we're working on the rest.

First of all 18 hours is an astronomical number, personally I think 12 hours is excessive. Life shoved in a small box for literally half the day is sort of miserable. I now work 10 hour shifts with an hour commute and so my dogs *are* left home for 12 hours at a time- however I have made a lot of changes to the way I contain them to prevent this exact scenario. Sushi is loose, the chihuahuas are crated together in something that is roughly the size of a typical x-pen or they're left loose in my bathroom (where it is easier to clean up Tater's incontinence), and Fenris is also sectioned off in my foyer again a space the size of a typical x-pen. Sometimes I leave Sushi in there with him because he seems comforted by her presence and ability to play with him if he's bored, other times she seems kind of done managing his energy on her own so I give her the run of the house to give her a bit of a break.

And, I will say, based on the camera I have looking in at them, the dogs mostly sleep the whole day. The last two days most of the peeks in during a motion alert have revealed someone getting up for a drink of water and then plopping back down on their bed. Or getting a toy or chew to bring back to their bed. Or getting up to stretch and laying back down. So, while I feel bad that I leave them alone for that long, it's also not like they're doing much in my absence.

However to me it is less about the crate and more about the ability to perform natural behaviors. As said, the dogs get up and have a drink of water, stretch, maybe wrestle if they're sectioned off two-by-two, or grab a toy or chew (or blanket to suck in the case of Fenwen), which are all things they could do in a large enough crate. It is also why, once my dogs are house trained, I keep them in crates far bigger than recommended so they can have a bit more space to move around. This is, of course, easier with the chihuahuas who weigh a combined 8lbs than with the 100lb mountain dog. Or they can be loose if they're nondestructive and won't soil my floors.

However I also think that it becomes really difficult when we talk about how dogs are social creatures. Like it or not, by leaving them alone for 8+ hours every day, we are dooming single dog households to a lifetime of solitary confinement. Whether the dogs are in a crate or not, we are leaving a social creature alone for the majority of our waking hours. So I think it is important, if you don't have multiple dogs or rotating work schedules with all the humans in the house, to make sure and fill the gaps as much as possible. I think if you are home your dog should be out of confinement and also hanging out with you. I think you should deliberately try to interact with your dog while you are home, whether that's just petting as you do something else or taking them for a walk or whatever.

I mentioned that Fenris is not fully crate trained despite being nearly a year and a half. This is because he can open just about anything that doesn't require thumbs, including crate doors. And he has broken himself out of 3 separate crates, and broke 2 teeth in the process the last time he broke out. I have been slowly re-introducing the crate ever since, and now he is calm and quiet in a jumbo sized Great Dane crate (read: two sizes up from what is recommended for him) with a bed, a sucky blanket, a toy, a chew, and his EDM music box for about 4ish hours at a time. This is a big win for us because he used to not even tolerate a few minutes despite me following all of the same rules and advice I have followed for all of my other successfully crate trained dogs.

I noticed fairly early on that he is happiest when contained in a larger area with a friend. So my foyer and Sushi became the sacrifice until I either can convince him to tolerate longer than half days or can trust him left loose in my house. He did figure out how to open the gate a few weeks ago and promptly murdered my 32 year old snake plant (and destroyed a tupperware container left on my counter, and shredded my mail also from my counter, and pulled a book off my bookshelf to shred, and chewed on my camera but it does still work at least), so clearly he is not trustworthy as of just yet. I have added a locking mechanism that requires thumbs, he fiddled with it the first day I installed it and has left it alone since.

[trashmouth-richie]

for the hih bonus features can we get eddie x tooty first fight after everything happened 🥹💗

anon🫡🫡 i have been wanting to write something like this for such a long time, i hope you like it. ❤️

masterlist — one year of hih anniversary

you weren’t used to this. 

  the doting, the constant reassurance to see if you were okay. more doting. always a calm voice. Eddie cared—loved you bigger than anyone ever has, and you loved him equally as much.

  but something dragged, crawled against your skin in piercing talons when he treated you as if you were helpless, as if you weren’t capable of doing things on your own. 

  it came out in a snap. a bitchy tone that eddie hadn’t heard since the early days of being your roommate. 

  it startled him. and he froze, not sure if you were serious. so he looked at you with hurt eyes. “what?”

  “i can cut my own fucking steak, eddie.” 

  steve stopped with his lips pressed to his wine glass, scared to move, eyes wide bracing for the car crash that would take place across from the dining room table. 

  eddie sets the knife down, slides your plate back over to you, “just trying to be nice, baby.” 

  with a huff, and a screeching scratch of the chair carving the wood floor under your weight, you throw the cloth napkin onto the porcelain plate, leaving the room in a quick stomp. 

  steve whistles low, “i know those stomps, you’re in the dog house man,” he takes a generous sip of his wine, wiping his face with the back of his hand, “sleep on the pullout in the basement tonight… it’s not too uncomfortable.” 

  eddie rolls his eyes, throwing a dinner roll into steve’s chest, “you’re not helping dickwad.” 

  “easy” steve tries, “better go find out what you did wrong.” 

  “fuck.”

  he finds you fuming, wearing a path in the carpet in your shared room at steve’s, tears welled but not ready to fall. 

  “babe?” eddie asks, shutting the door quietly, unthreading his chain wallet from his jeans setting it on the dresser, “are you… okay?”

  “jesus christ eddie!” you snap, “i’m fine— more than fine!” 

  eddie looks at you blankly, “you don’t look fine.” 

  “oh yeah? of course when it comes to me, you have all the answers, huh?”  

  “the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

  im okay eddie! i don’t need you to constantly ask if im feeling okay, or if im comfortable or if i need anything!” 

  “thats what boyfriends do, babe.” 

  “No— no no no no!” you say pulling at your hair, frustrated beyond recognition, angry tears falling, “you treat me like i’m made of glass, like one step the wrong way and i’ll break! ever since i’ve gotten out of the hospital you’ve treated me like a fucking porcelain doll!” 

  “you almost died, remember that?” eddie says defensively, peering down at you, “i’m never going to forgive myself, or forget what happened, tooty—” his voice breaks but he swallows it down. 

  “we can’t keep living in the past eddie! it happened, it’s over with, i’m not a fucking little kid!” 

  he’s yelling now, voice angry and filled with sad rage, “i won’t forget! every single day— every time i look at you i think of what would have happened if i was there… how i could have stopped him!” he runs a hand through his hair in defeat, bottom lip trembling.

   “Fuck, i’m sorry for coddling you, baby, really i am— but right now.. the only thing— the only fucking thing— that keeps me from breaking down and wondering what a loaded gun tastes like—is taking care of you.”

  he grunts at the weight of you flying into him, holding him tight and sobbing into his chest, he kisses your head, his own cheeks wet, as he whispers, “ i’m just trying to makeup for what I couldn’t do that night, baby. ” 

  you kiss him deep smashing your lips to his, peppering i’m sorry’s all over his skin, pulling him onto the bed with you. 

  he’s silent when he cries, sniffling every once in a while as you comb through his hair, his body on yours. 

  you’ve been rubbing slow circles into his scalp. and his tears turn to small kisses

  “it wasn’t your fault eddie, it never was,” you whisper lifting his head in your hands and looking him in the eyes, “i love you.” 

  his face is red, eyelids swollen, “how? how can you love me after that?” 

  you press your lips to his, speaking the only truth that kept you from screaming into the void from wanting to let the grief swallow you whole,  “because you showed up.” 

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter five: fucking situations, circumstances, miscommunications

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER FOUR: WHO ELSE DECODES YOU?

warnings: language, mentions of sex (no smut), self deprecation, angst (!)

word count: 3.9k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter  @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000 @lana525 @selella

A/N: im so sorry okay? but I promise, the fruits of patience are always sweet (is that right)! hope u enjoy, and don't worry only five more chapters until I stop torturing the pair to pine longingly... also phase one is complete, so I'll be taking a two week break before starting phase two: the falling rollout! stay tuned :)

It turns out you were wrong. You had been speaking to Nat — Wanda was off somewhere with Vision — and you talked her out of the notion that you were falling in love with Bucky. Because of course you aren’t…you can’t afford to. Falling in love made a mess of you, there’s no way it’s going to happen so soon.

When you first set foot in New York, it felt like a fresh start. Sure, you’d imagine if all went well, then a few years down the line you’d find yourself opening up again. Not doing it so soon, and certainly hadn’t imagined in your wildest dreams that it would be reciprocated.

You convince yourself you’ve imagined it. And of course, you did. Because in the night, Bucky had left you and your scheduled movie night last minute, to go out on the town with Steve. He had invited you, but you’d declined. Maybe you’ve weirded him out with admitting you’re more attracted to brunettes — maybe he’s figured it all out and is now trying to avoid you, to let you down gently. 

And when you’re just about to fall asleep after tormenting yourself with all the awkward ways he’s trying to avoid you, because he’s too nice to tell you — that’s when you hear it. Moaning and groaning of a man and woman through the wall, the hard and rough pounding of what can only be a bed frame against a surface, and the man is undoubtedly Bucky. You'd recognise his voice anywhere. Your heart sinks as you immediately walk out of your room, where you can hear everything, heading to the kitchen, unable to handle it. It feels like your insides will be spilled all over your front and the floor. Trying to get the images out of your mind of Bucky and another woman entangled…like that. Clutching at your chest, because your heart just burns and your eyes are full of water and everything’s blurry, shaky hands reaching for a glass of cold water to dissolve the lump in your throat.

Why are you upset? Bucky is a grown man, fully capable of making his own decisions and choosing the women he wants to sleep with. It’s not his fault he doesn’t choose you. So why does it make you so upset, that you’re quietly stifling your sobs in an empty, cold kitchen?

You feel like your heart has been ripped out — once again doomed to be romantically interested in the one who would rather choose an inanimate rock over you. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but still. You don’t know how long you stand there, the only light a warm orange spilling over the black kitchen island, and think every single spark of hope in you away. The look of desire on his face…maybe it was platonic affection. You mistook it for something more, because you’ve never seen that look haunt anyone's features before. Maybe he looks like that at everyone.

And then you hear hurried footsteps, and the unmistakeable, juggernaut-like clack of women’s heels. You straighten, and she appears. Wrapped in a red dress, Bucky’s favourite shade, that accentuates every part of her so flawlessly, and her lipstick hasn’t even budged, despite the mess of her hair and other parts of her makeup. She offers you a soft smile as she passes, but you can’t help yourself. How has her lipstick not even smudged a little?

“Wow, you’re so pretty, oh my God. What lipstick do you use, and how the hell has it still not budged? Girl, I need the brand and name, like, right now.” You usher her over, to inspect her perfect lips more closely. Even the warm light makes her seem a million times more attractive, and you can’t help yourself.

You hold her face in your hands while she rattles off some obscure brand you’ve never heard of, making a mental note to search it up later. “It looks amazing,” you say, meeting her eyes, which are the most warm shade of brown. 

You know you can never hold a candle to the beauty of this woman, even at your very best, but you’d be damned if you didn’t tell her of her radiance.

“Thank you,” she blushes and straightens, pulling away from your hold. Her outfit is so amazing, you can’t even blame Bucky for being so taken with her. You’re right there with him.

“Flirting with my date, are you?” Comes Bucky’s voice from the doorway, and you both turn to look at him. Then you remember yourself, and your situation. She’s just had sex with Bucky, and here you are, complimenting her lipstick.

And in this moment, you dig to your lowest familiar, and compare yourself to her. It’s not a competition, you know better than to fight over a man, but even if there were…you would lose by a landslide. Objectively.

Absentmindedly, you touch your hair while glancing at hers, dark, perfectly curled locks swishing about her shoulders and touching her elbows, even at its messiest. You don’t know if you want to look like her, or to be with her, in this moment.

“No, no. I was just asking her about her lipstick, that’s all.” She hands you her phone, ignoring Bucky, and asks you to enter your number with a wink. You happily comply, and almost miss the way her face falls when she reads over your name, and glances over her shoulder at Bucky. 

Clearly, you’ve missed something. You don’t want to ask. “I’ll call you,” she gestures to you, leaving you with a kiss on the cheek. You blink several times, trying to process the events of the past hour or so.

You’ve never been more confused. How did you end up with Bucky’s date’s number? “You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you doll?” He’s got that signature smirk on his face, but you look away. Something about his messy hair and flushed cheeks seems a sight that isn’t reserved for you, but the lover who just left the compound.

“No, I— I was just complimenting her, I swear. She seems nice, though. Are you gonna see her again?” He joins you at the table, and up close you can see the slight sheen of sweat on his brow, and you hate the way the sight of it stirs something in your lower belly. You want him, so bad. You want to be the reason he emerges from his room flushed and you leave with messy hair like you just rolled out of bed. Alas, it isn’t in the cards for you. Fortune and romance have never been entangled lovers in the story of your life, and you shouldn’t expect anything different in this chapter of it. You take another cold sip, hoping to swallow the bitter realisations you've stumbled across tonight.

“Well, considering I don’t even know her name, and you got her number, I doubt it.” He laughs, hoping you’ll chuckle alongside him. You’re not in the mood to talk about his sex life, and you feel like you’re about to throw up because of it, yet again. Now knowing his type is a dark, sexy feminine energy, you can’t bear it anymore. You are the very antithesis of it all — light, and soft. Maybe he even finds you sweet. But you’re not the one, not the one he wants.

You may be the one he spills his secrets to, but you know you’ll never be the red-dress femme fatale he takes to bed, or into his heart.

“Are we still on for tomorrow?” You ask, sparing him a quick glance then returning to look at your hands that just look too wrong. Palms too wide, fingers too stubby. She had hands like a fucking nail polish model. Everything about you feels wrong and misshapen in this moment. Bucky’s wondering what he did to upset you. He’d overheard you talking to Natasha, explaining clear as day that you’re not attracted to him. He’s simply taken it as his sign to move on, to try and bury his heart that he’s laid in your chest, instead of letting it consume him. That's why he said yes to Steve, why he left you to go out. He didn't want either of you to stew in uncomfortable silence because he doesn't want to admit what he heard and how badly it hurt him. To confess would be to lose you, and so he buries it all deep down. Just like everything else.

But it’s a lot harder than expected, especially when he brings a girl home, for the first time in decades, but all he can think of is you. He’s manoeuvring her hips and imagining them to be yours, kissing her lips and pretending you’re the one gasping against his mouth. He ended up so wrapped in the fantasy, your name had slipped past his lips as he came, even though he tried to hide it in a murmur against her shoulder. But, of course she heard. She’d lectured him for a couple of minutes while throwing her clothes back on, about how he shouldn’t be fucking around if his heart is so set on one woman, that he says her name when lost in the throes of passion with another. Then, she’d spun on her heel and left, and he’d departed to find you. 

To tell you, he can’t do it anymore. Despite your feelings of romantic apathy when it comes to him, he can’t say the same. He is enamoured, infatuated, obsessed with you, and he can’t let you go. He can't bury his feelings when they just keep building up like waves and crashing over the grave of his heart -- he can't keep it to himself. Even if your words seal the vault closed forevermore, he needs to hear them. He was so ready to beg for one date. One chance, one kiss, one taste. Maybe not in the moment, seeing as you wouldn’t appreciate the taste of another woman’s wine on his lips. He wouldn’t either, if that night you’d gone on the date with Steve, he'd let his impulsive thoughts win just moments after you kissed another's mouth. He wonders how you kiss as he touches his own lips in thought -- would you let the other take charge and cover him in sweet pecks, or do you prefer to taste like passion and sin? These were the only thoughts circling his smitten mind as he searched for you longingly. 

And then he found you, illuminated so beautifully in the light of the kitchen island, and it occurs to him, just how there is no competition between you and other women. They could never hold a candle to you, to the radiant sun of your essence and your beauty.

The woman seems surprisingly smitten by you, with your eyes on her lips, and her giving you her number. He doesn't blame her for feeling that electric pull to you. He's right there with her.

He also didn’t miss the look she gave him over her shoulder, after reading your name. She knows, that it’s you. She won’t come back, she knows better than that. But he can’t tell you that that’s the reason he won’t be seeing her again, and you won’t even look at him. 

“Yeah, doll. Of course. I’m not bailing on you again.” He smiles, gently touching your cheek, and you pull away before his skin makes contact.

“Alright, I’ll see you then.” You turn around and walk out, the tears in your eyes dripping down your face and leaving a salty trail all the way to your door.

                                            ————————

In the night, you’d done a lot of thinking. And you’ve decided to let him go, to let him do what he wants. He’s not evil, he’s certainly not wicked. He just doesn’t want you. That’s not something to hold against him, how could it be? He doesn’t owe you romance just because you want it with him. You’ll cherish his friendship, his strictly platonic affection, but you’ll let any thought of a relationship with him go. 

You’ll be all the better for it. 

And so you stand in the communal living room, rechecking your Taylor Swift themed tote bag that you’ve kept everything you need. You had taught Bucky how to bake his favourite brownies the other day, so you packed a few of those in case he gets hungry. Your favourite crisps, drinks for the both of you. Headphones, a charger for your phone, a claw clip to tie up your hair if it gets too hot, car keys, wallet…

It’s sunny outside, so you’ve opted for a long, maxi summer dress in a dark dusty rose colour and covered in gorgeous flowers, golden hoops and necklace like always, and your hair falls over your back loose and natural with a small accent braid weaving through the strands. You’ve also kept the makeup light — blush, kohl and mascara, and a tinted lip balm. You feel oddly good about your appearance, when you’re not in front of anyone else. When there’s nobody else to compare yourself to, you allow yourself to feel pretty. You throw on a thin white cardigan, grab your tote bag and head over to Bucky’s room to collect him.

You two are going out today. And you plan on buying him a surplus of items, all because of the massively fat pay check you get given courtesy of Tony. You’ll also be taking the subway, something Bucky’s a bit afraid of, but—

You almost crash into Steve when you turn the corner, in your mind being preoccupied with making an itinerary of where you’re going. He catches you, grabbing you around the arms. The both of you are a little on edge, given the failed outing of a few nights ago, but you had let him down gently. You did tell him you want to stay friends, even as he looked embarrassed and laughed about it. You didn’t tell him about your crush on Bucky, having decided to keep it under strict lock and key after being consumed by the feeling of wanting to kiss Bucky instead. You knew, in that moment, that nothing would've made him feel worse. You meet Steve’s pale blue eyes, offering him an apologetic smile.

“Oh my God, Steve. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there. Did I hurt you?” He shakes his head, chuckling at your panic.

“No, no. I’m completely fine. Don’t worry, dear. You look good.” He compliments you fondly, eyeing you up and down once. You smile, forgetting the initial panic that surged through your system.

You take the compliment at face value. “Thank you, Steve. That’s really nice of you.”

“Where are you going today?” He asks in polite conversation. You’ve already talked about this, about where you’re off to. Maybe he forgot.

“Oh, Bucky and I are going downtown today! I was planning on getting him some new clothes, you know, his current closet seems a little out of date. We’ll probably be back by 7 at the latest, but it depends on how picky he is, you know him. Oh, and before I forget, Denise is in charge while I’m away. Mr Fury and Mr Stark haven’t told us that there’s any major missions today, so it’s mainly the barebones team, so if anything happens today, you report to her. I’d much prefer to enjoy my first day out in months, but in case of absolute emergencies, of course you can contact me, alright? You’re the most responsible one of the bunch, so I’m trusting you to spread the message for me.” You gently squeeze his arm in reassurance. 

“Yeah, will do. You have fun today, okay? I’ll try my best to make sure nobody gets in a housefire or something. You’re one of the hardest working people I know, dear. You deserve this. And trust me, if you’re the one picking out the outfits, you could put him in a hot pink suit bejewelled to high heaven and he’d wear it happily.” 

You mouth drops. “You know what, that’s an amazing idea, thank you.” He laughs at that, and you smile. You’ve always been treated by past-partners like you’re the most unfunny person on the planet, like your jokes are tolerated and not laughed at. So it always surprises you when people find you funny. You welcome it, but it feels strange nonetheless.

And then Bucky appears, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into him. “Ah, the prodigal super soldier emerges,” you say, hand wrapping around his back almost stiffly as you try to calm your aching heart at the sight.

You know this will haunt you, when you’re feeling down on yourself. You’ll clutch at your chest once again, feeling stupid at the fact you ever thought this Adonis of a man would ever look at you twice. Why would he?

But for now, his friendship is enough. It has to be.

“Uh huh. Should we go, doll?” He tilts his head extremely close to yours, and it takes every conscious muscle in your body to stop yourself from closing your eyes. No need to embarrass yourself.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” You turn to the other supersoldier in the room, currently being the one left out. “Bye Steve. Please tell everyone what I told you.” He nods.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” You smile and let Bucky lead you away, waving a quick goodbye over your shoulder.

“I wanted to ask, was last night awkward?” You try to ignore the comment as you both walk down the street, heading to his favourite bistro for breakfast. The sun is shining, the streets smell like something that isn’t piss, and you’re spending the day with your favourite person.

“Hm, no not really.” He stops the both of you at a busy intersection, pulling you into an alley, and pushing you against the wall. His arm is still secure around your waist so your back doesn’t crash too hard against the eroding brick and mortar, but unfortunately that means your hands end up on his…firm chest, and your thumbs can’t help but soothingly stroke from side to side. You can’t meet his eyes.

“Then why are you avoiding eye contact? Is there something I did wrong? Are you upset with me? Look at me, doll. Please.” His tone is pleading, borderline pathetic, but neither of you care. Your eyes meet his, and you try your best to not get lost in his eyes like sinking ships, so inviting that it takes everything in you to not jump.

To not kiss him. You crave to know what his lips taste like, but you shouldn’t. You keep trying to bury these intense feelings, and yet they keep building up like waves and crash over your grave, resurrecting you. And it feels amazing to be alive.

“I’m just…awkward about these kinda things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Sex. I mean, I heard you through the wall with Camille. And then, ten minutes later you were speaking to me like you weren’t just doing…all of that. It’s strange. I—“

“Do you think it’s bad? That I’m having sex?”

“I…what? No. No, no, Bucky, I’m not shaming you for having sex, God knows I should be the last one judging you for that…it’s just…I’m not used to that. People I’m close to... we all talk about it a while after...you know. I’m just not used to hearing you have sex and then seeing your face, like, ten minutes after. That’s all.” You smile then, touching his cheek as a way to assure him you’re telling the truth. Half of it, at least.

He leans into it so sweetly. “Okay. If that’s all, then… We should get going.” You nod, despite every bone in your body protesting moving away from this intimate moment. He feels the same, because every fear he’s ever had disappears at the warmth of your hand on his face. His eyes travel to your lips and you fix yourself, smoothing down your dress.

“You look absolutely beautiful in your outfit, by the way.” He silently adores you as you double check nothing’s been stolen from your bag, although you doubt someone is going to sneak between you two what with your hyper vigilance and Bucky’s enhanced senses.

You laugh. “You always think I look beautiful no matter what I wear. Even if I wore your sweatpants, you’d still say the same.” Smoke covers the both of you in a misty haze, but he swears he’s never seen you any clearer.

“Because you still look beautiful to me. You always do. Just accept the compliment, will you? You know you don’t have to work hard to deserve compliments, don’t you? They should be freely given.” He strokes your hair, admiring the tiny braid in between his fingers.

“I’m learning to.” You both smile at each other, and you let yourself feel the sweet swell of your heart, for once. Maybe that’s what will work. You just need to feel it all, and get it all out of your system. That’s how you end your crush on Bucky — feel until your reservoirs are empty, until you look over him one day and see nothing more than a good friend, a best friend even. It might takes years, it might even be next week. But this is your plan. 

“Now, should we go?” You extend your hand in a silent offering, to reconnect the bridge that you had temporarily abandoned in your moonlit insanity. He takes it, placing his metal hand firmly in your grasp and interlocking fingers. You notice how he’s wearing long sleeves and gloves, even in this peculiar hot day in November.  He must be boiling in that leather jacket.

For now, you lean into him, into his warmth even though you can feel yourself start to sweat, and you both walk hand in hand. To any outsider looking in, you two paint the picture of the perfect couple. You admire the red and orange leaves against a sky the colour of the eyes that are trained on you — memorising the curve of your nose and the pillow of your lips. In the bistro, you two sit comfortably close together, laughing silently over everything and nothing — like you’ve been dating for years.

The rest of the day goes by smoothly, the both of you laughing like everything’s funny. Like teenagers on the first date — giddy and carefree. Your phone doesn’t buzz once, and you love the feeling of Bucky’s hands on you. He always loves to touch you, whether it’s tracing your palms or leaning his chin on your shoulder in the subway because you’re on his lap in the only spare seat available. You love it too, never knowing someone would be so eager, so desperate to touch you and feel you so innocently.

You’ve always felt shunned — like you’re only worth touching for a partner’s sexual satisfaction, and other times you were made to be ignored and tolerated. But if even a friend can cherish you in this special, sacred way, you can’t help but imagine what a true, enamoured lover would do.

Both of you want it, can feel that your feelings could be something worth a forever and a half — but of course, misunderstandings have to get in the way.

They always do.

NEXT PART

[tiredcreatur3]

am asking scraps for omegaverse toji

alpha!toji and his little omega!reader

im more than happy to deliver that love.

he’ll be so so responsible when it comes to your heats and all, never letting you just tremble and whine because of how much it hurts not having your lil cunt bred and knotted, the alpha considerate enough to do exactly that every time you need.

falling asleep with the older’s knot inside you, knowing his pups are safe inside you, purring away as he lets you sleep on top of him, all curled up just to ride him when another wave of the heat washes over you.

toji would LOVE the mating press position when he’s in a rut, that man would use your pussy so good and just relieve himself whenever he feels like it. cock all hard and dripping in his pants during his rut, so so frustrated and just fuckin’ mad all during it, wanting to fuck you every second of the day, your scent getting all up into his brain and making him feel like he’s getting high off it.

nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck, biting as gentle as he can to soothe his instincts at least for a little bit, pumping you full of his pups and never forgetting to tell you how good of a little obedient omega you are.

god, he’d praise you so much whenever you’d slip into a heat, telling you how good you were, how much he loved you and was happy to be mated with you.

fucking you anywhere and everywhere he wants during a rut, letting his cock rub at your lower back for a bit while you wash the dishes before gently pushing your panties to the side and taking you right then and there, holding your hips nice and tight, your feet lifted off the floor as he’d use you as a little fleshlight, not satisfied until he’s fucked you on the kitchen counter too, watching himself slip in and out of you, cock all swollen and sensitive.

not minding fucking you in the nest you made while in a heat, being so so careful not to destroy it in any way while pounding your pussy so good, loving how fucked out and sensitive you’d get, clit all needy and puffy, begging the alpha for his cock all day and once you’d get it nice and hard, you couldn’t utter a single sentence, just little whines and the sound of your wet and slimey mess of a cunt.

the alpha having bought you so so many toys with knots whenever he’s away and unable to soothe your needs, always so proud and happy to receive a lil video of you with the phone between your spread legs, fucking the knotted toy in and out of your pretty lil cunt while whimpering the male’s name.

making the older all hot and bothered with just telling him how good of an alpha he is, even a dominant person like him needs and deserves some praise, it making his knot swell and cum mid thrust, letting out a soft shaky moan, pressing a kiss on your forehead with a little ‘thank you’.

[satoriberry]

"there's no ink." "yer kinda cute." - karasu tabito

★ resume: you need to make photocopies of a correction sheet for all 35 of your classmates. also, karasu can't use printers.

★ heads up: karasu is potentially ooc but imo he acts the way he does when it comes to football outside of bllk he's CRINGE BOOOOO, reader has hair that can be tucked behind her ear so it can be short or long yknow and uhhh nothing else ig, maybe just karasu being cringe but what's new. also reader is so fucking sick and tired of people in this so she's a bit rude but its justified :3

★ berry's note: oh wow im WRITING!! [😱😱] n e way, i hate this guy a lot and i cant imagine him excelling at using a printer by himself, so time to make a cutesy scenario out of it where he makes a fool of himself!!! enjoy!! :3

maybe it was because of the big, fat, red "57" that was surely an adequate and representative grade for your work - and not just your geography teacher being a bitch - but for some arbitrary reason, an itch developed in the back of your brain and made you feel a bit less tolerant of stupidity. at least until you get back home and sleep like a comatose patient.

you felt a slight comfort in knowing that even the self-proclaimed class genius got a gut-wrenching 60 on the same test, which isn't the nicest way of finding inner peace, but who cares? besides, geography is for losers who want to make statistics about the declining birth rate, and you couldn't care less about women giving birth to less and less children with each passing decade. strutting down the empty hallway, you gripped the sheet containing the answers to the questions with a bit too much intensity and aggression, slightly creasing it in your hand but you had bigger things to worry about. the printer room.

the godforsaken printer room - that served as the only motive to still keep hallway number 4 of the third floor accessible - possessed a myriad of faults and problems, the worst one being that they rarely kept the ink fresh; 'they' being the student body whose only involvement was that. keeping the ink fresh. they didn't even have to buy it, their only job was checking the printer's ink every 4 to 5 days and replace the cartridge if needed so. but, suprisingly (considering how competent they usually are), no one was bothered enough to accomplish this single task. nevertheless, it seemed that you weren't the student to first stumble upon this inconvenience today. the door to the printer room was slightly ajar and the lights were clearly on, so someone had to be in there.

taking the final steps, you lightly pushed the door all way to the end and gazed upon the wall where the (shitty) printers sat on an alignment of old desks. there was someone, you knew that already, but that someone seemed a bit familiar.

oh. it's that super soccer guy from bambi osaka. kawaru tamiko.

or at least you thought that was his name. you weren't good with names.

he was leaning forward against a table carrying an old canon®, tilting it forward with a grip on either side, and his hair flattened against the wall. almost like a person checking the label on the back of a cargo box that was too heavy to move. he was probably trying to look at the wires in the back, there was no other explanation for such an awkward posture.

it took him a few seconds to notice your presence, partly because he was so engrossed in the printer, and partly because you didn't care enough to say a word and instead opted for standing awkwardly with a hand on the doorframe. he turned his head towards you a first time and immediately went back to the printer before rapidly turning his head towards you again, this time fully absorbing your existence. kawaru abruptly let go of the table, producing a loud noise as it hit the wall, making you slightly wince at the idea of an even more damaged printer. you walked towards him.

running two fingers on the dust coating the surface of the printer, you lazily muttered, "it's not working, is it?", expecting nothing less from junk that was probably in use from before the fall of the soviet union. he had stood up straight and begun to awkwardly swing his arms back and forth, a clear attempt at de-stressing. "err, no, pretty sure there's a wirin' problem," he answered, though you were moreso talking to yourself than him, but that didn't matter.

"and uhh, this button right here hasn' stopped flashin' ever since i turned the thing on. prob'ly needs a technician," he continued, forcing a more assertive tone towards the end. you asked him to show you what button he was talking about, so he eagerly pointed at a flashing button located on the left side control panel of the printer. a button that had the image of an opaque drop on it. a button that had the faded word "ink" written underneath it.

the printer was working fine. it just needed ink.

and he thought it was broken.

you stood there in silence, physically and mentally unable to comprehend how someone can miss such an obvious clue. you didn't take your eyes off the flashing button, breathing quietly, trying your best to not lash out on kawaru. you noticed a frizzy lock of hair sticking out from your head and proceeded to tuck it behind your ear, then put your hand over your mouth in an attempt to hide your frustration, eyes still on the flashing button.

karasu, on the other hand, was waiting next to you, though his eyes were moreso fixated on you than the printer. did he know you? he didn't think so, but you seemed like someone he can find interest in, definitely the thinker kind since you appeared to be pondering a solution to this ordeal in a rather sophisticated manner. other questions flowed through his mind: what class were you in? were you a 3rd year? were you in the advanced course? did you have any mutual friends? did you do any extracurriculars? did you like soccer? have you ever been to one of his matches? he couldn't stop the flow of possiblities as to how to get to know you.

"there's no ink." "yer kinda cute."

you slowly turned your head to face him, body stiff and unmoving. he realized how outlandish the comment he just made was, and possibly inappropriate considering the circumstance.

"huh?" "what?"

you blinked at him with gradually developing bewilderment, fully certain that you heard what you heard but that didn't change the fact that you weren't awaiting that from him.

and sadly, you couldn't say that it displeased you. the opposite actually.

"i err, i...anyway, you said ink? there's a few cartridges in the desk's cubby. whaddya need? black? magenta? cyan? yellow?", he started to speak again at a fast pace, wanting to get done with this interaction and dwell in sorrow from his incapacity to talk to cute girls. "black's fine," you answered, looking away to make it less embarrassing from him. he dug in the cubby for a moment, hand banging the sides of the metal compartment before he got hold of a blocky object. he read the cartridge's sticker and made sure it was black ink before standing up again.

you expected him to press the button that dislodged the upper half of the machine and replace the cartridge, however, he stood quietly, fiddling with it while nervously looking at and away from you multiple times. oh. he doesn't know how to replace ink. exhaling through your nostrils, you stuck out your hand, wordlessly demanding him to hand it over - an order he prompty followed.

karasu felt you snatch the cartridge before he could even fully place it on your palm, making him feel even more guilty for wasting your time. he watched as you effortlessly pressed a series of buttons, took out things, replaced things and before he knew it, you snapped the top of the printer back on, which caused the flashing button to stop doing so. was he a loser or were you just a printer connoisseur? he didn't care enough to think of an answer though, he was once again focused on subtly seducing you and make you notice his more pleasant qualities.

you chose to ignore him for the rest of your stay in the printer room, procuring 35 copies of the sheet and preparing to leave when you felt a hand (his hand) lightly tap you on your back.

"yes?," you said, though you recognize you could have said it with a bit less bluntness in your voice. he took no notice of this however, and asked, "what's yer name? i think we've met before."

"(last name) (first name). no, we've never met, or at least i don't think we did," you replied before staring at him with more attention than before, noticing a few details about him that you missed. for example, the mole on his upper left cheek, or the weird angle at which his hair was styled. what kind of fucking product would you need for that?

"ah, hahaha, my bad, i was prob'ly thinkin' of someone else. umm, i...i meant what i said earlier," he mumbled his words more and more. you raised an eyebrow, not getting what he meant by 'what i said earlier', before remembering that he had called you cute. oh, right. that happened.

you involuntarily flashed a face of understanding, then lowered your head to bite your cheek. you didn't want to look like a loser while trying to hide your smile, a smile you rarely gave to guys with bad flirting skills, albeit this one was of the more good-looking variety so you can superficially excuse his lack of skills. "thanks, that was very sweet. i wasn't expecting it but it's still sweet. thank you."

"i can help ya' carry those papers to your classroom, that looks a bit heavy-"

"it's fine, really. but i do have a question. what's your name?"

his expression changed from nervous suaveness to a giddy grin, feeling honoured that you were interested in his name. "karasu tabito. i play for the local youth team, bambi osaka. you didn't ask fer that but, y'know...," ah. that was his name. karasu tabito. kawaru sounded a bit too childish for a guy like him.

"karasu tabito. yeah, i've seen you play. you're fun to watch." you tried to lighten the mood a bit cause the boy was seconds away from developing a rash if he kept scratching his neck like that.

"fun to watch? me? oh, thanks. i've been called a 'good player' and 'excellent' even, but 'fun', i've never gotten that before. w-whaddya mean by that though? what's fun, my playstyle or my presence or-,"

you couldn't afford wasting any more time than you already have, so cutting him off, you replied, "fun as in watching you in your element is rather entertaining, i don't do much sport outside of PE, but i can tell you love what you do. sorry, i have to leave, my teacher is gonna be up my ass about taking so much time."

karasu's lips formed a thin line, bitter about not making much of this exchange. and before he could even hold himself back, his mouth let out, "wanna watch my practice after school? you don't have to stay fer the whole thing, jus' to show you how i play outside of official matches."

"sure."

"what? hu-"

"i said, 'sure'. i'll watch you, i'll even stay for the whole practice, i've got nothing. catch you at the shoe lockers, bye."

and with that (plus a quick smile to soften the blow), you speedwalked out of the printer room and began to go down what felt like a dozen floors.

you didn't allow yourself to think about what happened up there, to avoid cringing at your bizarre attitude and not think about the fact that a (weird) guy you would consider somewhat out of your league, just asked you to watch him play.

bonus!!

lunch break finally rolled around, and your friends typically hung out in an obscure part of the courtyard to eat while hiding their cellphones from any faculty members. checking your messages, you noticed an instagram dm from someone whose username already crossed your mutual recommendations but you never took the time to open their profile.

kr_tabito23.

-> coach is sick but i still want an excuse to talk to you

-> there's this really rad crepe shop in namba parks

-> im paying :]

-> you can't say no

-> lol kidding

-> sorry that was weird

you giggled at whatever he was trying to achieve, he was definitely a dork. you didn't mind that.

-> sure. still gonna catch you at the shoe lockers c:

and somewhere in the school, on the opposite side of the main building, next to the fountain where he and his friends usurped the benches, karasu jumped from his seat and into the air, bumping his fist and yelling unintelligible words while his friends watched, confused but happy for their normally cool and collected fellow.

★ berry's post-writing note: guys im gonna be honest i hate the ending my inspiration juice ran out so i just came up with something but i feel like it could've been a bit better. still happy that i wrote something cause ive been in a long ass writer's block since?? what??? february? anyway, criticism is always accepted and uhh thank you for reading till the end!! <3

[houseofhyde]

ii. a game of westerosi chess.

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader

synopsis. the six chess pieces in the king’s game and how your uncle calls checkmate. read the first part here !

warnings. niece!reader, targcest, possessiveness, themes of sexual/romantic ownership, alicent slander (im sorry, i love her, but this is daemon’s pov and we all know that man wakes up every morning and makes the conscious decision to be a hater), daemon being a filthy pervert (affectionate), smut ( masturbation, breeding kink, voyeurism, dacriphilia, virgin kink- if that's even a thing-, implied bi!daemon )

word count. 11.3k

taglist. @nyctophilic0vitnir​

hyde’s input. yes, i could have just made them get married after the events in part one. no, that wouldn’t be as fun as watching daemon suffer. i went and fucked myself over a little though because i never realised how much i’d struggle to write from his point of view without the fear of making him too out of character or his behaviour feel, idk, fake? empty? idk what the right word is but yeah. i caught the flu and have had sick-brain the whole time while writing this so who knows if the writing is even comprehensible lmao :)

disclaimer: i’ve never played chess (i'm too dumb for that) so pretend any incorrect comparisons are simply because there’s different rules for chess in westeros <3

when daemon targaryen was five years old, no more than a mischievous little babe who haunted the halls of the red keep, there was no one greater in his eyes than his older brother.

his older brother who bonded with the largest dragon; who snuck wine into his cup when the adults were occupied with their political indiscretions; who stood up for him even in times where he was the culprit. 

his older brother who had the longest winning streak in the whole of the red keep when it came to chess.

from maesters to the king, and ladies in waiting down to his own mother, there was not a single person within the castle who could face viserys targaryen in the game of strategic moves and walk away undefeated.

it was an understood fact: viserys targaryen was a master at chess.

one day, after catching his younger brother, moon-eyed and fresh-faced from wondering the dragonpit in search of a dragon to claim, and now spying upon his winnings against a pretty maiden, viserys had called the boy over. with daemon captivated by the sight of the chess board, the older of the two felt the cogs in his brain turning, an idea spawning.

you see, when one becomes the best at something, there is no more challenge. no fun to be found when you’re no longer sat at the edge of your seat wondering if this person will finally be the one to best you. and, so, viserys thought if no one else was good enough to beat him, he’d need to create a worthy opponent.

enter onto the scene, daemon targaryen.

with him being but a child still, viserys began his teaching with what captivated the little boy most: the figures which sat atop the checkered board.

“this, brother, is the pawn. it’s the least worthy piece, but do not let that fool you into thinking it is weak, for anyone may wield power if they work hard enough. a pawn may become a queen, just as a fool may become a lord.”

the rogue prince, now a man of three and thirty, awakes with one thing on his mind: his niece.

he’s always been a restless sleeper, not even in dreams would he escape the havoc of his own head and the inner-workings of it. and, though he’d scarcely recall the images his sleeping mind would conjure, the evidence comes in the state he’d find himself in: sprawled diagonally across the bed, the pillows which had once provided rest for his head now scattered along the floor and the bedsheets- which scratched uncomfortably on his skin, a slick of sweat oozing from his pores and leaving him looking glazed, like a freshly cooked hog at a feast- now a wrinkled tangle around his waist, trapping his legs in the cotton confines.

he spies the familiar lick of sunlight casting through the closed curtains, affirming that dawn has indeed passed and a new day is upon him.

running a hand over his face, a disgruntled sound escapes him, sluggishly moving himself to sit up right, that familiar yet new ache in his back flaring up and begging for release in the form of stretching limbs and extended muscles. age has begun to sneak up on him, grabbing him in it’s clutches and reminding the egotistical man that he is just that: a man, not a god, much to his own displeasure.

the hand departs from his face only to pause midair. a smell, heady and musk infused, reaches his nostrils. it’s dirty and grimey in every way yet enticing him to seek it out again, to sniff out wherever the odour is coming from and bury himself in it till he suffocates.

tentatively, he retraces his movements till his fingers dance over his face once again and realisation kicks him like the hoof of a horse, hard and with a lingering pounding.

only, the pounding comes from his crotch rather than his skull.

the smell is you, in all your dribbling, soaking, honeysuckle glory, stained on his skin like the slaves of volantis are stained with ink.

another inhale floods his senses with the memories from last night, replaying the feel of your bodies pressed together in dance, and your hand squeezing his almost painfully tight as he leads the way to your chambers, and the eager spreading of your legs as he at last satisfies his hunger for you- a hunger which had started sometime after you’d first began to present the figure of a woman, all supple breasts and pouting lips and silhouettes made of dresses that hid from view the naughty parts of you your uncle’s cock ached to see.

the voice in his head, which more often than not drives him to behave erratically, this time is but a whisper, a seduction of craving and curiosity that has him slipping his hand further down, brushing over the fine line of his lips and awaiting entrance as he parts his mouth open, brushing his stained digits over his tongue.

a jolt of heat burns down his spine while the sweet tang of your taste invades his senses. like biting through a lemon, the taste should repel him in every way, flood his soul with shame and leave him disgusted in himself.

instead, he licks his tongue in a silent plea for more.

the thought of never bathing again crosses daemon’s mind, unwilling to wash away the evidence of the peak he’d driven you to with nothing but his fingers. gods help the world when he finally gets his cock in you, for he’s likely to become a deranged, dirty shell of a man too busy getting fill after fill of your pulsing cunny to ever plunder himself into the oil-infused waters of a bath.

you’d be so sweet for him, a little harlet for him to mold and bend and break into every which-way he desires you. and it’s that thought, plus the taste of your dried essence, which has the rogue prince’s cock stirring beneath the tangled sheets.

desire awakens much like a dragon would: slowly and, then, all at once, eyes wide, chest huffing and puffing, and body arising from the ground.

the prince kicks the tangled sheets off, no thought given to whatever corner in the chambers he tosses them towards, eyes and hand and mind too focused on the once flacid organ between his leg growing more solid and red in the tip as the moments pass.

“fuck...” he means to only think it, yet speaks it aloud into the solace of the room as the warmth of his hand makes itself familiar with his cock.

he gives himself a tug, dry hand meeting the movement with resistance yet the layer of skin which conceals his soon-to-be seed soaked slit retracts enough to allow the blushing head of his cock to poke through. while he’d typically prefer to wet it with a whore’s cunt, or slicken it with whatever mindless ointment he could find laying around, daemon finds himself gathering his own saliva and spitting a fat drop of it into the palm of his hand.

the glide of his digits over the organ becomes easier, allowing him to work himself into full-blown hardness, cock taking over the use of his brain and sending him into a state of restless lust, demanding to be fed and satiated with the emptying of his stones, preferably into the warm, pulsating, tight cunt of his little dove.

while the prince does debate his ability to throw on a robe- or, even, roam the halls in his nude glory- and seek out your likely sleeping form, to watch as you startle awake with the breaking of your maidenhead and cry out for your uncle to fill you with his spend till you’re swelling with his bastard, he decides he prefers the thought of making you wait a little longer, see how much he can test the limits of your impatient desires.

after all, a maiden always feels best when her cunt’s as soaked as her crying eyes and her mouth’s spewing plead after plead, begging for his cock.

while one hand works over himself, the other sneaks it’s way back into his mouth, lust bursting into bright colours as he licks over the taste of you, soaking it into his bloodstream and making you part of his genetics- just as he is part of yours.

daemon allows his eyes to slip shut, sinking into sweet fantasies and mental pictures of bouncing tits and blood stained sheets, only to reopen them within an instant at the sound of his chamber door slamming against the solid wall.

“oh my!” a young girl dressed in rags turns her back on him as quickly as she notices his naked form, as if allowing him to compose himself and make himself presentable. “i’m so sorry, my prince! i would have knocked but he said i should simply let myself in!”

daemon makes no attempt to find cover.

“do whatever it is you need to do.” he speaks with a tone far too relaxed for a man who’s still got a grip on his cock. if anything, the raggedness in his breaths comes from his frustrations of losing the flavour of you on his tongue. “don’t stop on my account.”

she hesitates upon facing him again, eyes clearly wandering off from her own commands and glancing down at his exposed crotch more times than he imagines she’s comfortable with. from the look of her, she’s young in age- likely only recently blossomed into a woman- and, at the thought of his being the first cock she’s ever seen, he feels himself grow closer to his peak, a sick and twisted satisfaction buzzing through his veins at the possibility of giving the sweet girl her first sense of visual arousal.

when the shock passes, yet still lingers in her features like a harsh cough irritates the throat, she makes her way fully into the room. in her arms, a tray with a mass of food, enough to feed a lord and his men for several nights. without a word, she lays the assortment out on the large table within his chambers, hands shaking under her own nerves.

meanwhile, daemon slows the flick of his own wrist, teasing his cock with the impending satisfaction. a smile, too faint to be seen yet present enough that he feels the slight stretch of his lips, births itself as he considers who this offering of a feast may be from.

“what’s this about, girl?” he throws the question out into the air, clear amusement in his tone.

“the king, my prince.” just as he expected. “he’s ordered this be sent to you.”

and so it begins, he thinks.

his brother is buttering him up, showing a sign of good-will to have daemon in his good graces when he orders the rogue prince betroths himself to the king’s pretty daughter, her supposed virtue now a pile of crumbled ruins in the eyes of the court. as if he needs convincing to take such a sweet young thing to wife, the perfect little bird made of blonde hair, valyrian blood, sugar-coated cum and the sweetest song of whimpers and pleas.

“then make sure you let my brother know how eager i am to receive his feast.” he can feel himself reaching the edge of his peak, tethering off the edge and seconds away from painting his hand white with wasted seed.

perhaps the serving girl will lick it clean for him.

“of course, my prince.” once finished with the arranging of the feast, the maiden straightens out some wrinkles in her skirt- though it does nothing to clean up her looks- and begins to make her way back toward the entry to his chambers. “the king will be surprised to see you so agreeable, though it will help soothe his unease, my lord.”

“his... unease?” daemon’s movements stop, the air runs dry and the girl visibly stiffens, hand curling around the door handle and clenching it as if it is the only thing giving her support.

clearly, she’s said something she shouldn’t have.

“i must go, my lord.”

“unease over what, girl?”

“you... you don’t know, do you?” she’s beginning to irritate him, speaking in riddles and shaking like a leaf in the winds of winter.

“answer me clearly or i’ll have your tongue.” the girl can not see the way he moves off the bed, nor the way he spies his eyes towards his trusted sword propped against a wall, but she certainly hears the loud thud of his feet meeting the floor, feels the darker shift of energy in the room as the rogue prince makes a threatening advance towards her.

“ser gerold royce, my prince...” he’s near certain she lets out a pathetic whimper, like a wounded doe. “he’s proclaimed himself as lord of runestone.”

the world comes to a stand still as her words flood over him.

while the prince is frozen in his spot, face an empty canvas devoid of emotion, the young girl makes a swift exit, wise enough to not wish to stick around long enough to bare witness to the hot-headed prince’s reaction. the slamming of the door on her way out seems to startle him back into motion, naked limbs striding across the room and grabbing at the door. he twists the handle and gives a harsh tug, strong enough to have the wood smash as it collides against the wall.

the door does not open.

he attempts again, and again, and again, and is met with the same resistance each time. only then does it dawn on him- the feast, the unease- this was never about his brother keeping him in his good graces.

this was about the king keeping him locked away in his chambers.

“next, you’ve got your knight. while still not a very point-worthy piece, this holds power in the way it moves, jumping over pawns like a real knight slices through his enemies with the point of his sword.”

four days pass by slowly within the confines of his chambers.

at first, he rages. pacing the floor till the plush carpeting runs thin, hacking away at hand-crafted furniture his ancestors had sat upon and broken fast at, mouth dropped open in a bellow of impassioned words of all the things he plans to do once he gets his hands on his older brother, most of which start and end with his grip on the king’s neck.

then, he tries rest.

it’s a hopeless attempt, though, as the thoughts are running far too rampant for him to ignore the fact he’s confined within his room, not a clue of what his brother has done in regards to runestone’s rebellion. then come the thoughts of you, his little dove, likely hurt, and confused, and needing your dear uncle’s guidance on how to continue onward, how to outsmart the wretched ladies within your father’s court, how to ensure you do not wind up married off to some boring oaf of a lord, with not a drop of valyrian blood in his veins.

after sleep evades him, and rage consumes him once more, he switches to pleasuring himself, hand squeezed tight around his cock and working over the sex organ till he’s completely spent, his sack drained and nothing but pathetic droplets of seed painting his skin by the eight, ninth, tenth peak he drives himself too, fuelling the fire of his lust with past rendevouz- the pentoshi whore he’d fucked in front of her own husband, the nights he’d spent in the streets of silk in rooms where cups and cunts were shared amongst the crowd, the young knight who’d sought him out after a tourney and cried out as daemon stretched the tight pink hole of his arse- and with future desires- the slapping of his stones against your pearl as he takes you from behind, your pretty eyes struggling back tears the first time he fucks his cock into your silky wet hole, the sick, and nasty, and down-right degenerate want to bend you over the small council table and shoot his seed into your womb for all those wrinkled cunts to bare witness to.

ultimately, it’s the memory of how you taste that sends him spiralling for a tenth time.

the rogue prince is a sexual deviant, that was the very first whisper that had flooded the keep about him. and oh how he’s worn it with pride over the years, a twisted joy found in watching their outrage each time he speaks of crass and acts on sin.

even so, there is only so much he can take until he reaches his limit. and, thus, with his cock feeling like it may fall off if he does not give it some recovery time, the prince returns to raging.

that is how the king finds him, sword in hand and the expensive fabrics that once made up the curtains leading onto a balcony now nothing but tattered rags on the floor.

“i must say, daemon, this takes me back.” viserys’ tone carries amusement, which licks at daemon’s ire and coaxes it back to life, hand gripping the hilt of his sword as the prince reminds himself- despite how infuriating the king may be- that he cares deeply for his older brother. “me entering your chambers and finding you amidst a temper tantrum.”

the prince is quick on his feet, turning on his ankle till he finds himself gazing upon the face of his brother. he’s dressed in his finest robes, a mixture of reds and blacks, yet daemon does not miss the green jewel on one of his fingers. the crown upon viserys’ head reflects the sun, shining offensively in the prince’s face as if to more harshly remind him of the inheritance he’ll never claim, the throne he’ll never sit.

“what is the meaning of this?” daemon bellows and instinctively raises dark sister, the tip of the blade pointed directly at his brother.

the sound of kingsguards drawing their own weapons floods the room yet the raise of viserys’ hand halts them all in their defence, calling his brother’s bluff.

“i had some business to attend to.” the king speaks so casually, as though he’s discussing the recent weather or what he’d eaten for his supper the evening before.

“so you imprison me in my chambers as if i am some ill-behaved child!” daemon means to question him yet his words come out as more of a statement, an acceptance of the matter at hand.

“yes, well, what kind of idiot would i be to let my brother wander free in my castle while i’m grasping at straws to prevent a war?” the room grows more tense with every exchanged word between the two brothers, a feat which doesn’t go unnoticed by the guards who stand by the king nor the maidens who had rushed in after the reopening of daemon’s chambers, scrambling around to tidy the place up. “a war which you started in the first place.”

it irks something in daemon, the way viserys remains level headed whilst he’s pacing the room, and gripping his sword, and releasing his frustrations in bursts of loud voices and disgruntled grunts. condescending in every way, it sends daemon into a headspace where he’s no longer a man-grown and, instead, a tear-stained child being reprimanded by his king and grandsire.

he liked to torture young daemon who, despite his best efforts, was always prone to outbursts of emotion- outbursts the old man liked to meet with calmed expressions and tired words of disappointment, dismissing his grandson to bed.

it seems to be a commonality shared among kings, antagonising daemon.

“a war i started?!” and yet he falls for the trap every time, meeting viserys’ passive with his aggressive, striding those few steps closer till he’s a hair away from touching the king with his blade. still, his brother holds off his guards. “and how do you suppose i done such a thing while being imprisoned!?”

“cool it with the theatrics, brother,” viserys punctuates his exhaustion with an eye roll and gives a single nod of his head, giving the kingsguards the go-ahead to swarm around daemon.

a pair of them, both young in their knighthood and matching in face, grab at the rogue prince’s arms and hold him in a stand-still while another guard plucks the weapon from his hand. daemon shoves against their hold and is met with more resistance.

dark sister is passed among the guards, each hand that touches it being added to a tally of people on daemon’s list of men to disembowel. finally, viserys holds the weapon, examining it like it is the very first time he’s seen it.

“daemon, it brings me no joy to do this,” the king starts up again, eyes meeting the glaring amethysts of his brother. “but with the tensions arising and war creeping over the horizon, i can not afford to risk anything going amiss.”

“get to the point, brother. you’re speaking in rhyme as if you were some bard.”

“very well. from now until i decide you are not a threat to this kingdom, your confinement will be stretched from your chambers to the red keep. you are to carry no weapon and you will step no foot out of this castle.”

“you’re a fool if you think i’ll agree to this.”

“it is an order from your king!” viserys lets the mask slip, intentionally or not, and his irritation shines through like the stars paint themself across the dark sky. “and if that’s not enough to keep you in line, you will also be monitored at all hours of the day, every move you make within these walls will be shadowed by that of a knight of my choosing.”

daemon targaryen considers murdering his brother.

“and i see no man more fit for the job than ser criston cole.”

for the first time in his life, daemon targaryen may just go through with it.

“the bishop may be similar to the knight in it’s point count, yet it moves differently. while a knight can not move three times in the same direction, a bishop must stay within the colour it started in. think of a bishop like a maester: chained to an oath it can never break”

he’d rather be forced to endure a lifetime of self-flagellation than another moment of this conversation.

“it is in your best interest, your grace, to cut this state of anarchy out from it’s roots before any other houses chose to follow in the footsteps of runestone.” the new hand of the king is certainly an improvement from the hightower cunt, daemon can’t deny it. yet a part of him feels the knife of betrayal twist deeper into his back upon realising his brother had not only ignored his own warnings of the green lord till rhaenyra brought them up too, but he’d once again given the role to a random lord in his court rather than his own brother. “we have cause to believe that the dandarrions may be next to follow, given the less than kind words your daughter had for them during her tour for a marriage.”

“then there is the matter with the lannisters and, of course, the never ending tensions with the dornish folk. they’re more weary than ever, since someone,” maester mellos has never been a subtle man, despite all his supposed wits and knowledge, and so it flies over no one’s head when he takes a glance at the rogue prince and his standing guard, the insufferable man who’s made himself daemon’s shadow. “went to war with the triarchy.”

“my apologies for riding you all of that tyrant crabfeeder!” daemon speaks for the first time since he’d been forced to sit at the small council. “i’ll be sure to stand by and allow the next one to rip you all to pieces.”

daemon drowns out the rest of the meeting, uninterested in hearing his brother grovel at ways to keep his subjects at bay, as though they are the ones that rule over him.

gifts of gold for the dandarrion, a knighting for the lannisters’ youngest lords, peace-offerings in the forms of poetic words, and sweetened fruits, and lavish silks for the dornish. each gift more empty than the last.

it’s the mention of your name that brings him back into the room.

“were she here, we could have used her as a bargaining plea for one of these stronger houses,” ser lyman beesbury is the one who speaks and, with each word, the rest of the councilmen grow wider in the eyes and stiffer in their seats.

daemon explains their otherwise odd reactions away with them simply feeling uncomfortable discussing you in his presence, everything changed and nothing the same since sometime between the night he had you pressed against your door and his confinement within the keep.

upon release back into the castle, he’d searched for you first of all, paying no mind to criston cole as the knight struggled to keep up with his rushed footfall, mind too focused on the renewed anger he wished to placate with his cock in your mouth and the further destruction of your purity, all in the name of spiting your father.

when he’d reached your chambers, however, he’d found nothing but a mess of emptied trunks and an unkept bed.

“the princess is not here.” ser criston had spoken between gasps of air, chest heaving beneath the unnecessary layers of chainmail and armor his position forces him to wear.

daemon had demanded an answer for your whereabouts, only to quickly realise the knight was none-the-wiser. it was the new hand, ultimately, that clued him in, over sips of wine and looks of caution from other council-men amid a private feast.

“driftmark, prince daemon.” he’d dabbed at the corners of his mouth with poise and composure, everything about the man seemingly perfected for politics, serving only to irritate the prince further. “the princess has accompanied her older sister and her new husband on their trip to laenor velaryon’s home.”

that was the last daemon had heard of you.

a near moon later and you were still out of reach, likely turning your nose at the smell of salt that coated the walls of the velaryon household and wondering why a certain red-speckled dragon had yet to swoop in on the island, carrying the cause and answer to all your problems upon it’s back.

“dare i say i agree, your grace,” another of the men chimes in, his words barely a whisper at first, glancing nervously toward the king. “perhaps we may write for her return and see to it that a betrothal be made.”

daemon chooses to observe viserys in this moment, eyes trailing over his features and taking note of every wrinkle in his brow, every greyed hair within his unshaven face, every upturn and scorn of his lip. there’s a wave of unease that’s fallen over his brother, and it only grows with every moment that the lords speak of you in the rogue prince’s presence, the air thick with the discussion the two brother’s had yet to have regarding the rumours of your deflowering.

“and, tell me, my lords, what you suggest we tell the princess’ current betrothed?” maester mellos, ever incapable of holding his tongue, barks across the table, deathly unaware of the looks that befall the council nor the tensing of daemon’s shoulders. “the king is trying to avoid war, not further instigate one by implying her current betrothal is not good enough, that house-”

“that’s enough!” the king rises from his chair all at once, slamming his hand down on the table and commanding the attention of everyone in the room, more so when he recoils in pain. all at once, the rumours of his declining health and the effect it’s had on his body feel all too true. “there will be no further discussions of my daughter nor the prospect of a new betrothal. what’s done is done and i will not go back on my word to appease your fear-mongering speculations. we will continue our diplomatic relationship with these houses and ensure they do good to remember who sits the iron throne.”

the men obey like sheep, each bowing their head and mumbling false reconciliations.

one by one, they all take their leave.

first, lyman beesbury, who with pale face and solemn eyes lays apologies at visery’s feet. next, the master of laws and maester mellos, neither of them wasting time with niceties and opting for a mere bow towards their king. when all the chairs lay empty, save for daemon’s and the king, silence runs thick through the room. neither brother moving, each testing their unnamed opponent and awaiting the first blow through the tension to be made.

daemon grows impatient.

“unless corlys velaryon fucked a new son into our lady cousin and had the babe birthed in a matter of days, i do wonder who you’ve betrothed my niece to on driftmark.”

“do you know what your problem is, daemon?” though viserys’ words come out with inquisitory tones, he leaves no space for the prince to answer. “you’re so busy with your own schemes and plans that you fail to see when you’re the one being played.”

daemon feels small.

for a moment, he’s no longer a man grown into a soldier, with a mighty sword and a fearsome dragon. instead, he’s frail and weak, and staring across at his older brother as he beats him once more in the game of knights and checkered spaces, a taunting look on his face as he knocks over the little boy’s king piece and declares himself victor.

when the moment passes, he straightens his posture and rises from his seat, and reminds himself of the words his mother would comfort her crying babe with each time he failed to win, whispers of how there’s always something to be gained in any loss he finds.

he settles with leading his brother further into the trap of rumours him and his niece have conjured up together.

“i hear your new wife is fond of the seven, brother.” the prince reaches to grip the hilt of his sword, only to find an empty space and the reminder that he carries no weapon as of late. “ask her to pray for your daughter, i don’t believe she tasted the bitterness of moon tea after our evening together.”

the king does not call daemon’s bluff.

“this right here? the rook, worth more than the bishop or knight, yet less than the king or queen, it is an allusive piece. play the game wisely and your rook may trap the king, leaving it with nowhere to run.”

with the passing of another moon, daemon plunders deeper into insanity.

he’s always been a man of possession, the kind who owns and conquers and takes. objects, lands, people. they’re all the same in daemon’s chequebook of ownership. and, while living a rather messy and unkept life, he enjoys the pleasantness of having his possessions in his line of sight, like the sword he’s worn at his hip since the old king bestowed it upon him, or the seating he takes at every royal feast, chair angled perfectly to keep his eyes on the brother, nieces, family he possesses.

with dark sister out of reach and his most recent favoured family member out of sight- the pretty niece he’s silently layed his claim on-, destruction is imminent.

no longer does he debate with his own inner-turmoil over if he will go against the king’s orders but, rather, he questions when.

when will he redeem his previous loss against ser criston cole, beat the knight to the ground and steal his weapon as he lays unconscious?

when will he slip through the cracks in the castle walls, making use of the secretive halls built by maegor the cruel himself and slice through any guard who may attempt to get in his way?

when will he take the skies atop his fire-breathing mount, fleeing the city of whispering cunts and chees-playing fools?

the answer to each questions comes back to one thing, one person, one possession he needs to locate first.

you.

the events to follow the council meeting had lead him to several conclusions.

the first, and most obvious one, was that you clearly were not on driftmark, as lord strong had so boldly claimed. the second took him a few sleeps to fully decide upon but, remembering the words spoken of your betrothal among the council men and the apparent greater houses they could have given your hand to, daemon crossed off the possibility of you being in winterfell, the young stark lord likely too prideful to entertain the king’s earlier propositions of marriage after the way you’d left him amid a feast to go and- falsely rumoured- fuck your uncle.

with the dandarrions, the lannisters and the dornish folk already ruled off the list, it left daemon with few options.

his strongest lead is the baratheons, a long-standing connection between the two houses and a recently widowed lord who’s previous wife had gifted nothing but girls from her womb, it took no genius to assume a targaryen bride would serve him well.

daemon will soon find out he's wrong.

there’s an unease that takes over someone���s chambers the moment they notice something has been tampered with, whether it be as silly as a glass moved a few inches across a table or something as significant as a chest of drawers laying open when they’d clearly been left shut.

it tickles the back of the prince’s neck this very evening, skin rising to mimic that of a goose as he trails his eyes over his surroundings.

he’d returned to his chambers later than usual this evening, the day spent cornering council-men and threatening them- daemon had quickly discovered they feared him less with no blade to slice through them and his own personal minder at his back, that ridiculous kingsguard armour reflecting every ray of sun and every burn of candlelight.

daemon had taken to tormenting the poor ser crispin only a matter of days into their forced companionship. he figured that, if he may no longer seek joy in the streets of silk or the bloodshed of his enemies, let him at least take pleasure in the squirming discomfort of a man he loathes entirely.

“my niece,” he’d spoke as the two sat through their usual quiet supper together. “did you enjoy fucking her?”

“i did not fuck princess y/n.”

“well, of course not,” daemon pushed his spoon back and forth, passing time while he thought up his next taunt. “my younger niece has always had the more refined taste out of the two of them. rhaenyra, on the other hand, well she’d fuck a hound if it licked her the right way.”

“all this from a man who preys on his own blood for his sexual deviance. you and i both know what you done to your niece, how you seduced such a-”

“my nieces have always seemed so alike. both pale haired, both sharing the same smile, both wearing the same dresses.” the knight and the prince had long abandoned their food now, discussion heavy with daemon’s accusation of ser criston abandoning his own vows and committing what he can only imagine would be declared treason, deflowering a princess. perhaps soon the two will share something in common. “now i wonder if they feel the same. you must know, so tell me, did rhaenyra’s cunt grip your pathetic cock in a vice that threatened to ruin any other woman for you? or is that a trait only my youngest niece possesses?”

even now, hours into the late night and several more cups of wine drowning in his system, daemon can not bite back a dry laugh as he recalls the astound look upon the knight’s face, a mixture of disgust and discomfort.

he’s seated- more accurately speaking, he’s draped- upon a chaise, muscles tense and mind racing, in need of distraction. most of his nights end like this now, several emptied pitchers of wine along the floor, red staining his mouth and his own figure collapsed over whatever surface he finds first. occasionally, he’d attempt to have his way with a serving girl, ignoring the looks of ser criston as he stands guard outside his chambers and watches the prince enter with his partner for the evening, yet most were dismissed before daemon could satisfy himself, a mixture of his own drunken incontinence and their far too placid natures.

at least the whores of the silk street make him believe they want him.

letting out a groan, he sinks further into the seat, legs bent at the knee and feet planted firmly on the ground as he lets himself lay back fully. he’s contemplating taking rest here for the evening, and weighing the likely-hood of awakening with a new pain in his neck. 

it would certainly be a more comfortable sleep than the would he’d taken last night, back slumped against a wall and body sat atop the cool marbled floor.

he makes his choice, limbs too tired to make the few paces to his bed, and resigns himself for the night, twisting once more to find the most comfortable position upon the chaise and closing his eyes.

only to reopen them instantly.

something rustles. that feeling of unease creeps in once again, slow like fog over the horizon, hazy and threatening, and cold in every sense of the word. someone has been in his chambers, is in his chambers, and they’ve left something askew.

his eyes dart over the room, trying to assess every nook and corner and crevice within it in hopes of spotting a pair of spying eyes or unsettled objects. struggling due to all the blind spots his position has created, daemon heaves himself back into the upright position, figure slouched and back curved uncomfortably.

the rustling happens again.

he shoots up from his seat, wondering if his inebriated state has begun to create delusions, or if the psychosis caused by staring at the same red walls of the keep nonstop has finally begun to take over. he must be going mad, he thinks, eyes scanning over the whole of his room as he turns in place, cursing the more he notices nothing out of the ordinary.

until he sees it.

there, placed exactly where his tired limbs had been mere moments ago, lays a note.

it’s folded over and sporting a strange yellow blotch in one of it’s corners while, in the centre, written in the blackest ink so delicately and flowery it near stirs his cock in his breeches, kepus.

he snatches at the paper, near tearing it in two with the speed he unfolds it, eyes racing over every scribble and every swirl of pretty inked words.

the rain is the only thing that brings me comfort these days.

the letter begins and, while the writer has still not identified themselves, the prince is more than certain he knows who is speaking.

i’ve never been a fan of change (i’m sure you recall my horrid tantrums as a child whenever my mother assigned me a new handmaiden), yet never have i faced one so large. where in the capital i spent my days with books and needles and rides upon dragon’s back, here i am told to sit quiet as a mouse, as though i am merely another ornament within the lord’s home. where i once spent nights rolling my eyes and wishing to be excused from public feasts, here i cry and ache for a morsel of socialising outside the lord’s inner circle. where once i slept sound over the small folk screaming and cheering into the late night, here i sit awake by the window and listen to each raindrop.

i am not built for the cold, both in weather and in people. they frighten me here, which is a thing i never thought i’d need admit to. there are no whispers here, only silence. but their eyes, they speak paragraphs of hatred and disdain and ill-intentions with a simple glance. i need not worry if they will eat me alive here, but rather whom will be the one to do so. in the capital i’ve always felt untouchable, first because i was my father’s daughter, a princess of the realm, and, when that began to lose effect, you stepped in and taught me safety can be found in another, with your advice and your combat training and your inability to let me fall asleep without you on my mind.

i’ve developed a sick obsession for you, uncle, and it is entirely your fault.

he’s sunk back onto the chaise, hand gripping the letter tighter as a mixture of worry and anger stirs up in his loins. worry over the tales you tell, anger for the possibility of this being a sick game, a note written by some pathetically bored serving wench aiming to ruffle some feathers.

he decides he must keep reading to uncover the truth.

and so, now, it is with heavy heart that i must admit i’m disappointed. don’t perceive me as foolish, for i am wiser than some maiden who believes the things i feel for you to be love. but i always believed there was understanding between us, two different souls yet so completely immersed and knowing of each other’s drives and needs. even when i was a child, you were always the first to notice once i was too tired to continue with the festivities or when i craved the thrill of sneaking down to the dragonpit to spy upon the great beasts. i thought you’d understand, too, that this is not the life i wishfor: a husband with the personality of a wet piece of parchment and a life of silence and gloom.

i am a dragon, just like my sister, and my father, and our ancestors. and a dragon can not grow in a cage, so why have you let them put me in one? you agreed to help me, to ruin me for any other lord so that my father would have no option to but to wed us, leaving us both to our own devices. you, gaining that valyrian wife you always wanted while not changing your whorish ways, and i, earning the freedom i would not find shackled to some low achieving, overbearing, egotistical man. yet i now have a betrothed who’s hair is brown and who’s house has no dragon.

i will risk writing this only once, for the spiders may not spin their thread here but they still bite, and ask this of you: speak sense into my father. tell him i’m with child, tell him i’m a threat to the realm, tell him i’m plotting my own death. tell him any lie you need to put a stop to this betrothal and bring me home, to where i belong.

or, outsmart him and simply come rescue me yourself, like some knight on his white stallion (caraxes would likely singe my hair off if i ever dared call him such a thing in his presence).

i’ll be awaiting your next move, uncle. be sure you play wisely and don’t lose both your princess and your king.

coldest regards,

your little dove.

p.s. i have cum to learn that, while my fingers are indeed skilled, they are nowhere near as good as yours were, kepus.

the intensity behind the stare he holds the note under may just set it alight.

no longer does he doubt who could have written such a thing, the mentions of your joint ploy to deceive the courtiers and the wording used to describe the connection shared between you both marking the undeniable truth of the letter’s author. 

perversion brings him to reread the final sentence, mind fully registering them and flooding him with pink hued paintings of his pretty niece, as nude as the day you were born, now flushed skin and hardened nipples and honey dripping down your thighs as your dainty hands fail to fuck themselves as deeply as his had.

daemon can’t help but wonder what his little dove must think of in moments of self-pleasure, questions of whether you were depraved enough to think of men doing unspeakable things to you or if you merely blush over the memory of your uncle.

reading over the last part two more times, his eyes scatter back up the page- first, in an effort to avoid having to deal with his own impending arousal, and then because he feels compelled to read over the letter once more, eyes scanning over every detail.

it takes an unknown number of reads for him to notice a code among the words, a subtleness of ink layered to appear harsher, darker, more noticeable than the other words upon the parchment.

i’m, where, you, once, were.

i’m where you once were.

an inexplicable sense of pride comes over him, the fact his little dove has found a way to tell him something whilst, simultaneously, telling him nothing. were your worries true of spiders and the risk of one of them reading this letter in the time it took to reach him, he doubts any of them would be wise enough to notice the message, much less decipher it’s meaning.

and, while he applauds your display of wits, he despises his own inability to comprehend it. if you are where he once was, where had he been?

just about everywhere in the seven kingdoms, is the unfortunate truth.

by the time sleep at lasts takes over him, daemon has gained two things: the letter you’ve sent and the unbreakable will to move in on the king at last.

“the objective of chess is to protect your king while attacking your opponent’s. you must back the king into a corner, leave him with no way out, place him in check. only then will you be able to call checkmate and win.”

daemon nudges the knight with his foot.

as they’d sat for supper that evening, the prince had felt doubtful of the contents in the vial. he’d pinched it from the grand maester himself and, though he payed no real coins, the prince would argue he payed a grater price: feigning interest in conversing with old crone. a near three hours he’d sat, listening to the man drone on and on, till at last he’d excused himself to relieve his bladder and left daemon with a window of opportunity, his ointments and medicine all in a neat little display.

having little time, he’d grabbed at what he was sure to be milk of the poppy- a significantly smaller dose remaining within the vial compared to the rest- and tucked it in his trousers, at last excusing himself from the bore of a lifetime.

it wasn’t difficult to slip the liquid into a cup of wine, nor was it particularly hard to convince ser criston to drink from it, inviting the knight to join in on his empty toast towards the hightower queen and yet another pregnancy.

hours later and ser crispin lays slumped over outside his door.

daemon gives one more nudge for safety and, when the man merely slouches even closer to the ground, he grabs at the knight’s weapon and nestles it in his own scabbard, making use of it for the first time in two moons.

the hour is late and most of the keep have given in to the temptations of rest, yet the prince still travels the halls with caution, one eye looking over his shoulder. he half expects every guard he passes to seize him on sight, spewing some nonsense of his wrongful weapon or non-permitted solitude. with luck he reaches his destination, no one to spy upon the way he enters into the emptied library nor to witness as he shoves a bookcase aside and steps into the tunnel.

his memory serves him well, even after all these years, navigating himself through the interconnected secrets of the keep. he passes rooms of lords laid in bed with women they do not call wife, and ladies disrobing for the evening, and the still empty chambers of his little dove, till, at last, he reaches where he wants to be, not bothering with patience before barging his way out of the tunnel and into the regal chambers of the king.

“it took you longer than i expected.” daemon had counted on his brother being the one wearing shock upon his face, yet it is the prince who plays the fool, stepping into the room to find his older brother sat at a table, goblet in hand and a familiar checkered board in front of him.

it irks him to hear the king even imply he’d been expecting his arrival.

“don’t you have a wife to be bedding, brother?” he steps deeper into the chambers with caution, eyes on the empty bed and the lack of sight of his brother’s breeding mare.

“pregnancy, daemon. it works wonders on a woman’s body,” he takes a sip of his drink before reaching to pour a second cup meant for the prince. “it’s just a shame one of those wonders comes in the form of my wife snoring louder than a lion roars.”

it’s strange to hear his brother discuss details of his new bride.

daemon had never sought answers for their marriage, yet he’d forever questioned what had driven his brother to marry such a girl, childhood friend of his eldest daughter and so clearly lacking the backbone needed to stand up for herself against the injustices forced against her by her own father. were the prince a more gentle person at heart, perhaps he’d find it in him to pity her.

instead, he sees her as just another thorn in his brother’s side, waiting for the chance to poison his mind and seat one of her wretched babes upon the throne.

“come, come,” dragging him out of his thoughts is viserys once more, now half-hovering over the table and moving his limbs back and forth, hands carefully placing each piece upon it’s designated checker. “sit down! let us play!”

only as he’s seated across from viserys does he notice he’s been bestowed with playing the blacks on the board. never before was he allowed, the older of the two always insisting black was his lucky colour and refusing to play the whites.

in truth, daemon has always suspected his brother had been to fearful to play white, not knowing how to make a good first move and relying on his opponent to instead kickstart the game and give him places to move his pieces.

“isn’t it a beautiful board?” the elder must confuse his staring as a sign of fascination, gawking at the splendour of it. “it’s the very same one mother gifted me after i bested her for the first time.”

there it is, that familiar lick of envy, a sick and cruel twist in his guts as he stares down at an object viserys gets to remember their parents by, while all daemon ever got was disapproving looks and half-hearted embraces. perhaps the rumours are true and the prince has a complex which forces him to pity himself, to cast a shadow upon his own image and declare that it was a wrong forced upon him by others.

or, more likely, the consequences of watching his parents prop viserys up on a mantelpiece whilst leaving him in a corner to collect dust had lead him down the path to the destructive man he’s become.

even when he’d claimed caraxes, he could only imagine what his father’s reaction would have been, were he still alive to witness it. 

impressive, but your brother claimed the greatest dragon to have ever lived, the one who the great conqueror rode upon and forged a throne under the black dread’s flames.

“‘tis exactly the same as any other chess board, brother.” he lets petty feelings spin lies on his tongue, rolling his eyes and disregarding the clear etherealness, the intricate carvings on each piece and the extravagant linings of the board, and each of it’s shimmering onyx and quartz squares.

daemon downs half his cup in one sip, eyes trained on his brother’s first move.

king’s pawn forward two spaces, a strong start and an immediate attack to the centre.

it’s fitting, daemon thinks, for this to be the first move his brother makes while leading a game. while a powerful start, it’s rather obvious, one he’d seen viserys defeat in a manner of mere seconds. perhaps age has taken away his astute mind and skill for the game.

daemon retaliates, moving one of his bishop’s pawns forward two spaces.

with the crease that forms in viserys’ brow, daemon delights. his brother was not expecting him to move in such a way, likely expecting him to do something erratic like bringing his queen’s pawn forward.

the pair continue to move in silence, sips of wine and scratching of pieces echoing around the chambers. it’s deceivingly peaceful, nothing like the confrontation the rogue prince had geared himself up to walk into. while he’d awaited bursts of anger and scathing accusations and marks of betrayal, the two sit like children once more, moving empty objects in an imitation of politics.

the only difference is daemon appears to have the upper hand, a growing collecting of white pieces stored to the right of his long-ago emptied and refilled cup.

as always, it’s daemon who takes the first bite.

“i’m afraid i must pay you your dues, brother.” his words slip through his own smirking lips, satisfaction rolling in by the hundreds as he spies the white king, slowly losing places to hide on the board. “it’s truly applaudable how you managed to not only secure one daughter a marriage amid questions of her virtue, but two! young helaena will follow in her half-sisters’ footsteps, surely.”

viserys’ hand pauses mid-air, his remaining bishop held in his grasp. his grip tightens with each passing second. the older has always been more level-headed, that no one can dispute, but the rogue prince will forever swear up and down, high and low, that it is his brother who carries the more foul temper.

viserys’ anger is just harder to weed out from behind false niceties and calmed breathing.

“if you mean to say that helaena will be so lucky as to marry a noble man, filled with honour,” he lays his bishop down at last, not managing to capture any of daemon’s blacks. “then yes, i should hope so. both the betrothal of my eldest daughter and my middle-born were to good men, faithful lords. my helaena will be lucky to do the same.”

“you never did quite tell me about y/n’s betrothal, brother.” the king chuckles at daemon’s words, empty amusement in the obvious statement the prince makes. still, he makes no attempt to stop him, letting him string the conversation along to the dreaded topic between them: the rumours of what daemon had done to you. “last i spoke with her, she was rather... occupied with something other than the prospect of marriage. when you announced her future union to her, did she drop on her knees and kiss your feet in gratitude? or did she spit at you and-”

“did she drop on her knees for you?” the raise in viserys’ voice is minimal yet enough to have daemon smirking over the rim of his cup, amused to see his brother being led into his trap for once.

he makes his next move on the board fist, plucking his knight and moving it over one of his own pawns. if he plays is cards right, messes with his brother’s head just the right amount, perhaps he won’t notice how he’s moving in on his king.

his only hope is to keep talking about his little dove.

“so that’s what you wish to discuss, brother? how it felt to fuck your young daughter?” for the first time he speaks the lie out loud, no hiding behind innuendos nor insinuations. they need to believe you’ve stolen my virtue, kepus, were the words you’d whispered to him, face still fresh from dried tears and teeth stained purple with the wine he’d let you sip from his glass late into the night as the rest of the world had slept, they need to think that you fucked me.  he’d sworn an oath to you, to put on a show and ruin you beneath the judgement of others. he’ll be damned if viserys becomes an exception to this oath. “because i can go into detail, you needn’t beg. i can tell you of how it felt to have her squeeze around my cock, and how she arched that little back like a cat, spine curving deeper each time i pounded into her. i can tell you of how she begged for her uncle, her kepus, to shoot his spend into her aching womb and-”

a screech rings out as viserys’ chair flies backwards, the king rising to a stand and glaring down at his brother, who only sinks deeper into the velvet lined seat and allows himself another sip of his glass, face painted in pure amusement as viserys’ reflects that of an angered dragon.

“enough! i will not have you speak such atrocities about your own niece!”

“oh spear me the lecture of the seven, brother!” the hypocrisy to shun him for lusting after his own kin, it has to be the hightower cunt’s doing. feeding lies into her new husband’s head, any means to have his true-blooded targaryen daughters removed from the line to the throne. daemon at last feels himself begin to irk, a scowl engraving itself into his forehead. “your own beloved, your late wife, shared blood with you and you never once objected to bedding her. it is our family’s birthright to keep the blood of the dragon burning hot, not dampen it with that of lesser folk. i mean our parents, for gods’ sake, they were siblings! are you going to tell me it’s wrong?”

“this is not about you being her uncle, daemon. this is about you being you! and her being my sweet girl, one of the last pieces of aemma-”

daemon can’t help himself, flying out of his own seat with the slam of his hand on the table. the pieces rattle under the impact, the white queen toppling over and sending her pawn flying off the board.

“your sweet girl who you let be slandered by the same lords who break bread at your table and drink from your cups!” the prince stands taller than the king, shoulders straight and head held high as he flips positions, becoming the one staring down upon his older brother, who’s slouched and frailer than he once was, hands searching for the steadying hold of the oak table. “tell me, brother, where were you when she drank herself sick as they spoke on her fertility? what did you do when they mocked her for being scared after an attack on her life, in her own chambers!? did you even ask her what happened between us before you shipped her off like cattle to the slaughter, let her tell you it was she who asked it of me? she detested the thought of marrying some unknown lord so much she’d rather destroy her maidenhood and her honour, but you wouldn’t see that, too blinded by your own downfall into becoming a boot-licker for all these cunts who hold land in your realm.”

viserys can only stare, frozen where he stands and eyes widened in bewilderment at his brother’s own outburst, chest heaving in anger and hands shaking with adrenaline as he points towards the king.

“are you in love with her?”

no more than a whisper, so quiet the rogue prince is almost sure he imagines it.

till the king repeats himself.

"gods, don't be ridiculous!" it’s neither a yes nor a no, and daemon is so painfully aware of this, aware that he gives no real answer to your father nor himself.

the concept of love and all it entails has never appealed to the prince, at least in the way it’s presented in song and written of in history. all his life he’d heard of knights who’s lady love was a gem they sought to hold, to sing songs of faithfulness and dance around with hands entwined by marriage. of men who made themselves better, kinder, more gentle, all in the hopes of pleasing their lover and winning her hand. daemon had never experienced such a feeling.

while love is something most feel in their heart, daemon feels it in his loins.

it’s a hunger that consumes his very being, aching, and growling, and demanding to be fed with bursts of passion and shouts of anger. it’s a possession he needs to take, to mark someone as his, in every sense of the words. his to own, his to touch, his to drown in expensive gifts. his love is not kind, but brutal, and loud, and forceful, never leaving room for the rest of the world to doubt it. it makes him want to march into battle, to burn down cities, to spill the blood of any who dare harm the object of his obsession. his love is a fire that burns him from within, spilling out from his skin and scorching everything in it’s path.

the prince is not sure if he wants you to burn in its flames.

“but i could give her a greater life than any other man in this realm.” what he is certain of is that he will not stand by as your father let’s you be ruined by someone other than him. “a good man means nothing if he can not keep her safe, or even happy. at the very least, wedding her to me would mean her husband is someone familiar. she wouldn’t have to leave her home, or change her ways, or even bare a child if she does not wish to.”

viserys sighs, tired body dropping back into his chair and his mangled hand reaches up to brush over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes squeeze shut. the prince almost believes he sees a flicker of resignation, winning his brother over at last or exhausting him so deeply he sees no choice but to accept his words as truth, if only to silence him.

instead, the king reaches for the board once more, an airy laugh escaping him as he examines the placement of each piece. leaning over, he sits his queen back up and drums his fingers on the table.

he laughs once more.

"after all these years, daemon, you still struggle to capture my queen."

“but your queen, daemon. the queen is where you hide all your power, look for where your opponent keeps their queen and there you shall find true victory.”

the words of years ago spin round and round in the prince’s head.

his eyes, glued to the board, watch as the king moves his queen out two spaces and captures daemon’s knight, snatching it off the board and tossing it over his shoulder. viserys looks up, awaiting for daemon to continue the match, to put an end to it at last.

but he’s too stuck on the phrasing his brother had used, stubborn in his belief that it’s meaning has little to do with the game upon the table and, rather, the one that’s being played with words and whispers and undisclosed betrothals.

the prince thinks of the queen, the hightower girl who parades around the courts in green silks and upon swollen ankles, face downtrodden each time she foolishly thinks no one is looking. if ever he believed viserys held true affection for her, he’d wonder if she was who the king refers to, if otto hightower had truly been sent back to oldtown empty handed or with a new bride on his arm.

but any fool with a set of eyes can see the king loves his second wife like he loves the iron throne: through duty and obligation.

it is, instead, the late queen aemma who viserys must speak of.

and, while her maiden home, house arryn, where she’d spent her girlhood in the days before she’d been betrothed to her cousin, possesses no lord nor man awaiting a wife, a neighbouring house had just recently named a new wifeless lord.

a house which remembers, especially those who wrong it.

“no…”

i'm where you once where.

“you have to understand, daemon, that the actions you take leave me with consequences to bare. after what happened to lady rhea… after what you done,” his brother, so clearly exhausted with the secrecy and the scheming, folds like a house of cards against a gentle breeze, collapsing further into his seat and shaking his head. he does not notice as daemon moves his own queen along the board. “the vale were at an unease. threatened, was the word they used. so when lord royce staked his claim over his house’s seat, demanding i compensate runestone for the marriage agreement you destroyed and the lady you took from them, i had to give them a show of good faith. i had to reassure them of the longstanding trust between our houses.”

“so you gave her to them, sold her like some slave!”

“i made a political deal!” he attempts to defend himself in both words and on the board. in both, he fails. “one where lord rhoyce gains a bride, i avoid war and my daughter gets to finally take on the duties bestowed upon her at birth.”

“you’re a fucking fool, viserys. you would have been better delivering her to the triarchy. least they would make her death a more swift one. that rhoyce twat’ll have her head on a pike, and her tits and cunt will be hand delivered to you. they’ll slaughter her, as payment for their-” daemon swallows every ill coloured word and expression of his despise that comes to mind at the memory of his bronze bitch, giving no out for his brother to twist this conversation into a matter of his own wrongdoings. “late lady.”

with no more hesitation, the rogue prince moves his queen one last time and delights in watching the white king fall into check.

he knocks the piece over, quietly declaring checkmate.

“brother, please,” the king’s words are as fragile as his health, failing and mute against daemon’s scowling features, which refuse to play nice any longer. “do you think this is what i wanted, for my daughter to be used as a bargaining tool for peace? but there’s no going back, what’s done is done.”

“then undo what is done!”

“how can i when they threaten violence and-”

“you’re the king! who gives a shit what they threaten, they have a dozen men to your thousands. you have dragons! if the threat of fire worked on the men of the vale once, it’ll do so again. so regain your pride and write to that cunt royce. tell him to have your daughter cleaned up and sent back to where she belongs, to find fulfilment in his new lordhood and to drop this notion that he even deserves to gaze upon a targaryen princess, much less stick his shrivelled cock within her. i urge you to send this letter post-haste,” that familiar blade of his sits neatly by the entrance of the chamber, attracting the prince over till he clutches it in his grasp at last, quickly returning dark sister to her rightful spot by his side and discarding the blade he’d stolen from ser criston. he glances back at the king, now risen once more, and twists the doorknob. “and pray, dear brother. pray that it reaches gerold royce before i do.”

with the slam of the door, daemon plunders into the halls of the keep, footsteps heavy and echoing with each one he takes. jaw clenched and hands fisted, he paints the image of a man enraged, sick and fed-up with the games being played.

by the time he reaches his chambers, shoving his way past the sleeping knight at it’s doors, there’s bound to be a flurry of gossiping fools who speak of the prince and his defiling of the king’s commands, but he cares little as he straps himself into leathers and steel, hell-bent on reaching the dragonpit before day breaks and the sun paints the sky alight.

daemon is done sitting idly by, waiting for the king to see reason.

because while at the age of five, naive and easily influenced, daemon targaryen had looked up to his chess-genius of a brother, it was at age five and ten that he realised why his brother kept winning, why pawns and knights and rooks would conveniently move to the places he needed them to be.

he cheated.

[kpopcafeeee]

Who’s the boss?- Johnny

Pairing: dilf! Married! Johnny x model! fem! Reader

Warnings: dilf! And married Johnny and young y/n but is a legal age , cheating, smut, degration, chocking, hair pulling, messy sloppy kissing, moaning, size kink, car sex. That’s all you guys😉

Summary: your an intern that just started working at a popular modeling agency and your CEO is the hottest guy there and he knows it everyone knows it, he is the talk of the company and every woman’s after him but he only wants one person and it’s not his wife it’s you

A/N: since you guys wanted kinktober I will be doing them all week and all weekend if I can I I’m sorry if I don’t do all but at least and so-hee is Johnnys wife IM SORRY but karina is your model buddy it’s not the best BUT yeah enjoy the story

Enjoy the story ^u^

it’s you 1st day and you already made a model buddy you guys are in break room with two other models that is talking about you guys boss/CEO

“He’s so fine” your coworker said while smiling and putting lipstick on “i want to be the mother of his children” your other coworker said then Karina joined in “I would give that man eight children if I could” she said while biting her lip, then donghyuck and yuta walked “ too bad ladies he’s married to the beautifulest woman I ever seen” donghyuck said while making his coffee “ but I’m single” he winked “ugh as if Lee donghyuck” your coworker said while scoffing and walking out heels clacking on the floor “rather be with Yuta than you sorry” your other coworker said while walking out after “how about you ladies?, wanna go out to the bar with us after the photo shoots?” Yuta said while raising a eyebrow “sure you in?” Karina said looking at you smiling and winking “s-sure i guess” you said nervously “ok see you at the bar then” Yuta said while winking and walking away with jealous donghyuck.

While walking out you bow and greet everyone until your stopped by a certain person “ you must be new?” Johnny said “yes sir” you said while looking down “ I thought so because If you weren’t i think I would remember a pretty face like that” he said while winking and walking away with people following after him leaving you flustered , is he really married and if he is why is he flirting with you? You just stopped thinking about it and got bakc to your photo shoot.

You wore a black dress that showed a little bit of cleavage but it was appropriate when you arrived at the bar you looked around for them and your eyes landed on them but there was more people at the table that you couldn’t see that well so when you sat down there were people you did the a photo shoot with and some of the staff but the one you were really shocked to see was your ceo being what is a married man doing here doesn’t he has a child to look after for? You stopped thinking about when Karina handed you a beer for whole entire night Johnny was staring at you from across the table you guys were sitting at, the night ended when haechan was to drunk that he couldn’t take his self home so Karina and Yuta had to take him home and Karina was your only ride back to your house since you drove here in cab instead of your car incase you got too drunk that you couldn’t drive home she would drive you home since she didn’t drink that much, so when she left with Yuta and haechan you were surprised and betrayed

So when Johnny offered you a ride home you couldn’t say no cause you couldn’t sleep at a bar, you only live a few minutes away from his house so it wouldn’t take that long so you said yes

When you got in the car and he started driving it felt like it’s been an hour and the tension was comfortable and awkward “Pretty dress” he said while looking at the road then you for a quick second “thank you sir” you said quietly, when you arrived in your drive way you about to get out when Johnny locked the car door on you “um s-sir” you said looking at him with nervous eyes “could meet me in my office tomorrow?” He said looking at you with one eyebrow raised “sir can I ask why?” You said curious on why and kinda thought it was for something else “your gonna do a photo shoot with haechan next week, is that ok?” He said looking concerned cause he knew what haechan was like “it’s fine sir” you said with a smile to tell let him know that your fine “oh well see you tomorrow” he said with a wink “see you tomorrow sir” you said flustered

At first it was just mindless flirting until it turned into you staying late after photo shoots because Johnny wanted to let you look at the pictures to see if they were ok and Johnny sometimes watching you while you do your photo shoots til after a certain photo shoot

“Hey y/n Johnny said he needs you to stay little longer for you to pick the pictures from the photo shoot we should use” one of the staffs said to you “oh ok” you said smiling at the staff and waving goodbye, why did Johnny wanted you to stay after all the pictures were great did you have something in you teeth?, or did you pose at the wrong time, whatever it was had you worrying and sweating bullets until you calmed yourself down

so after some staffs left while some were still in the building working on other’s pictures, you went to his office to see what was wrong and when you got there you were welcomed in by his assistant “sir y/n is here” the assistant said with a smile “thank you, you can leave know” he said with a serious and not serious tone, after his assistant left you asked “if you don’t mind where’s the pictures you wanted me to see?” You said with your head leaning right a little like a confused expression “they’re are no pictures but there is something I want you to do” he said getting out of his chair and walking up to you faces only inches away “could you be a good girl and help me out” he said towering over you with a smirk on his face, you nodded “I need a answer doll” he said in a serious tone he looked like he was going to devour right then and there “y-yes sir” you said looking up at him “good girl” he said with a smirk while putting your legs around his waist and picking you up and moving papers and flies to get you sited on his desk and when you got his desk you met by a kiss he then pushed you closer to him on his desk and putting your legs back on his waist, while you let his tongue roam your mouth until he pulled away from the kiss and started to rip your clothes off one by one until you were in your underwear

He then started to devour you again but he went for neck this time, your clothed cunt was rubbing against his erection, he sucked on every weak spot on your neck until It was bruised, he then moved your panties to the side and stuck one finger into your wet cunt “s-sir” you moaned out “shh baby don’t get to loud now there’s still people here be a good girl and be quiet for me” he said with a smirk he then went back to sucking in your neck and plunging his finger in and out of you “fuck I love it when you call me sir baby” he said against your neck, he then stuck another in your sopping cunt he then picked up the pace and you were almost at your climax until he stopped and removed his finger from out of you, you whined

“sorry baby but I want you to cum on my cock” he said while unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down along with his boxers

WOW he was bigger than anyone you slept with before you wanted to taste him but he had other plans, he then slowly and cautiously out his cock in your tight cunt after he was balls deep he looked at you to see if you were ok “fuck your so tight for me” he said while groaning, you were biting back a moan from coming out he then started to go slow until he sped his pace hips hitting your thighs while he groaned he then placed his thumb on your clit and that got you going crazy he sped up his pace to a inhuman pace that you could hear skin to skin and broken moans and groans coming from his office, “s-sir I’m gonna cum” you said eyes rolling to the back of your skull he being started to rub your clit faster and rutting into you faster and that sent you over board making you cum and clenched around his cock “s-shit” he says while cumming he then pulled out of making half of his cum spill out of you and he goes to grab tissues to clean you up that was in his desk drawer he then lifts you off the desk and it takes you a few minutes to stand and walk to get your scattered clothes every

“doll I just got one more question” he said to you after you pulled up your pencil skirt “yes sir” you said “who’s the boss?”

THE END

It’s not the best IM SORRY:(

By:kpopcafeeee

[pastanest]

if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @iamburdened - thanks so much!! ♡

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

Stay-At-Home Spencer

- ever since your daughter was born, you and Spencer have taken it in turns to become a single parent while the other parent travels for work

- you offered to stay at home and care for her every time the team needed to travel somewhere because you felt that Spencer was far more useful to the team than you were, but he insisted on splitting it equally

“Considering I couldnt physically assist you in carrying our daughter for nine months and then birthing her, I will spend the rest of our lives doing everything I can for her, and for you.”

- to begin with, both of you stayed home because you were recovering and Spencer made it his job to take care of both of you

- if the team really needed Spencer, you pretty much forced him to go because without him people could literally die, but he never left for more than a night or two

- but as soon as you were well, you were desperate to get back to work after being on maternity leave, so you took the first trip away

- which meant for the first time, Spencer was alone with and solely responsible for his daughter

- needless to say, he was terrified

- although he had paid attention to everything you did as a mother, it seemed that when he tried the same things, they didnt work because he wasnt you

- he also found it fascinating that although your daughter was only a few months old and was perfectly fine whenever you left the room, your daughter had somehow figured out that you were completely out of the house, and she was distraught

- for a solid hour, she cried

- Spencer tried everything, he tried feeding her, burping her, changing her even though she didnt need it

- eventually, he found the greatest solution: pulling funny faces at her

- he realised this completely by accident, he happened to pull a particularly contorted stressed face when she burst into tears despite another attempt at cheering her up, and suddenly she was in fits of giggles

- so he pulled the face again, and she was giggling more

- he lifted her to sit on his raised knees on the floor, bringing her closer to his face to try out some more strange expressions, all of them had her laughing in the most wonderful way

- in that position, she realised that she could reach out and grab some of her father’s hair, which she did

- Spencer was surprised at how gentle she was with him, considering babies often grab things with a lot of determination

- for the rest of the day, he tirelessly pulled different facial expressions until it was almost her bedtime, and by then Spencer’s face was aching

- he had a cloth on his shoulder to catch her drool as he held her in her new favourite place: where she could reach his hair

- you had been texting Spencer at every chance you got to make sure things were going well, but you knew better than to call, just in case your daughter was napping

- unfortunately, one person who didnt think of this was Derek Morgan

- you had been in the bathroom when Derek suggested the team needed Spencer’s help, and by the time you were done peeing the phone was already ringing

- your husband picked up the phone on the second ring so that it disturbed her as little as possible

“Hello?”

“Hey pretty boy, we need your help.”

- Spencer could tell he was on speaker to the entire team, and he hoped with every fibre of his being that there wouldnt be anymore tears from his daughter

- he then heard your voice in the background whisper-yelling

“DEREK MORGAN YOU DID NOT CALL SPENCER! IT’S ALMOST BEDTIME!”

“Spencer has a bedtime?” Derek chuckled.

“Not him-“

- and as if on cue, the little baby in Spencer’s arms squealed with delight, as if she somehow knew people were talking about her

“Oh SHIT! Im so sorry kid!”

“Dont worry, she’s calmed down and ready for sleep after her bottle. What do you need?”

- and so, as Spencer bustled around the kitchen, using his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear while he held his little girl with one arm and prepared a warm bottle of milk with the other, Spencer discussed and essentially solved the case for his team

- “Oh, by the way, pretty girl says she loves you.”

- ah yes, Spencer was pretty boy and you were pretty girl to Derek, always

“Tell her I love her too!”

“Pretty boy says he loves you too.” Derek repeats to you, and Spencer knew you were smiling without even having to see you

“Good luck with the kid, kid.” Derek said sweetly.

“Thank you, good luck with the rest of the case. Look after my wife!”

“We will!” JJ called out.

- with that, Spencer ended the call and began to give your daughter her nightly bottle

- he sat on the couch, holding her gently and admiring her features

- her tiny hands with the gentlest grabby fingers, her perfectly round cheeks, the feathery hair sprouting at the top of her head, and her eyes, your eyes

- once she’d finished her bottle, Spencer walked to her crib and rocked her a little in his arms, humming softly to her until she was fast asleep, and then placing her in her crib

- he tucked her blanket around her and moved a stuffed animal beside her, which she immediately grabbed ahold of in her sleep

- bending down to place a kiss on his daughter’s head, Spencer whispered goodnight to her before leaving the room

- he collapsed on the couch, exhausted beyond what he ever thought possible

- his phone vibrated on the table and he smiled tiredly

You: hey love, everything alright? x

Him: today has been wonderful, but we both missed you a lot! little fairy is sleeping now, and I think I’ve been inspired to do the same x

You: ahhh! you’ve done such a good job, congratulations!! you’re a stay-at-home dad now hahaha. and you finished our case today! you definitely deserve the rest. I’ll be home tomorrow! sweet dreams my angel x

Him: hank you sweetheart. I cant wait to hold you again. I’ll dream of you x

- Spencer didnt even have the energy to move himself from the couch to the bed, he simply shifted slightly so that he was comfortable, and passed out

- a smile lingered on his face as he thought about what you’d said

- a stay-at-home dad, you’d called him. he liked that title

[lonigiri]

Hiii!!! You could write a sumin (xikers) smut please😊?!?!? Looking forward to reading your writings🙃

Best Friend

sypnosis: you get ready a little early because you’re really excited to have a movie marathon with your best friend.

warnings: making out, fingering, oral (f reciving), hair pulling, fem!reader, kinda voyeurism, masterbating (m), use of pet names pretty & pretty girl, kinda degradation if you sqiuint. the use of the name whore. body worshiping if you squint, chubby reader implied but not specified

notes: yay ofc i love sumin so so much, this is also my first writing in so so long so if its bad pls dont bust my ass im trying my best

you had finished getting all your stuff together now you just had to wait. sumin, your best friend, had invited you over for a movie marathon, he wanted to watch every single saw movie. you had no complaints seeing as saw was your favorite movie series and you could talk about it for hours. but sumin never seemed interested in it but one day he just told you he wanted to watch all of them so you offered to go over to his house to watch all of them with him.

the wait was absolutely killing you. like usual, you got ready a whole 2 hours earlier then you should’ve so you were just sitting in your living room, waiting, trying to find something to occupy your time til it was time to go over sumins place.

you being impatient decided to go over a little early ‘being a little early couldnt hurt, all we’re doing is watching movies’ you thought to yourself as you made your way to his house.

you’d arrived at his place. knocking on the door of his home, with no answer. you knew where he hid the spare key so you decided to let yourself in. “sumin! im here, i know its a little early but i kinda got ready really early again.” you called out, to no answer again. thinking he was in the shower you set your stuff down on the floor and made your way to the bathroom. the bathroom was empty, you guessed he was sleeping.

you finally made your way to his bedroom, the door was slightly cracked open. you heard noises coming from his room so you decided to stand in the blind spot to listen so you could scare him. but these noises were kinda… lewd? is the only word that could come to your mind. hot sighs leaving his throat and you swore you heard your name being chanted. “f-fuck y/n..” your eyes widening at the words falling from his mouth. you were kinda turned on though, you could just imagine your pretty best friend with his head thrown back rubbing himself thinking of you.

the mere thought made you hot, your heat starting to drip arousal. you had decided to walk in. “sumin i know its early but-“ you said innocently as if you hadnt been listening outside door. your eyes had finally landed on him and oh my god was it a sight to see. cock in hand, lips parted eyes closed, head lolling back. he sat up, quickly pulling his sweats up. “y/n! you’ve ever heard of knocking?” his cheeks red. you took a couple steps forward to him, taking a seat on his bed. “h-how much of that did you see.” stumbling over his words, “enough to know that you want me the same way i want you.” his eyes widening at the sentence, he started stumbling over his words. never did you ever think you could make your best friend with the overly confident ego go crazy over a singular sentence.

he suddenly became that man with the ego again as he grabbed your face planting a kiss on your lips. your hands making their way to his neck deepening the kiss. “fuck y/n you dont understand how bad i’ve wanted you.” he said against your lips. you took that as an opportunity to slip your tongue in his mouth. the two of you fighting over dominance, you eventually letting him win. his tongue skillfully exploring your mouth. you let out a small moan that didnt go unnoticed by sumin. one of his hands go from your face down to your waist and the other going under your shirt to squeeze your breast over your bra.

“sumin..” you moaned longingly against his lips. he pulled away from your lips, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. he instead put his lips on your neck placing wet kisses and hickies wherever he could put his mouth. “god.. always thought you were so innocent. who knew my pretty best friend was such a whore.” he said between heavy breaths. you wanted to retort back so bad but you decided it was better for the two of you to just keep your mouth shut. you did let out a cute whimper at his words though. he let out a little laugh at your whimper, proving his words to be right.

he pulled your shirt over your head and uncliped your bra, getting to work on your breasts. he kneeded one of your boobs as he took the others nipple in his mouth. you letting out soft moans and whimpers. tugging at his green strands that you’d helped him dye not too long ago. “f-fuck sumin feels s’ good.” your words slurring as his hands made their was down your body. mouth detatching from your nipple, leaving kisses down your body. “god you’re so pretty.” he said against your body whilst planting kisses. your whimper to his words driving him crazy. he layed you down from your sitting stature on his bed, yanking down your shorts and panties in one go.

he spread your legs wide just looking “hm, s’ wet for me pretty girl, i think you were watching for longer then you let on, isnt that true.” how did he know, thoughts racing through your mind at a millions miles per second but then they stopped as his finger started spreading your wet folds. your back arched slightly at the sudden sensation letting out a tiny moan. “its okay,” he said standing up to whisper in your ear “i like when you watch.” the lewd mewl you let out at his words. you swore if he kept whispering in your ear like this you could cum untouched. he returned to his place between your legs. his fingers teasing your hole as he lightly circled your clit. “sumin please.” you begged him, he secretly loved watching you twitch because of his touch, he wasnt gonna stop anytime soon but as soon as those pleads left your mouth he couldnt stop himself from giving you what you wanted.

he licked a stripe over your pussy lavishing in your wetness. he put your legs over his shoulders not caring if your crushed his head with your thighs. he secretly wanted you to. his tongue dipped into your heat. you put your hand over your mouth to hide your moans. “dont hide your noises pretty girl. i want to hear all of them.” you moaned at his words. your fingers gripping at the white sheets of sumins bed as he went down on you. thrusting his fingers in and out, sucking on your clit. your back arched against the bed, taking his hair into your hands tugging at the strands. “sumin! f-fuck m’ so close!” he started thrusting his fingers faster. he found the gummy spot of your walls making you moan out in ecstasy. loving the moans he gave you ge hit that spot every time he’d bring his fingers into your cunt. “fuck! m’ cumming! su-min ngh!” you ended up cumming all over his fingers. he pulled them out of you all covered in cum. sumin being himself licked all of it off, not missing a singular spot. “god pretty, you taste so good. couldnt stop myself.”

[roe-and-memory]

headcanons

hi tumblr ihave like three headcanons to share currently (there will be more soon i just need to see how well theyre taken, do we like headcanons on here??)

(based off of him not having headlights but how i perceive it humanized even though racecars cant have headlights in Real Life) lightning has light sensitivity issues with his vision . he cannot see. the sun is too bright sometimes and if its dark he will trip over one of the floorboards in docs house, no matter how many times hes walked this floor. (hes very prone to tripping Always but it just gets worse when its dark) (he has rips in the knees of every single pair of jeans he owns)

docs old sunglasses have his name lasered into the arm, lightning found them basically untouched in a box in docs garage. he pulls them out and starts using them when its too bright outside and doc has learned to just hand them over whenever lightning shows up like

2. lightning just. doesnt sleep ?? he is 100% an insomniac and his nightmares are to blame. he would rather work himself to exhaustion than willingly sleep at a normal time. cue him spending most nights out in the fields or at the junkyard with mater building things or whatever until mater is the one to be like ok im tired im going to bed and lightning is forced to go back home, climb back through his bedroom window, and stare at the ceiling until he passes out. he hates sleeping because every night, without fail, he has nightmares. vivid nightmares about whatever his brain can think of, and when he does sleep hes basically fighting his sheets for five hours because of these nightmares, and then he wakes up early and goes about his day as if he wasn't at war with literal demons 20 minutes ago.

doc knows about these nightmares, of course he does, he's a light sleeper and lightnings room is just across the hall, he's also completely aware that the kid sneaks out the window every night because, although lightning is quiet around the house, he is not too graceful when hes attempting to climb out the window -- he's fallen into the bush beneath it countless times.

because of this, doc has tried everything to help him with the nightmare issue, from melatonin to getting him to just write down whatever he was dreaming about to show himself it wasnt real, and absolutely none of it worked. in fact, melatonin seemed to make it worse, and doc gave up there.

3. doc wears a silver "wedding" band. he's not married, in fact he's never been interested in having a partner or getting married at all (i dub thee aroace) but when he was younger he was certainly eye candy for girls at the racetrack and they fawned over him like nobodies business. he comes up with the great idea to get a silver ring and lie, he makes up some tragic backstory to tell whenever a woman asks him why he has a ring or who the lucky person is, and it makes them back of pretty quickly. in reality, the ring is made from a small wheel bearing, and smokey made it for him when he asked because he thought it was funny as hell and was like yes sure but pls make it sound ridiculous . and dont ever tell the same story twice. confuse them.

word gets around and he's told multiple different stories so everyone is confused, but if someone questions him he just gives them a Look and they shut up about it.

even after his crash and his inevitable leave from the piston cup and thomasville, along with his change of address, he continued to wear the ring just in case he got recognized or something.. (it was for aesthetic reasons, he loves that ring its just his signature thing now)

ok... thats it for now, is this how things get formatted here??? do we Like this???