#can you hear that? its me sobbing inside your walls

[uncaffeinatedbirb]

Thanks, Jayvik nation! will never listen to Radiohead's Let Down the same way ever again

[ssloveslogan]

. ⋆. 𐙚 ˚ too much ˚ 𐙚 . ⋆.

warnings: MDNI, dom!logan x sub!reader, unprotected sex, size kink, dirty talk, kinda breeding kink, degradation, daddy kink, petnames, belly bulge

✧₊⁺ i knoow its such an overused dynamic but i cant help myself i love it. i so badly need logan to just take control of me and do give feedback on where i can improve i need it ✧₊⁺

“relax sweetheart, it will feel good once you do” logan grunts out, slowly pressing his tip into your tight hole.

“l-logan! oh lo, y-you’re too big!” you hiss out, feeling stretched and already full just from the fat head of his cock burning your gummy walls.

“shhh, she’s taking me just fine, hm? look at that, i’m squeezing right in” he smirks as he look down to where you’re both connected, your juices already leaking down his shaft, as he bottoms out with a loud groan.

he gives no time for you to get used to the generous size of him as he pulls out leaving just the tip before slamming back in. he sets a rapid pace as he thrusts in and out, kissing your cervix with every rut.

“f-fuck kid, you’re gripping around me so tight” he growls out, leaning down to bury his face in your neck, biting and sucking to leave his mark on you, yet remaining at his vicious pace. he wants needs everyone to know who you belong to.

“oh, daddy i’m so full, your cock feels s-so fucking g-good” you mumble out, eyes rolling all the way back as you moan with every thrust into you. “m-more, please daddy..”

“greedy fuckin’ whore” logan scoffs at your desperation yet he presses his thumb to your red, puffy button and moves it in swift circles which have you clamping down on him impossibly harder. you’re hands claw at the sheets, you swear you can see galaxies at this point, and the pleasure from both his finger on your clit and his hips snapping into you is all too overwhelming.

“w-wait lo, s’too much” you sob beneath him, squirming away, but he doesn’t stop and instead drills harder against your cervix. he grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head with just one of his hands while he continues his assault on your clit with the other hand.

logan chuckles “this is what you wanted, right doll? so quit squirming and fuckin’ take it” he snarls into your ear, his breath hot against it and his groans take over your hearing.

you soon give up with your pleads to slow down and instead let him use your now pliant body. so willing. logan hikes one of your thighs up to his pleasing - manhandling you as if you were merely a toy. strings of ‘uh,uh,uh’s’ are all you can slobber out and soon enough you’re crumbling down with the intensity of your orgasm.

logan groans at the even tighter feeling and he fucks you right through your release and all you do is just moan and whine while being fucked dumb on his girth. soon enough, you feel him throb in your heat and he jackhammers into your cunt, chasing his own orgasm.

“gonna cum in you princess, make those pretty noises for me, let everyone hear what a cumslut i’m making of you” logan smirks as he watches you let out your lewd moans for him. so obedient.

“f-fuck” logan’s hips begins to stutter and then he halts into you, as deep as he can, as thick spurts of his load stain your insides white, plugging you full of him.

“im gonna stay right here, princess” he releases his grip on your wrists and moves his hand towards the thick bulge in your lower stomach. he presses down gently, letting you feel the imprint of his girth in your core, and you whine, feeling overworked and spent.

“gotta make sure you can take daddy’s cock easier next time, hm?

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪

was it too much? was it too little? help me, all i knew when writing this earlier was how desperate i am for him😢

[orangeblossomsintheair]

LANDO NORRIS

lando fingering you. thats it. thats the post. im almost always open for lando, carlos, and logan requests ;>

lando knows how needy you get after a few days apart, knows the small little tantrums you have when he isn't there to lick between your thighs before bedtime, or your snappish attitude when you don't wake up with his cock nestled inside you.

he finds it all too cute, admittedly, to know he's spoiled your pretty little pussy so much that you can't cum without him.

“eager, aren’t you?” a quiet laugh spills out of his lips as you crawl into his lap, your back against his chest.

his arm finds its place around your waist, fingers already teasing the hem of your panties. “was only gone for a weekend, baby.”

“felt longer,” you mumble, nuzzling into his neck like a cat in heat. “missed you so much.”

“missed me?” his mouth brushes your ear, delighting in your soft gasp as his fingers hook into the lace, ripping the delicate fabric apart without so much as a second thought. “or missed this?”

lando is gentle when he trails his fingers through the shining mess painting the inside of your thighs, eyes fluttering close as he makes contact with the slick that feels like it’s spilling out of you.

the groan that’s pulled from him is sheer instinct— fuck, you’re so wet.

he drags a finger through the mess between your puffy folds to try and distract himself from the molten heat that simmers low in his belly.

it’s a futile effort when he can barely even look away from your pretty cunt, mind going wild over getting his mouth on you again.

lando’s hips shift, the thought of your taste on his tongue making his cock throb, straining in his shorts. you are not good for him.

“ngh..” you jolt when he finally sinks a finger into your cunt, pretty eyes widening and lips parting in shock at the stretch. his other hand busies itself with your chest, pawing at the plush swell of your breasts.

“l-lan..” he can’t help but giggle at your slurred call of his name, eyes lidded as he lazily pumps his finger in and out.

he knows what you need, can read the hitch of your breath and the ground of your hips against his hand. lando knows you still feel too empty, knows one finger is hardly enough to satiate his pretty girl.

“what do you need?” he asks anyway just to hear the pitch of your cry, too shy despite the fact that your legs are already parted and resting over his thighs, cute cunt already dripping down his wrist.

he places a sharp slap to your clit when you fail to answer, reveling in the way your back arches and how you squirm in place. “answer me.”

"need more..." your voice trembles as you speak, eyes closing as if it can shield you from the shame of begging for your pussy to be stuffed.

"aw? my pretty princess needs more? not enough for you, baby?" he teases, lips brushing your ear, and you can feel the smile behind every syllable.

you don’t answer, can’t, really, but it doesn’t matter, lando doesn't expect you to.

he grabs your knees, pulling them over his, spreading your legs wide and you let out a desperate sound, part whine, part sob when he reaches down to absentmindedly pinch your clit.

he pulls his finger out and replaces it with two before you can even blink or gasp. you choke on air at the thickness that spears you, incomparable to your own.

lando thinks you’re so pretty like this, head thrown back with a wail, grinding against his knuckles. he has to stifle another giggle at the too-tight cling of your pussy, at the way your walls clamp down on him.

he fucks you like that, the length and breadth of his fingers dipping in and out. you scramble to clutch at his arms, trying to ground yourself as he decides to increase his pace. he pistons inside you, looking over your shoulder to get a glimpse of the wetness he can feel leaking out of you.

“you're so loud..” lando laughs, the lilt of it teasing. “so wet, baby.”

[b1mbodoll]

it’s me i’m the kitty won enjoyer i think i actually need to be chained up when im ovulating i cant do this anymore 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 kittywon and baby trapping……… its like you read my mind i could kiss ur brain 🩵

pairings: yang jungwon x f! reader

warnings: hybrids + barbed cock! won + dacryphilia + babytrapping (baby referred to as his kitten) + noncon + pregnancy ment + lactation

💌: NO UR SO REAL… we r ovulation twins like this is TOO MUCH!!!! free us!!!!!!! anyway enjoy this quick thought hehehhmmfmenfnf

kitty! jungwon is a clueless little thing and doesn’t realize that humans don’t have heats like female hybrids.. doesn’t know that human cunts weren’t exactly made for taking hybrid cocks either.

that’s why he simply licks away your tears as he pounds your poor pussy, his barbed cock is long and thick, stretching your hole so much it hurts, pained sobs and garbled cries of his name the only noises you’re able to make.

wonie’s so eager to breed you; wants to cream your cunt and knock you up, desperate to see you carrying his kittens and feel your tits, heavy with milk and leaking at the smallest amount of pressure.

his thrusts are brutal and relentless, the sound of skin against skin filling the room, wet plap, plap, plaps as he rearranges your insides, inner walls wrapped around his cock like a vice; almost as if you don’t want him anywhere but inside of you, sucking his length deeper and deeper, spasming due to the spiked feel.

painful pleasure is wiped from your mind and fear is the only feeling you can focus on as jungwon’s pace turns sloppy and his breathy yowls warn you of his impending orgasm. “wonie.. jungwon! stop, pull out, please. pullout, pullout, pull-“

it’s like he can’t hear you, despite the way his furry ears twitch and his tail thrashes wildly, and you can do nothing but lay there and take it, his cockhead piercing your womb and flooding it with hot, sticky cum, making you wince when he grinds his hips, the thought of making it stick clouding his kittybrain.

he begins to purr, wrapping his tail around your thigh as a content smile makes its way onto jungwon’s lips. “‘m gonna make you a mommy.”

[tacticalprincess]

a/n i need him in ways that wouldve gotten me lobotomized in the 50s…

himbo!könig wanted your first time together to be special. after all the months of work he put in getting you to take him seriously, all of his dumb attempts at courting you, he wasn’t going to fumble his chances with you now.

he’s usually pretty confident in himself, almost to the point of delusion, but something about you makes him so nervous, and he can’t wrap his head around someone like you genuinely being interested in a goofy guy like him :( that’s why he misses all of the opportunities you give him to fuck you, always taking your hints and attempts at seducing him the wrong way…

“it’s so hot in here, köni.” “are you getting sick, liebchen? should i turn the air on?” “no, i think i’m wearing too many clothes…” “…you don’t look overdressed to me.”

at some point you start to question if he actually does want you in that way. but the way even the slightest touch from you has him popping boners is enough to shake you out of those doubts. everything about you seems to turn him on. he’s convinced you were plucked straight from his wettest dreams, and he can’t stand to be in close proximity to you for too long without being affected. but he thinks he hides it well enough— always covering the proof of his arousal with a subtle pillow over his lap whenever you’re around.

of course he wants to make the move, but he wants to do it properly. it happens the night he takes you to a small town carnival. he planned on kissing you on top of the ferris wheel, but he unfortunately surpassed the weight limit. instead he holds your hand on the rollercoasters and you feed each other fair food. he insists on stopping at every game until he’s won you too many stuffed animals for you to carry and eventually you’re forced to leave.

he’s shaking in his boots by the time you get back to his place, tripping over the mess on his floor and stumbling over his words. sensing his hesitancy, you’re the one to lead him to his room, your hand wrapped around his large finger.

“are you sure, maus? we don’t have to, i have DVDs–”

“shut up and fuck me, köni.” you huff, already fully naked and exposed on his bed. “please.”

he plans to take it slow, he really does. getting the chance to please you, to be let inside your hot body for the first time, is a privilege he doesn’t take lightly. he wants you both to savor it, he has to make it good for you :(

instead, he absolutely loses himself the moment his fat, pulsing cock sinks into your gummy cunt. he goes full caveman, your headboard slamming against the wall with the force of his thrusts for all your poor neighbors to hear :( all thoughts leave him when he’s sheathed inside of you except for how perfect your sopping pussy feels around him, borderline animalistic as he uses your smaller body as a fleshlight. the sounds of his heavy balls smacking against your ass accompanied by your pretty whines and moans only spur him on.

he fucks you in missionary so it’s more intimate, but there’s nothing romantic about the way he’s mounting you. you thank god for making you flexible as he’s pushing your knees up to your ears, seemingly trying to push his cock deeper than your small cunny has room for, stretching your poor cunt past its limit. you swear you can feel him all the way in your stomach, mushroom tip bruising your cervix with each thrust.

you don’t even notice you’re sobbing until he does. “are you okay, liebe? does it hurt?” he asks through heavy pants. “fuck, i’m sorry. i don’t think i can stop myself, you just— you feel so fucking good. you’re so… warm… squeezing me so tight. just- just hang in there for me, ja?”

your brain can’t work for long enough to form words, rough thrusts drawing nothing but high pitched staccato “uh-uh-uh”’s from your throat. you’re drunk on the feeling of his thick cock splitting you open, the way his heavy body squishes yours, barricading you in so you’re completely engulfed by him. his hairy stomach ruts against your sensitive, puffy clitty until you’re clenching around him, your sudden orgasm draining the cum out of his tight balls. “so good. fuck, you’re so perfect. best pussy i’ve ever felt.” he fucks you through the high, mindlessly overstimulating you both until you have to physically push him off of you.

you might’ve created a monster…

[dewdropdinosaur]

Kinktober Day 2: Double Penetration

Summary: Your harmless little question about your boyfriends cloning ability lands you face down, ass up in the bed of the King of Hell himself. Warnings: DP, P in V sex, P in A sex, nipples, cum...lots of cum, clone sex, etc. MDNI< 18+. I am not responsible for your media consumption. Kinktober Mention of the Day: @hazelfoureyes. THEIR KINKTOBER STUFF IS ALREADY FIRE. I mean who would expect anything less from the leader of the Horny Dear Cult TM.

It was supposed to be a harmless request, a simple inquiry you had for your boyfriend. You didn’t think it would land you face down, ass up on the king of Hell’s plush king sized bed; drooling and letting out incoherent praises at how good he was making you feel. 

It started with watching Lucifer preform a few parlor tricks to entertain the masses of the Hazbin Hotel, cloning a few apples to juggle with. While that in and of itself was an innocent act, it couldn’t keep you from wondering what else he might be able to conjure up and clone. This lead you to pulling him aside later that night and popping the question. 

“Luci, dear. May I ask you something?”

“Why of course my love! What is it?” He was simply beaming at you from across the dinning table, as if every syllable from your soft lips was a heavenly tune he couldn’t wait but to indulge in listening to. 

“About your magic act earlier—“

“Oh it was so fun wasn’t it! I am sure Charlie loved it!”

“Yes, yes. It was nice and I am super impressed but it left me wondering…can—what can you clone?”

Furrowing his brows together, Lucifer was somewhat taken aback by the inquiry. It seemed so simple to him to just clone something, the powers that come with ruling Hell seemed bland and denzinet considering how long he had been using them. Rising from his chair, Lucifer slid over to where you were sitting, propping his elbows on the corner of the table next to your spot. 

“Mhmm, I think close to everything. Ducks included. Oh I need to tell you about that time that I cloned 1000 rubber ducks for Charlie’s fourth birthday—“

“Lucifer, darling. I would love to hear that story but maybe another time? I have…another question.” Placing your hand gently on his forearm, you bring him back from reality. His eyes burning into yours with an intense curiosity, as you sheepishly smile and fiddle with a bracelet on your wrist. It was silver, adorned with a red and gold pendant; given to you on your one year anniversary as a sign of your boyfriend’s never ending love. 

“Can you…can you clone yourself?” 

And that is how you ended up as mentioned before. Face down, Lucifer himself laying under you, pounding into your weeping pussy as a clone of him matched his pace as it drove into your ass. Gripping the sheets, the pleasure was blinding; with every thrust you swore you could see Heaven itself and how God himself had blessed you with such a specimen of a boyfriend. 

“Fuck—Ducky, you’re squeezing me so tight!” Lucifer couldn’t help but shudder with every thrust into your cunt, its velvety walls wrapping around him in an inviting way that almost had him cumming on the spot every time. Slowing his pace below you, he took the time to suck on one of your hardened nipples; releasing a short cry from your puffy, lipstick ruined lips. 

“This what you wanted sweetheart? For me to take you like this….gosh you’re gonna take my cum so well. Gonna take it nice and deep inside both holes for me Ducky.”

A hot wave of pleasure coiled itself in your stomach, a taught line on the edge of breaking. It was unbearable…almost. Lucifer’s clone continued it’s relenting pace into your ass, occasionally coming to smack down or dig it’s nails into the soft supple flesh of your behind. 

“Come on sweetheart…cum for me—cum for us.”

Your body acted on command, letting out moans of sobbing pleasure as your release hit you like a freight train; squirting all over Lucifer. Not mere seconds later did he and his clone find their own high; cumming hard into your cunt and ass, the liquid gold seed seeping out of both holes. Gasping for air, you peeked your head down to see Lucifer’s eyes completely dialated and black; staring at the way your body soaked up his seed. Taking his fingers, he pushed some more back into your overstimulated hole with a smirk. 

“Think you can take us again sweetheart?”

[thithesandofferings]

How Touchstarved are they?

~A/N: Random Headcanon. Dont look at me. Came from this excerpt.

~Tags: MDNI 18+. G!Reader. Little sprinkle of Yandere (I mean its Leander come on). Fingering. Overstimming. Orgasm Denial. Everyone is a little pouty and its kinda cute.

Ais

Ais is fine touching you…but only when its on his terms. If you go out of your way to give him affection, he will freeze. And become suspicious. He's going to do all he can to not show you how affected he actually is. But despite his slight avoidance, he likes the game you play and wants to always up the stakes (Even if you have no idea that you're playing the game. You just gave him a hello in greeting). You brush his arm when asking a question, then he's backing you against the wall and kissing you until you forget your question. It was invasive anyways- he probably wasn't gonna answer it. A forehead kiss? Well you're getting fingered in the alleyway behind the bar. He'll cover your mouth cause he wants you to hear the slick sounds of your hole as he gives your g-spot the kiss it deserves. Anyways, don't do anything if you dont want the consequences.

Leander

Leander touch borders on starvation. He pulls and prods and grasps at whatever he can. He thinks he's going to lose you, and its not a sorrowful pitiful feeling. Its targeted, jealousy bleeding from his mouth to yours- and he wants everything you have. Leander borders on overstimming you at every cost. Making you sob from fucking his fingers inside you over and over. He complains that he's touch starved, but you know deep down its more than that. Hunger bleeds into his magic when he's near you. Gets him in the mood to eat you out. No he wont be done with just one or two…or three… There isnt a spell in the world that can stop him from putting his mouth on you. He's greedy and you're his. Fingerprints embedding into your hips and its a staple piece, he gets absolutely pouty when they start to fade. Doesn't ask when he bites into your shoulder hard he murmurs seemingly innocent apologies. He cant help it, he has to.

Mhin

Abhors it. Or so they say. Literally runs from touch as much as possible. At least in the beginning. Shivers wrack their body differently when you brush past them. Hides away for days when you kiss them all over their face. Rubbing your hands down their back will unfortunately get you put on your back. Legs held down and spread as they grumble about how you're too comfortable with touching them. They dont say to stop. Nor are they ever going to say they're grateful. Please do not sit in their laps, pressing up against them as you put your fingers in their hair. Mhin is going to make you stay. It's okay, be good and just take what they give you. Doesnt matter if you're the one crying by the end of it.

Vere Wait because touching means nothing to him really. He's desired by many. But one day he notices how much you mean to him. If you get him to the point of feeling safe. Well he's all over you. Hand on every part of you all the time. You're practically stuck at the hip. Mentioning it will give you a funny quip, but a murderous stare. Not above fucking you in public when someone approaches you in a way he doesn't like. Makes you sit on his cock- hand around your throat, making sure that the plebeian that even graced your presence watches as you take every inch. Gasping out his name is not enough. He wants you louder than the bar patrons bellows of laughter. Grins when he can see people trying hard not to look, the group coughing and adjusting. Just makes his hips bridge into you faster.

Kuras

Kuras has no need for touch. He seems a bit above it. But he can see that you need it. And oh…well thats interesting isn't it? How long can you go without his touch he wonders. Nonchalantly avoids you in disguise of being "busy". His eyes darkening when he can see the need for him in your eyes. Likes that you're starting to shake and even snap at him. Can't really blame him for giving up when you start to paw at his robes begging for anything he can give you. All he has to do is close his hands over yours and he can see the visceral relief in your eyes…and that does something to Kuras. Likes that you clench so tight around him, wet gasps and hiccupping tear reign supreme even over his coos of acknowledgement. Thinking maybe its unsightly for him to feel this sort of pleasure, especially when he pauses just as youre about to come. Rubbing the tears of your flushed face, hushing you. Telling you he's going to give exactly what you want. Just ask for it. Beg for it even. He wonders how far he can go next time. Wonders what you'll do if he pulled out and left you right there. Hmm. Maybe next time.

[misayani]

if you gave someone your heart and they died, did they take it with them? or do you spend the rest of forever with a hole inside you that couldn't be filled .

◜ pairing ... se-mi / player 380 x  fem reader

— angst

the room was suffocating, air heavy and filled with tension that had millions of emotions lingered in it. i can't do this— i can't do this. but no matter how many times you try to deny it, the truth was obvious— there was no way of escaping this.

heavy tears fell from your eyes, each drop hitting the cold floor below, as if carrying the weight of your breaking heart. sobs could be heard, your mind was too hazy to even comprehend if it was coming from you or —

se-mi was still, her chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. the weight of her body seemed so much heavier than it had been just hours ago. you held her in your arms while weak cries left her mouth. the smile that had once been constant on her face was now a distant memory, lost to the fading of her strength.

you couldn't handle seeing her like this— so lifeless and numb. your eyes slowly closes, unwilling to bear the sight any longer. soft thuds vibrated from your chest and spreads through your whole body as she desperately tugs on your bloodied shirt.

"don't close your eyes, please. i wanna see you."

you shut them even tighter, her voice making its way to you unclear and distorted. a strained hiss left your mouth as you felt the sharp sting on your abdomen— please stop hitting me, please stop hitting me.

"please, baby, please let me see you this one last time." the soft, shaky voice called out to you, pain evident in her voice. a soft palm was placed gently on your cheek, and you immediately recognized it—the girl you met ten years ago, shared laughter with, cried with, made memories with—who would've thought that she'd be with you til the last breath.

suddenly, memories came in, flooding your mind. what the fuck? you can see a woman, tall and pale, leaning against the wall with a cigarette placed in between her lips. the faint smell of cigarettes lingered in the air, and you could almost smell it clearly—as if you were living in that present. it confused you— you have seen this exact same scene before, very closely similar to the night you and se-mi first met.

your thoughts were interrupted, caused by a loud and blaring buzz as the large doors slid open. heavy footsteps could be heard marching against the floor, echoes filling the almost empty room. they carried a long black box, enough to fit a human inside, as you can hear their steps grow louder and louder.

a soft kiss was gently placed on your forehead. she paused for a while before muttering, "i love you, and will always do."

soon enough, you felt arms separate you from the girl you love most. your breathing slowed as you found it harder to breathe, as if it was the hardest thing in the whole world. se-mi's lifeless eyes stared at your limp figure, her gaze heavy and filled with emotion. your chest rose and fell one last time, before you took your final breath.

the masked men gently placed you down inside the box before money came out of the ceiling, and into the large golden piggy bank.

45,600,000,000 WON

what the fuck was se-mi supposed to do with that? after you secretly took the dinner knife during the evening meal, after you stabbed yourself relentlessly in your abdomen, after she just watched the guards carry the box away, which inside lies the most genuine woman she had ever met, the one and only woman she carries in her heart.

"player 044, eliminated."

"congratulations player 380, you win!"

to my love, se-mi, i would die over and over again to spare you from the cruelties of this world.

from, your love.

𔗨 author's note — eughhhhhhhhhjsjskskskksk ????}??}%]%} BY THE WAY I missEd u guys a little bit toooo muchhh,, blehh !! also, im making a taglist !! comment if you wanna be added or some shit [lowercase intended]

p.s. the title is a quote from the book 'nineteen minutes' by jodi picoult. although i haven't actually read the book, the quote somehow became my favorite.

misa mentions —

@misayani

[fettuccin-e]

Right Here, Right Now

Kinktober Day 2: Public

Tags: Miguel O'Hara x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl omg please), public sex, fingering, its just desperate sex with Mig in an alleyway lol (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: I have actually had this as a WIP for a long, long time but I modified it to fit this prompt! Glad to finally get some use out of it. Miguel can and will always have me in a chokehold I love him so so much. (I am following prompts from this list by flightlessangelwings!)

You’ve both been apart for too long, far too fucking long. Always away on missions without each other, falling asleep without each other and leaving again with only a quick kiss goodbye, nothing more.

It’s got Miguel a little stir crazy, desperate, and you’re just the same way. So, on the odd mission where you’re actually together, you don’t protest when he crowds you against a brick wall in some dark, dank alleyway, and kisses the god damn life out of you. It’s intoxicating, mind-melting, and fuck, it’s not enough for either of you. 

Miguel growls against your mouth, reaching a clawed hand to the seam of your suit, and rips it, exposing the wetness of your aching pussy to the cool night air. He cups you without any finesse, just pure need, and you gasp wetly into his kiss.

“Miguel,” you whine, but you can’t stop your hips from humping forward into his hand, “we can’t— we can’t, baby, they’re going to start looking for us, oh fuck, they’re gonna see—“

“Shh,” he coos, “just real quick, real quick, sweetheart.” His chest heaves, so broad and thick and clouding your vision as he rubs quick circles into your achy clit with a calloused finger.

“Just- just let me feel you, just for a second, please, baby, mi amor, por favor, tan perfecta, te necesito,” he mumbles, lost in it, and you find yourself nodding along with his words.

He whines at your permission, and you barely manage to utter a “just for a second, just a second, Miguel,” before his suit dissipates around the bulge of this thick cock, and he’s sinking into you, pressing so fucking deep he forces the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes into the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering forward as he stretches your pussy around him. “There’s my perfect girl, my beautiful girl, fuck, fuck, missed this pussy so bad, baby.”

It’s hard to breathe like this, Miguel pressing you into the brick wall, curling around you until all you know is him. All you know is the way his scent invades your lungs, the way his fangs graze your throat just barely. The way he pulls his hips back, just a little bit, before shoving forward again, bullying his thick cock so fucking deep inside your little cunt. You can’t get out the words, the sensations all too much for you to bear. There hasn’t been any prep, anything to lead up to you taking Miguel like you usually do. 

No, there's only the adrenaline coursing through your bodies, the desperation stemming from being apart for far too long, and the ache of him settling deep, deep inside you. It’s where you both belong.

So you stutter out aborted little whines of “Mig- Miguel,” and “so-so big,” between overwhelmed sobs into his strong body as he holds you, impaling you on him again and again. He’s mumbling, incessant and slurred as he fucks you into the brick, something about how hot you are, how wet and tight and about how he can’t wait to get you home, how he’s going to fuck you for days. It’s all so hard to understand, you’re not even sure that Miguel knows what he’s saying, if he even wants you to hear all of the deep, dark thoughts spilling from his overwhelmed mouth.

Your body burns, the coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbing at your clit so perfect, so right. It’s all slick and wet and you’re sure that you’re dripping down his fat cock as it slides in and out of you, dripping down his balls. You can at least thank God that his suit isn’t made out of actual fabric; that he won’t have to return to HQ with your wetness staining his front. Not that he’d really mind.

It’s intoxicating, the way he fills you, surrounds you. So much so that you don’t realize how much time has passed until you hear Jessica’s voice from both of your watches, cutting through your whines and Miguel’s growls and the lewd sounds of your bodies meeting. “O’Hara, what’s your position?”

“Fuck,” he snarls, driving into you just a little faster, a little harder, “fuck, not yet, not yet.” He doesn’t respond to Jess, leaning down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss that mostly contains teeth and spit.

“Mig-Miguel, they’re going to be looking, c’mon, baby, we’ve got to g-” you hiccup into his mouth, but your hips move of their own accord, meeting him thrust for thrust as he drives desperately into you.

“Not. Yet.” He growls, punctuating his words with his hips. “Just a little longer, little- little longer, jus’ let me-” he fucks himself into you, so furious and devastating that tears finally manage to spill from your eyes.

“Spiderman 2099, what is your position?” Jessica asks again, and you can hear Pavitr ask you the same thing from your watch, both oblivious to the fact that their leader, your leader, is fucking you into the wall in some dirty back alley in a universe that neither of you know, that neither of you care to know. All you know is Miguel’s body against yours, exchanging desperate breaths as he thrusts deep into your sticky pussy, curling your hands into his hair as he digs his fingers into your waist, his claws nearly tearing the fabric of your suit.

“Miguel,” you moan, “we have to go, please we have to go, they’re looking for us, they’re gonna see-”

“No,” Miguel whines, and you want to fall to your knees with how absolutely devastated he sounds, “can’t- you can’t go, ‘s too soon, baby, let me have you, let me have you,” he’s slurring around his fangs, his eyes burning red at the edges as his eyes meet yours. He grabs at the watch on your wrist, cutting it off with a deft claw, and you choke on your spit as he crushes it easily in his palm. 

“Miguel-” you start, but he cups a thick hand over your mouth, and you can only watch as he raises his watch to his face and says, far more collected than he’s been this entire night, “Anomaly neutralized, returning to HQ. Meet tomorrow for a debrief.”

“Not tonight?” Pav chirps, and Miguel ruts into you hard, his gaze burning into yours.

“Tomorrow.” He growls, before he shuts his watch off completely, tucking his face into the crook of your neck again, sucking dark marks into your skin. His hands find your hips once again, pulling you onto his cock over and over and over as tears slide down your cheeks, choked little moans ripping out of your throat.

“That’s right, beautiful, squeeze this cock, make a mess for me. Can’t wait to get you home, going to fuck you all fucking night, needed this sweet pussy so fucking bad, bebita, por favor, ah-” he groans into your skin, and his cock sinks into you so perfect, stretching you exactly how you’ve needed it for so long, and fuck, your orgasm nearly makes you black out. You thrash against the wall, crying out so loud that Miguel has no choice but to seal his mouth over yours in a sticky kiss, swallowing your noises. 

“Fuck, that’s right, make a mess for me, eres tan perfecta, mi amor, mi vida, fuck,” he fucks into you, once, two more times, before he’s following you over that peak, his hips twitching as he fills you up.

You both can only rock against each other for a minute, riding the aftershocks of bliss. How had you gone without this for so long? How could you have deprived yourself of heaven?

“Let’s go home, Miguel,” you whisper, resting your forehead against his. He nods, switching his watch back on and opening a portal behind himself. He slips out of you, his suit reforming over himself. You, unfortunately don’t have the same luxury, the night air still cool against your used and achy core. 

“You’re making me a new suit, by the way,” you say, tilting your head up to smile at him. “And a new watch.”

He only chuckles, lifting you into his arms, turning to walk you both into your shared apartment in Nueva York, where you haven't been together in too damn long. “Anything you want.”

[sour-snak3]

Ghost x male reader

A/N: I read too many @thegnomelord stuff and I just wanted to make my own thing. Go read their stuff, it's honestly so good and their fics/small blurbs are definitely must reads.

CW/: meanish reader, werewolf reader, knotting, breeding kink, domtop reader, subbot simon, biting, marking, mating press, ruts, monster fucking, nonhuman genitalia, scent kink, shameless smut, swearing, english is not my first language, first fic, mistakes probably

Being a werewolf comes with it's perks. Having enhanced speed, enhanced strength, a fast metabolism, enhanced hearing, ect. However, it also comes with it's downsides. One of them being a rut. They are annoying and harder to deal with without a mate.

Which leads you to now, you rutting against your mattress with your lieutenants shirt inside your mouth. Huffs and groans spill from your mouth as you desperately seek for any kind of release. So deep into your pleasure, you fail to hear your room door open, your lieutenant standing within the frame.

"Oi, what the fock are you doin'?"

You snap my head over to the door and all your movements come to a halt. Neither of you move, no sounds coming from the both of you besides your panting. Simon stares for a moment before swiftly closing and locking the door.

"You like getting off on your superior, huh?" Your member twitched but you remained looking at him. He walks over to your bed and pushes you on your back. You try to get up but he crawls on top of you. "Stay down mutt. I'll give you some assistance if you're good."

Deciding to humor him, you let him continue. He pushes up his mask just enough that you can see from his chin to his nose. He brings his face down to your neck and begins to suck rather roughly. He nips and bites and after awhile, you've had enough.

Growling, you turn him over and you get on top of him, quickly reversing the roles. The heat bubbling inside almost becomes too much for you, but you hold it in for awhile longer, not wanting to harm Simon (at least not too badly).

You shove three fingers in Simon's mouth, grinning as he chokes on your thick fingers. You let your fingers be coated in a thick layer of saliva before taking them out from his mouth. Getting impatient, you yank all of his bottom wear off before turning him on his stomach.

He squirms as he feels your thick fingers prod at his puckered hole. A gasp sprouts from his lips as you shove your fingers in those warm, velvety walls. He begins to tremble when your fingers move in and out. He knows it's only your fingers but he can't help but feel so full.

After deeming him ready enough, you pull out your fingers and he whines. He should find it scary how easy it was for you to reverse the roles but he can't help but get more and more turned on. He was so lost in his own mind that he didn't realize you were moving until he felt your knotted cock poke at his hole.

He practically screams when you push inside. The stretch your inhuman cock makes inside his hole drives him crazy. The burn is so powerful and he can't help but enjoy it. His bottom half moves on its own as it grinds and pleads for you and your giant cock-

He yelps and you change his position to a maiting press. You laugh as you stare at his already fucked out expression. "Aw, does the poor puppy want some more?" you taunt. 'I do', he wants to say, but his pride is ever to big to give in. He gasps as you suddenly fuck into him. "Answer me, mutt."

"Yes. Please." he begs. He feels humiliated, but he doesn't care anymore. He needs you. You quickly responded to his answer and fucked into him as he sobbed. Gasps and groans fill every corner of the room as you pound into his pretty pink hole.

Simon feels heat bubbling in his lower abdomen, signaling that he's close. You know this, you can smell his sickly sweet scent fill the air. It seems he did some research on your species if the way he bares his neck to you means anything. You wanted to wait on marking him but who are you to judge if he wants you to do it now?

Your breath pans on his neck before you bite down, hard. The wolf inside you feels content as you finally mark him. As you finally make him yours. The bite stimulates him so much that he cums. It shoots all over his and yours chest, only making a bit of a mess. You release your lips from his neck but you don't stop. After all, you haven't finished yet.

You continue pounding him as you feel the heat bubbling more and more. Eventually, you snap. You pound into him one final time and your knot pushes itself inside of him. He screams as your knot goes inside and as your cum fills him to the brim. You both stay there panting before you break the silence.

"So, round two?"

"Oh fock off! Round two my ass..."

[skulla-rxcks]

𝑾𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒍 ☆

Paring: Stalker!chan x afab reader

Rating: explicit

Genre: smut

Warnings: !extremely dubious, piv, unprotected, stalking & yandere

Day 10 of ktober

Taglist: @f3lix00 @channiesgoodgirl @mal-lunar-28 @bangchans-gf5 @fun-fanfics @iwannabangchan @linosluver

Please dm me or use my inbox if you’d like to be added to the taglist ^^

!THIS IS PURE FICTION, NOTHING IN THIS IS REAL ITS JUST A STORY!

He’s been watching you for so long and somehow you haven’t noticed.

You haven’t noticed at all; how he follows you home after work everyday, how he sneaks in your house every night and steals your panties before going home and wrapping his hand around his cock with your underwear held to his nose as he sniffs it, getting off to your scent.

He loves you, he’s obsessed with you. But you don’t realise it so tonight is the night he will show you.

——————————————-

I lay down in my bed after a rough day at work, completely exhausted and ready to close my eyes and to sink into the comfort of my bed. I grab my phone and message my friends’ group chat saying goodnight before plugging my phone in to charge. It doesn’t take me long for sleep to claim me, but just before I slip into slumber I notice that I forgot my headphones on my desk - but who cares I’m tired and I should rest.

As I drift off into dream land, I hear someone knocking on my window. At first I think it must be one of my friends but why would they knock on my window instead of just ringing the doorbell? I open my blinds to see who’s there, It’s a man, he looks around mid twenties. I don’t know who he is but he seems and looks familiar. I open the window sightly to talk to him. “let me in” he says sternly. “I don’t even know who you are..!”

I say trying to back away from him. He lunges forward, opening my window jumping inside and pinning me against the wall, holding me captive. His fingers wrap around my throat. I pull at his hand desperately trying to get it loose, tears welling up in my eyes. “Please don’t kill me” I choke out “I just want to talk.” he sighs, letting go of me. “What do you want to talk about?” I ask as I wipe my face dry. “You tell me” he says, sitting next to me on the bed. “Who are you?” I ask once again. “Chan, I work with you. but that doesn’t matter right now. i love you.” he whispers. I start to panic and push myself back against the wall. “Why.. why are you doing this?” I say, starting to sob. He reaches forward, grabbing my chin gently forcing me to look directly into his face. “No. You don’t get to run away this time.” he replies.

“how did you not notice all the times I sneaked into your house and stole your underwear?” Chan scoofs. I try to ignore him but his presence is making me uncomfortable. “Stop staring at me. Please” I beg. He grabs my neck forcing me to make eye contact with him. “i’ve waited long enough” he says softly, caressing my face. “you’re mine, don’t you dare try to escape.” he breathes. Before I can reply, his lips crash down on mine, forcing our lips together. “Don’t you want to be mine?” he growls into my mouth, kissing me harder. My hands reach behind him and grab ahold of his hair, gripping it tightly and tugging on it. He releases his grip on my neck to grab hold of my wrists, tying them up above my head. “please… stop..” I moan trying to move him off of me. His lips leave mine, letting me breathe.

“stop trying to fight me” he growls lowly in my ear. “i love you.” he whispers again, kissing my cheek. “You need to understand that you are my everything. You are my only reason to live.” he breathes again in my ear. My eyes widen in fear, tears threatening to spill over. “I don’t understand” I croak out. His grip tightens around my wrists, causing me to gasp in pain. “you’re my only hope, darling. You have always been my only hope.” he whispers again, his voice filled with a hint of venom.

His mouth travels down to my chest, lifting up my shirt and bra revealing my breasts, he sucks hard on my nipples making me shudder, still fairly uncomfortable but wanting to please this strange man. “Tell me what you want” he pants out as he continues to suckle on my tits. I nod my head slowly, unable to speak. “Say it” he demands, his lips leaving my breasts. “I want you” I blurt out, wanting to please him with my answer, still a big scared. His eyes darken in fury, looking straight at me.

“Good girl. I won’t hurt you.” he breathes, his eyes never leavuping mine as his fingers unzip his jeans. I whimper when he starts to rub himself against me, my eyes widening at what he’s doing. I push his boxers down his thighs; revealing his rock hard dick. He smirks at me, thrusting against me in an attempt to gain some pleasure. I gulp nervously and try to keep my cool while he does this, not wanting him to catch on that I’m terrified of him.

“Do you like the feel of my dick touching you? does it make you wet?” Chan growls. “no… no more ive changed my mind” I whimper, trying to squirm away but he keeps me pinned down underneath him. He tugs my panties and jeans off pushes himself inside of me roughly. “ow..” I groan. He holds me down by pressing his legs against either side of my hips, preventing me from moving. I start crying, feeling vulnerable and trapped under him.

“I’m sorry” he mumbles. “I just want to enjoy this moment with you.” he says, running his hand through my hair. “I love you. ” he whispers softly as he slams deeper and deeper into me, hitting every single space possible inside my pussy. “be mine please y/n.” Chan says As he releases himself inside of me.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 7: Sapphire] [Series Finale]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus @chattylurker, more in comments 🥰

💎 Thank you for reading (and tolerating all my nautical puns)! 💎

How can love be a curse? How can it be something to fear, to condemn, to break?

She has dreamed of him all her life. First he was a protector, almost fatherlike, and then a remote, bewitching phantom as she crept into adolescence, and then when Harwin Strong died Daemon sailed over Saint George’s Channel to offer her solace in England, and at last the fantasies she never would have confessed to anyone were fulfilled, two marriages and four children later. Rhaenyra remembers what he told her in the mist-draped lakeside cottage where they met in secret, crossing paths like an asteroid striking a planet: My wife means nothing to me. She’s not like us. She is young, and weak, and afraid, and I could never respect that kind of person. Her father owns the last Connemara marble quarry in the world, and I needed a son. But the only woman I want is you.

Aegon fires the pistol as he chases her through the corridors of A-Deck, and when she shrieks nobody hears, or if they do they don’t appear to rescue her; the ship is full of people screaming, sobbing, clawing for their lives against wet walls and locked doors. He shoots and misses again. There’s something wrong with his hands. He keeps fumbling with the gun and almost dropping it, hissing in pain as he squeezes the trigger, and there’s blood staining his fingers.

Good, Rhaenyra thinks. I’m glad he’s hurt. I hope he’s dying.

She sees an open room and ducks inside, slamming the door behind her and barring it with the weight of her body as Aegon rams it with his shoulder. Rhaenyra is surrounded by the trappings of another family who purchased first-class tickets: chairs with velvet upholstery, a faux fireplace, paintings by Rousseau and Boccioni and Homer. The lights flicker and the steel beams of Titanic groan, low and disastrous. There isn’t much time left.

“Daemon!” she yells as loudly as she can. If he hears her, he’ll come running. I have to get to a lifeboat. I have to live for my father, for Jace and Luke and Joffrey, for the children I will one day give Daemon.

Rhaenyra struggles with the lock as Aegon batters the door and it quakes on its hinges. Just as she latches it, he fires the pistol through the door. Wood cracks and splinters; a bullet pierces Rhaenyra’s ribcage like a blade. There is unbearable pressure, and then a sharpness, a pain she believes she cannot stand until it keeps getting bigger, deeper, ripping her open and filling her with dark wet weight like the ocean surging into Titanic. She crumples to the floor. When she coughs, blood spurts out onto her lips. Rhaenyra wipes it away and then stares at the red on her palm.

I can’t die now. My life just became what it was supposed to be.

Aegon punches a hole through the mangled door large enough for him to reach in and unlock it. Then he stands in the threshold looking down at her, his hands shaking but his eyes hard, fierce, unflinching. Rhaenyra has never seen him like this before. She didn’t know he could be good at anything.

“How the fuck did you get on the ship?” Rhaenyra snarls as she scrambles away, hacking up more blood. The black opal ring Daemon gave her gleams like onyx or obsidian, something born of heat and earth and insurmountable, ancient gravity.

Daemon and I were made for each other. The same blood, the same bones, the same will to carve treasures from the bleakest places.

Aegon follows her across the floor, slow stalking steps. He doesn’t answer; instead, he shakes his right hand a few times—steadying himself, casting out tremors like demons—and then grips the pistol with it. He raises the gun, the barrel aimed at Rhaenyra’s face.

“Daemon?!” she screams, but he isn’t here. Then she asks, sudden desperate confusion, her blue eyes wide: “Why are you doing this?”

Aegon’s voice is calm. “Because she can’t be free unless you and Daemon are gone.”

That girl? Daemon’s sad, stupid wife? I’m dying because of HER?

“Father never loved you,” Rhaenyra seethes, red on her teeth, blooddrops spilling from her lips like rubies. Her eyes are cold, glinting sapphires, pools of freezing water that only needs minutes to stop the heart. “Just like Daemon never loved her.”

“I know. And I used to care. It almost killed me, it almost ate me alive. But now I’m better. And I finally know exactly who I’m supposed to be.”

Aegon pulls the trigger.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Daemon descends the Grand Staircase, you crawl down towards the next landing, your head spinning, your hands empty, writhing on your belly like a snake.

The dagger???

But you can’t find it, and you don’t have time to stop and search. Daemon is only a few steps behind you. When your palms hit B-Deck, you try to drag yourself upright, grappling for the banister; but before you can get your feet under you, Daemon kicks you and sends you hurtling down the next flight of stairs. You tumble towards C-Deck, clawing in vain for something to break your fall. Your head strikes the English oak wood and you hear your father’s bewildered voice as he sat at the dining room table in Lough Cutra Castle: Where are you going? When will you be back?

Never, never, never; and now from somewhere below you recognize the roar of rushing water.

“You were going to kill me?!” Daemon taunts as he bears down on you like a storm. Blood soaks his throat and the white shirt beneath his black suit jacket. His eyes are bright, feral, monstrous. “After all those times I spared you when I could have drowned you in a river or a hot bath or the sea? You’re so fucking useless. You really can’t do anything right. All you had to do was shut up and endure, and you could have lived to be an old, old woman with all the comforts my empire afforded you. Now, my dear, you will never see another sunrise. And when Titanic sinks, you’ll be buried with her.”

Down, down, always down towards the ocean floor, you crawl faster away from him as his footsteps grow louder.

“Help,” you moan weakly. Aegon? Anyone? But the only reply is the echoing of your own voice and the sounds of the dying ship: breaking metal, distant screams, gushing torrents of seawater.

You crash into C-Deck and again try to stagger to your feet, but Daemon is here, shoving you as if from a cliffside or off a balcony. And as you plummet down the Grand Staircase towards D-Deck—where the First-Class Dining Saloon is, where Thomas Andrews once assured you that Titanic was unsinkable—it is not hard wooden steps you collide with but swirling ice-cold seawater. You plunge beneath the currents and then come sputtering up to the surface, your white wool coat drenched and threatening to pull you below again like an anchor. You struggle to shed it with arms that are rapidly going numb.

I’m so cold, I’m so cold, if I don’t get out of the water I’ll be dead in minutes—

Daemon’s fingers close around your throat and he forces you under the waist-deep water. You thrash and try to push him away, to pry him off of you, but your muscles seem to have disappeared, they have been scraped off your bones and now you can only wait to die, your breathless lungs burning as your body freezes. You have a sudden vision of Daemon in his firelit study at Lough Cutra Castle, marveling at a shard of Larimar dredged up from the Caribbean Sea and quoting the first known treatise on gemstones, written by Theophrastus in the time of Alexander the Great: Of things formed in the earth, some have their origin from water.

“No!” you scream through the depths, bubbles rising up to air you cannot taste. You claw at Daemon’s hands, but you cannot wound him, cannot get a grip on him, and hasn’t that been true since you married him five years ago?

The dark, freezing water makes you want to give up. It makes death feel easy, painless, inevitable. You imagine faces you’ll never see again: Draco, Aegon, your parents, Fern. You hope Carpathia will be here soon to rescue the survivors. You wonder what will happen to Aegon’s paintings.

Through the water come the muffled booms of explosions, four of them, surely something catastrophic, the ship splitting in half or a distress flare misfired or boilers bursting and shearing through what’s left of the hull. Then Daemon’s hands vanish from your throat and someone is hauling you up out of the icy currents, they are freeing you, they are disinterring you from an oceanic grave.

“I’m here!” Aegon is shouting as you burst into open air, gasping and flailing. He drags you towards the Grand Staircase where you can climb out of the flood, but you’re looking for Daemon. He is a few yards away and floating face-up, one hand clasping his chest and a gurgling sound leaking from his throat. The water around him is turning red. He’s fading, but he’s not dead yet.

“Aegon, he’s still—”

“I know. I’ll take care of him once you’re out of the water. I don’t have any more bullets left.”

“I want to do it.”

“We need to get you dry and warmed up—”

“I want to do it,” you say again, and Aegon lets you go.

You twist off your black opal engagement ring and throw it into the water beside Daemon. Then you place both of you hands on his chest and push him beneath the surface, Aegon standing just behind you with the barrel of the pistol in his grasp in case he has to use it as a club. The glacial seawater froths and whirls as it rises over Daemon’s hemorrhaging chest. He startles—a death rattle, a late rite—and resists feebly, gazing up at you with glassy, disbelieving eyes. They ask: How did this happen? I was supposed to kill you, remember? I own you. I own jewels trapped in subterranean darkness all over the world, and you are the very least of them.

“Draco isn’t yours,” you tell Daemon as you force him under. “Rhaenyra isn’t yours. And I’m not yours either. Now sink and die and make me free.”

He twitches, he bares his crimson teeth at you, but after all this time finally Daemon is the weak one. The rising water flushes maroon around him, his skin goes a frail and translucent bluish-white, his heart is drained until the chambers are cold and grey and empty. You hold him beneath the water until the bubbles roiling up from his nose and mouth disappear. He will never touch you again, he will never hurt anyone, he will never bruise or break or ensnare or captivate. And who will inherit his mines scattered across the planet?

Draco. His only son. And my family and I will act as trustees until he’s eighteen.

“We have to go,” Aegon is saying. He must have taken off his coat before he went into the water after you. He stands shivering in only his white shirt and green corduroy pants, the ocean now lapping at his chest.

“Rhaenyra?” you ask.

“She’s gone. I’m sure.”

“It’s over,” you say softly, feeling weight like stones roll off of you, feeling warmth like sunlight on your face.

As if in reply, the listing ship groans and the lights flicker again. “Not yet,” Aegon says, grabbing your hand. “Let’s hope there’s a lifeboat left.”

You wade to the steps and climb out of the water. Aegon helps you wring out your soaked hair and the skirt of your gown, then snatches his black wool coat off the steps where he left it and puts it on you. You race up the Grand Staircase to C-Deck, and then B-Deck, and then the A-Deck landing where you find your green handbag with Aegon’s tiny aluminum lighter still inside.

“I think you dropped this,” Aegon says when he spots the dagger on a nearby step, still covered with Daemon’s blood. He wipes it clean on his corduroy pants and then passes it to you. When you hesitate to take it, he grins. “Who knows. You might need to stab someone else tonight.”

“I never want to draw blood again.” But you accept the dagger and place it in your handbag, the captive gemstones glimmering there: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire like the North Atlantic Ocean that is swallowing Titanic down into her cold, crushing belly. Then you ascend one last flight of steps to the Boat Deck, passing the bronze cherub statue and the ticking clock, stealing a glimpse up at the dome of glass and wrought iron that will soon shatter when the sea punctures through it like a bullet or a blade.

Outside the night air is so frigid that ice crystals begin forming in your hair, and the hem of your blue gown begins to stiffen as it freezes. You are barefoot, you only now realize, and if splinters from the pine planks of the deck needle their way into your flesh you won’t be able to feel them. There are only two lifeboats left on this side of the ship, one of which is already being lowered down to the sea. Officers are still directing women and children into the other. Benjamin Guggenheim and his companions are very drunk, clumsily herding frantic first-class passengers towards the boats. The string quartet is now playing The Merry Widow by Franz Lehár.

“Come, come quickly, Lady Targaryen!” the officers shout when they see you, knowing by your gown that you belong here, perhaps recognizing you from strolls on the Promenade Deck or when you and Daemon boarded Titanic in Cork with much fanfare. Aegon helps you into the lifeboat, his wounded hands cradling yours. Another distress flare is shot into the sky, metallic rain, doomsday portents.

We’re going to be alright, you think. We’re going to survive this.

“Darling, you’re sopping wet!” one of the women in the lifeboat exclaims, and they all begin to fret over you. There are dogs here, a Pomeranian in one lap, a Yorkshire terrier in another.

“Get her under a blanket,” Aegon is saying. “Keep her warm or she’ll get pneumonia. Give her a lifebelt.”

“We will, we will,” another lady shimmering in jewels—a mother of two boys in heavy coats and blue-striped pajamas—promises him. “We’ll take good care of her.”

You turn back to Aegon. “What?”

He tells you, his voice quiet: “Petra, they’re not going to let me in.”

“No, no, you can’t stay here—”

“Women and children only!” an officer booms, then begins waving several shrieking maids towards the vessel, just moments from launching.

“Aegon,” you say, horrified. He’ll die if he stays. He’ll drown or he’ll freeze and he’ll be entombed at the bottom of the Atlantic. “No.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“No you won’t,” you sob, then look desperately at the officers. How can I change their minds? “He’s a Targaryen, he’s a first-class passenger, he must be allowed aboard!”

“A Targaryen?!” one of the officers says distractedly as he battles with the rigging. “I know all the Targaryens on Titanic, and he’s not one of them!”

“Just look at him,” the other officer mutters, meaning: He isn’t dressed like someone with castles or mansions or titles or mines. He can’t be someone who matters.

“He is,” you plead, tears stinging on your cheeks as they freeze. “He’s Aegon, he’s a Targaryen, please, he can’t be left behind—”

“Women and children only!” the first officer barks at you as the other pushes away a group of panicked young men in black suits trying to bribe their way into the vessel. “And if you want to stay here with him, that’s your business, but get to it so the rest of us can try to make it off this ship alive!”

“There’s more than enough room for him, for Christ’s sake, there are dogs in here!”

“There will be other lifeboats, love,” one of the women tells you as she drapes a scratchy wool blanket across your shoulders, but you don’t believe that’s true. The maids are climbing into the lifeboat; the officers are beginning to lower it with sharp lurches that make the occupants gasp.

You reach for Aegon, your hands catching on his drenched shirt, the thin layer of ice cracking beneath your fingers. “No, no, Aegon, I can’t go like this.”

“You have to,” he says calmly, and he holds you face still and touches his lips to your forehead, a kiss goodbye, gentle and lingering.

“No—”

“You have a kid. You have to go. Draco will be looking for you on Carpathia.”

“You deserve to be free too.”

“I’ll stay out of the water for as long as I can,” Aegon says like a vow. “I’ll try to find something to float on. And once Titanic goes down…maybe the lifeboats will come back to pick up any survivors.”

The water is too cold. I’ve felt it, I’ve been paralyzed by it, once you go under you only have minutes. “You can’t…you won’t…”

“Petra,” Aegon says, and his eyes turn desperate. He knows it’s his only chance. “Make them come back for me.”

“I will,” you swear to him.

And he pries your fingers off his shirt and rips away from you before your resolve can weaken. High above and through tears that blur your vision, constellations of stars gleam like diamonds.

~~~~~~~~~~

He runs to the other side of the Boat Deck, searching for lifeboats that haven’t launched yet. He can’t find any. There are swarms of passengers weeping, shouting, jostling, and officers trying to restore order. Pistols and flares are fired, chairs are tossed overboard for passengers to cling to as they float. But Aegon knows that won’t be enough; if they stay submerged, they will die.

I need something bigger. I need something I can lie on. A door or a dresser or…

He shoves through the crowd to get to the ship’s railing. Below, the ocean has gotten so much closer. He sees a lifeboat bobbing in the waves, just far enough away that someone brave enough to leap could not get to it. Inside, along with perhaps twenty first-class women and maids, Aegon recognizes Laenor Velaryon and his ever-present Parisian friends. They are puffing on cigars and toasting glasses of brandy, celebrating their good fortune. They must have successfully bribed their way aboard.

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs, his breath fog in the frigid air.

How am I going to stay out of the water long enough to survive until I’m rescued?

Then he replays the evening in his mind—his first night with Petra, perhaps his last night on earth, red silk and candles and oil paint and the warmth of her beneath his hands—and Aegon gets an idea. He sprints back to the Grand Staircase and soars down to B-Deck, seawater ankle-deep on the floor. He splashes through the corridors to the staterooms once occupied by Daemon Targaryen’s wife and child, now rid of him, now waiting for what will come next. Aegon hurries through the sitting room, passing the taxidermied tiger head above the fireplace and the large, heavy chest where Daemon made Petra lock up the art she bought in Paris.

She didn’t remember to put the real Picasso’s paintings in a lifeboat, but she saved mine, Aegon thinks. If I make it out of this alive somehow, I’m marrying her the second we dock in New York.

He goes to the bedroom, finds what he needs, carries it with him as he returns to the maze of hallways. Now the icy water is nipping at his knees.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ocean is calm, the lifeboat rocking placidly on inky surf. The women comfort their children and their dogs. You take Aegon’s aluminum lighter out of your handbag and light yourself a cigarette, then pass it around so the other passengers can thaw their lungs with hot plumes of nicotine, here in the early hours of the morning when it feels like you’ll never be warm again. The officer who took command of the vessel—the same one who shouted at you and refused to admit Aegon—is rowing vigorously as you and several other women help him, staring horror-struck at Titanic as she goes down by the bow.

“We have to get away from the ship,” the officer keeps saying, and he sounds genuinely petrified. A woman in a glittering gold gown steers with the tiller. “Or she’ll suck us into the water with her.”

There are shadows of other lifeboats nearby, also fleeing from the condemned Titanic, that miraculously colossal and opulent triumph that everyone had told you was unsinkable. You wonder which one Draco and Fern are in, undoubtedly cold and frightened but safe.

Aegon deserves to live too. I have to find him, I have to save him.

Now there is seawater flooding over Titanic’s deck at the bow, where you and Aegon saw third-class passengers—now dead, or very soon to be—kicking around pieces of the iceberg that they didn’t know had doomed them. The ocean surges higher, covering B-Deck, and A-Deck, and finally the Boat Deck, where the towering funnels collapse and you can hear shrieks and guns firing. You know you won’t be able to see Aegon from here—you won’t be able to tell if he made it into a lifeboat somehow, or if he is one of the figures that falls from a lethal height into the waves, or if he is crushed or shot or trapped below deck and drowned—but still, you cannot stop looking for him, peering through the night to where Titanic glows in her spotlight of white-gold electric luminescence.

As the bow sinks, the stern begins to rise, higher and higher until the tension cracks the ship in two, and the passengers you share the lifeboat with wail and sob as the ship’s lights blink out for the last time and the gravesite goes dark. Women call out the names of their husbands, fathers, brothers, adult sons, knowing they must be dying. You can only watch with tears streaming down your face, thinking: How could he survive that? How could I have left him?

The stern bobs for a while in the nightscape sea, a shade, a phantom, and then it plunges into the ocean. The water—indifferent, dispassionate, not a mortal but a titan, here long before humans and destined to outlast them, not unlike the treasures of the earth—gulps down metal beams and pine planks and split bones and shredded flesh. There are screams, so many, so pitiful, so loud they fill the sky, and the howling women in the lifeboat cover their ears and those of their children so they will not have to try to exorcise the sound from their memories later.

As soon as the stern has been consumed by the depths, you say to the officer: “We have to go back to look for survivors.”

“Are you mad, Lady Targaryen?” he snaps at you; but there are tears in his bloodshot eyes. “We’ll be mobbed if we sail into that. They’ll pour into the boat until we go under too. Do you want to freeze to death with them?”

“People will die quickly. They are dying already, the water is cold enough to kill in minutes. If we start rowing towards them now, most of the passengers will be dead by the time we get there. And then we can rescue anyone who’s left.” Please still be alive, Aegon.

“Not a chance in hell,” the officer says.

You turn to the other women. They blink back at you in dazed, timid terror. “It’s murder to leave your men behind,” you implore, you beg them to agree. “Help me row to them.”

But the women only weep softly to themselves and look to the officer to tell them what to do. He smirks at you victoriously, an expression of no humor but rather grim, fearful misery that could drive someone insane. In the lap of one woman, the Pomeranian whimpers.

I can’t leave Aegon, you think. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

You open your green handbag and pull out the dagger, the blade pointed at the officer. He shouts and bolts away from you, incredulous, furious.

“You’re threatening to kill me?!”

You shake your head. “I’m offering you a gift.” You turn the dagger around so the officer can grasp the handle. His gaze catches, transfixed and wondrous, on the gemstone spheres like perfectly aligned planets. “This dagger is worth more than you would make in a decade of work. Go back for survivors, and it’s yours. Refuse, and when we are rescued and my son inherits my husband’s fortune, I will make it my life’s work to destroy you. I will follow you anywhere on earth. I will ruin you. So take the dagger as payment and break my curse, and let us save the people who are left.”

The lifeboat sways in the small, serene waves, and the stars revolve high above in a moonless sky, and you and the other women wait for the officer to reply. After a minute or more—we have to go back now, right now, we don’t have much time—he finally lifts the dagger from your open palm and tucks it into his belt.

“Fine,” he says, picking up his oar again. “Let’s go. I cannot abide your damnation. I’ll be haunted by enough ghosts already.”

He and several of the other women row into the throng while you find the flashlights stored in the bottom of the lifeboat, then perch at the bow searching for Aegon. Instead you see hundreds of bluish corpses floating in their lifebelts, dead men and women and children, some of them first-class or crewmembers of the ship but most of them third-class passengers: Italian, Polish, Greek, Syrian, Russian, Chinese, Irish, discarded people, good for dying in the operations of mines or factories or railroads and little else.

“Aegon!” you shout over the water, but he does not answer. There is only the mist of your own words and the sound of cold currents rippling as the lifeboat cuts through them.

Your group saves two people from the sea, both nearly frozen to death and unable to speak: one man floating on a table washed out of a dining room, one little girl clutching her dead mother. Then a long time passes with no living souls to salvage.

“Have we done enough now, Lady Targaryen?” the officer asks you gravely. “Have you seen a sufficient number of the dead to assuage your wrath?”

“Not yet,” you say, steely, your eyes fixed on the water as the flashlight illuminates lifeless faces, scraps of wreckage, nothing, nothing, nothing. And then the light settles on him.

When the stern of Titanic went under, so did Aegon: there are ice crystals in his hair, and his clothes are freezing to his skin, and his lips are blue, and he’s shivering violently. But unlike over 1,000 other passengers, he didn’t stay in the depths long enough to perish as the cold stopped their hearts and lungs. He had something with him, a life raft, a second chance, a treasure mined not from some far-flung crevice of the earth but from the bedroom where he uncovered you, where you found each other and never wanted to go back to the way life felt before.

Aegon is sprawled across the oval-shaped mirror that once stood beside your bed, the fractured glass reflecting the stars that glimmer in the night sky. His ravaged hands cling to the wooden frame. And when the beam of the flashlight skates across his face like moonshine, Aegon knows you’ve come back for him, and he reaches for you until your hands link with his and help pull him aboard.

~~~~~~~~~~

Carpathia arrives an hour later, just before four in the morning on April 15th, and as the sun rises over the North Atlantic Ocean you and Aegon find Draco and Fern on the bow deck, where stewards are distributing blankets and tea to the survivors. Women wander the ship pleading for help finding their lost loved ones, weeping endlessly for their brothers, their fathers, their husbands. Your tears have stopped entirely.

Carpathia’s passengers are generous. They offer in charity their food, their clothing, even their rooms. Children share their books and toys with Draco. Fern teaches him how to play marbles; you read him The Story of Saint Patrick. A doctor onboard disinfects and bandages Aegon’s hands, and assures him that he will be able to play viola again, not now, perhaps not even soon, but one day.

That first afternoon, as you and Aegon are taking a stroll on the Boat Deck, you spot a man painting a scene of the sunset: gold, tiger’s eye, ruby, red beryl. Aegon shows him some of the portraits from his scuffed leather portfolio���though, of course, one in particular is not suitable for mixed company. The man is so impressed that he insists Aegon must not be deprived of the ability to create such beauty for lack of supplies, and gifts him an easel and some paper, brushes, and oil paints.

It’s difficult with his sore, bandaged hands, but Aegon still wants to try, and when his brush begins to shake he asks you to help him. Aegon explains things to you as you steady his hands: chiaroscuro, scumbling, alla prima, glazing, impasto, a foreign language that will soon become familiar. Already, you are learning. And as Carpathia sails into New York Harbor on the evening of April 18th, Aegon takes a paintbrush and draws a circle around your ring finger in vivid, sapphire blue, a worthless gift of no gleaming gems or metal, a vow that means everything.

It’s been years, but Aegon remembers the way to his mother’s house. He leads you, Draco, and Fern to the doorstep of the Hightower mansion on Fifth Avenue. He knocks and a butler answers, a middle-aged man who gapes at Aegon in shellshocked disbelief.

“One…one moment, sir, if you’d be so kind to…to…to just wait here, please,” the butler stammers, then disappears inside. A few minutes later, a different man appears in the threshold. He must be Aemond, tall and white-blonde and precise in every movement, his left eye concealed by a black leather eyepatch. His remaining eye, a clear alert blue, darts to where Fern is holding Draco on her hip and then to you and Aegon, his bandaged hands resting so lightly on you they could never leave a mark.

Then Aemond’s face softens, and there is a kind sort of relief that seeps in, and you imagine your parents will look the same way when you return to Lough Cutra Castle. “You’re home,” he says quietly.

And Aegon smiles and replies: “We all are.”

[st6rrrs]

Could you please maybe do a Theodore Nott fic where he’s ghost face?

DONT MAKE A NOISE || GHOST FACE THEODORE X FEM READER

summary: there has been murders around Hogwarts recently, People say they have seen a person in a ghost mask, you would have never expected the person behind it al.

warnings: smut 18+, unprotected sex, dubcon?, blood, murder, violence, hair yanking, cursing, oral sex(m receiving), etc..

a/n: this is my first time writing something like this, im sorry if this is bad. short! rushed

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ' -

"Theo what if this ghostface person comes after you or me?" you sigh "im scared."

people have reported seeing a person in all black wearing a ghost mask. This person has already killed 4 people and you were scared that you and your best friend theo would be next.

"Dont worry i wont let anyone hurt you, ever."

you asked theo if he could sleep in your dorm room tonight because your roommate was with her boyfriend and you didn't want to sleep alone. You and theo were cuddling on your bed but you fell asleep..

you awaken due to the loud thunder storms and rain outside you look over to check on theo but hes gone?

"theo?" you immediately get up to see if he's still here but it was to dark. You get up to turn on the lights but they wouldn't turn on, maybe the power was out due to the storm.

you go to grab your phone on the nightstand and check the time 2:58am.

you were about to text theo but you see his phone on the nightstand also so decide your gonna go look for him because this isn't like him.

you go to the flash on your phone and turn it on

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ' -

"theo! are you out here?"

you been out here for a while looking for him, you were just about to turn back around and go back to your dorm but thats when u heard something, you get goosebumps.

you turn the corner and you immediately go pale. You see a dead boy on the floor with blood all over him and stab wounds, above him was that ghostface mask staring at you. the boy on the ground didn't look like theo thank god

you drop your phone and run as fast as you can to your dorm. right when your at your door you get pushed inside and hit your head on the wall. you groan out in pain and you feel something dripping down your head you go to touch it and its red.

you hear the door lock and suddenly you feel the ghostface grab you by your hair forcing you too your knees.

"please dont hurt me" you sobbed

he didn't respond all he did was unbuckle his pants that had blood all over them and pulled them down. You could see his hard on thru his boxers, you sobbed even more knowing what was bound to happen.

he released himself from his boxers his cock hitting your cheek. he then put a knife to your throat pushing it into your skin making you whine.

he opened your mouth with his fingers and forced his cock into your mouth moving your head back and forth stretching your mouth out.

you repeatedly gag on his cock, tears running down your cheeks. You drooled in the corner of your lips. His fingers raked through your hair Pulling at it as he thrusted into your mouth hitting the back of your throat. you feel him twitch in your mouth knowing he's close.

he releases in your mouth with a loud groan. He takes his cock out your mouth and covers your mouth with your hand and squeezes your nose shut so he can make sure you swallow.

you ended up swallowing because you couldn't breath. he grabbed your wrist and pushed you onto the bed and he gets on top of you the mask staring you in the face.

you feel weak from the amount of blood you lost when u hit that wall

your barely awake when u feel him take your shorts off and then pull your panties down your legs. He then rubs his cock through your folds and pushes himself into you and all you could do was lay there and take it.

"no stop" you moaned out trying to push him off but he just grabs your wrist together and pins them above your head slowly thrusting into you, he groans while speeding up.

hes thrusting in and out of you at a fast pace now, Your eyes were shut tight

"dont close your eyes on me now" he whispers in your ear while pounding into you, you realize that's the first thing he said to you all night.

"your taking my cock so well" he groans in your ear "so fucking tight"

He sounds familiar?

you feel that pit in your stomach that you shouldn't be having but your body betrays you.

your body tensing and toes curling as you come undone around him

he pulls himself back once more slamming himself inside of you while his dick twitches inside of you. you feel his cum shooting inside of you.

before he had a chance to stop you, you grab a hold of his mask and you pull it off...

this was rushed.

taglist

@bbsxsaa @xxbutdaddyilovehimxx @drewstarkeyslut @stvrkey @blondbrat @sevenwivesofrafecameron @tracymbcm

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Spooky season needs spooky stuff.. >:3

So can I request the digital circus cast (minus Caine)meeting a Child Spirit Y/n headcanons,who like Kinda possesed/went inside the game to find they’re killer for some reason? They are eerily quiet and like to stare but if talked to very sweet but quick to snap in distrust because..well trust is what got them killed in the first place? They’re a bit bloody..and a eyeball sometimes hangs out?? Like vhs horror stuff

Sorry I’m being so descriptive,I hope you are a nice day!

OOOoo yes time for more spooks!

Also I am having a nice night, thanks! (and I hope you are having a nice day/night too!)

......

Pomni

To make a long story short, you got murdered while wearing the headset, and that tethered your spirit to TADC.

As expected, you lost memories of who you were--except for the knowledge that someone killed you because you trusted them too much, and you believed the answers were inside this very game.

Your character ends up looking like a child's ghost costume: a white bedsheet stained in blood and one of your eyeballs occasionally wanting to pop from its socket.

Caine (who was very much bewildered at your arrival) declares that you're part of an "exclusive Halloween update" and changes up the tent and grounds to have more spooky flair.

But Pomni clearly wants no part of it, and she can tell you don't either.

You're clearly a kid who is (somehow) handling the situation of being stuck in this game better than her, yet when she tries asking you about it....all you do is stare back.

She swears she can hear static noises and whispers she can't decipher--all in all getting a...very creepy vibe from you.

Initially she decides to keep her distance, afraid you were secretly some virus or Abstraction underneath that sheet.

But that changes when you're walking by the rooms one night, and you pass by Pomni's door, hearing her quietly crying.

Although you weren't inclined to get close to anybody here, you were concerned. And since you weren't actually coded into the game, you didn't have to follow any of its rules--and that allowed you to enter her room without a key.

At first you scared the shit out of her, but after realizing it's you, she lets you sit beside her, eventually venting about how badly she missed her real home.

"Everyone keeps telling me "oh this place is so much better" or "get used to it"...but what if I don't wanna do that? I don't care if my old life was bad...I-I can't take anymore of this.." Her sobs grow louder. "I wanna wake up in my own bed knowing my real name!!"

"...I miss home, too," is all you say in response. Yet it's more than enough to calm her down.

For once, you're not trying to brush her off or force her to "cheer up" and accept her reality. You made her feel heard.

"Yeah..me, too....sh-should I thank you for agreeing..?" She sniffles, seeing your subtle nod, before you leave her be, not wanting to get too attached.

Ironically, she was able to sleep a little easier after talking to you.

Jax

From the get-go, he's gonna be real nosy and curious.

Since not even Caine himself expected your arrival and found out that you don't follow the "rules" like everyone else...Jax is gonna try his damnedest to understand you and see what makes you tick.

But he's gonna be disappointed quickly since you don't respond much to him (or anybody in general).

"So...ya like Halloween?"

"........"

"....thought so. Good talk, new kid."

You definitely act like a legit ghost--doing nothing but stare, move things around, and pop up unexpectedly.

Eventually, his curiosity leads to him visiting your room (which has no key), and he discovers many drawings on the walls.

Most depicting a dead person wearing a headset.

What he found most disturbing was a journal that contained his and the others' names..

From what he's gathering...you're suspecting one of them of murdering your real world-self.

But he doesn't get much time to ponder this as you show up, angry at him for intruding.

You make yourself look even bloodier and scarier, with both of your eyeballs hanging from their sockets and staring at him.

"Get out."

Those two simple words put the fear of god in him.

Jax runs out faster than a jackrabbit, colliding with Gangle in the process. Her comedy mask falls off again, but he catches it and looks at her.

"J-Jax..?" She realizes his fur is standing up on all ends, and he looks terrified....even more than he did after realizing the circus was his forever home.

But he just shoves the mask back into her hands and leaves without saying a word.

He never speaks of what he found in your room that day.

Kinger

He thought his eyes were weird...until you came along and periodically had to put your own eyeball back into its socket.

"It's good to know I'm not alone!" He nervously chuckles, only to be met with your eerie silence.

Sometime later, he suggests showing you his insect collection, and it does pique your interest.

You did love all things "creepy" and "crawly".

Yet you're adamant about going to his pillow fortress after he invites you.

It reminds you of the ones you used to build all the time, up until...

Fortunately, Kinger recognizes your reluctance and just brings one of his bug boxes to you so you can look at it.

He could infodump about the various critters for hours, with nothing but nods and quiet "mhms" from you, and he's happy.

In general, he doesn't mind your quiet personality.

Although you still sometimes jumpscare him unintentionally like Gangle often does.

Tbh he's a good father figure and recognizes that you're just a kid who got trapped in this game unfairly.

Even so, you try to keep your distance and looks at him suspiciously if he starts acting too nice.

He was quiet aloof, and you weren't sure how he would act on any given day.

Gangle

After accidentally spooking her (by simply existing in the same room as her), she breaks her comedy mask off.

But immediately she feels guilty for screaming and tries scrambling to fix it, hoping you weren't mad at her.

Yet all you do is stare, not looking angry or anything at all (it's hard for any of the performers to see your expression in general, aside from your hanging eye, but still).

Poor Gangle is just afraid you'd turn into a scarier version of yourself.

When she keeps cutting her ribbon fingers(?) on the ceramic pieces, you come over and clean it up for her, taking it away despite your own hands bleeding.

The implications that you were able to shed blood and nobody else were a little disturbing to her..but she's glad you're not offended by her screaming.

Although she wonders where you're going with her mask..

Later on, you knock on her door and present it fully fixed.

Except...it looks more Halloweenish with an evil smile painted on it, messily glued together.

'Oh god I hope this doesn't turn me evil or anything..' She thinks, putting on a smile as she takes it anyways.

Yet you remain where you are, staring and clearly waiting for her to try it on.

And so she does, and it turns her into a very chaotic Halloween lover, acting even more mischievous than Jax and allowing her to finally get her revenge for all his pranks.

In the end, you gain a decent friendship with her, subtly protecting her from Jax's bullying.

Ragatha

Seeing that you're so distant from the rest of the gang has her worried.

Some of them might consider your loose eyeball creepy, but she's not gonna judge you on that (besides, she's missing an eye altogether so she can't say much anyways).

Howeve,r she's the first to find out how strong your distrust of everyone is.

"[Y/n]? I don't think it's good to be isolating yourself like this. I know you hate being here and Caine's a weirdo..but...we're all in this together. You can trust us-"

"Don't." You warn, putting on a frightening display of anger that sends her tumbling to the ground, sending chills up her spine.

"Trust" became something you didn't take lightly, as the last time you put your trust in someone....you ended up dead, turning into a literal ghost in the machine (that was your gaming system).

Despite this, Ragatha doesn't run away.

Like Pomni, she understands that you're just a kid who's confused and lost.....and clearly had serious trust issues.

But she's determined to help you through that, even if you keep scaring everybody away.

She's got motherly instincts, and she hopes that in due time you'll learn to warm up to her.

Zooble

"A bedsheet worn as a costume? That's a classic."

She's seen weirder things during their time in the circus, so you don't faze her too much.

Only when you snap at Ragatha or somebody who was trying to be nice to you does she raise an eyebrow.

Honestly, they 100% understand that you just wanted to be alone sometimes, and she respects that.

It's suffocating trying to act all cheery and go along with every damn activity Caine tries to get everyone involved in (but lucky for you, he can't make you follow along).

Especially since she believes he made up that stupid "Halloween update" as lazy way to explain your sudden arrival.

The only time you do interact with Zooble is after she yanks Jax by his ears, and they hear this eerie-sounding giggle behind them.

When she turns around, you're just standing there motionless, staring at her.

Somehow, they just know you were smiling underneath that costume, which makes her smile, too.

"Maybe I should pull him out a hat next time, huh?" She jokes after letting him go, and you giggle once more as he hits the ground.

[bonniebird]

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Requested by Anon

Masterpost

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Request: Anonymous asked: Aemond Targaryen and female Reader please. Alicent marries Aemond to one of Rhaenyras closest allies. Jodie Comer for face claim please.

You stared at the scrap of paper in your brother’s hands. Your breath caught in your throat as your two youngest siblings clung to you still sobbing though their eyes from red and swollen and their tears had dried up a long while ago.

“Well? Does aid come?” You pushed. He stared at the paper a moment longer before slowly closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“It is from Daemon and Rhaenyra. They cannot spare the men to come and rescue us. They suggest that we try to flee and give us permission to use their names to buy our way to Dragonstone.” He said quietly.

“They want us to abandon our home?” You asked sharply, squeezing your arms tighter around your siblings.

“There is more. Because of Rhaenyra’s devotion to our mother. In light of our parents… murder at the hands of Aegon’s men. As long… as long as we do not outright denounce Rhaenyra’s claim. The royal house will pardon us for whatever action we must take to keep ourselves alive.” Your older brother stuttered out. You all remained silent for a moment in your hiding place.

“Maybe we could stay here.” Your youngest sibling said. She was a sweet girl and you smiled at the thought.

“They will find us here eventually. We must wait until we can get away.” You said quickly. Your little brother, three years older than your sister, popped his head up off your shoulder and leaned back so he could look at you while remaining in your clutches.

“Tunnels! We could use the tunnels.” He said and smiled. You glanced at your older brother who frowned.

“The three of you would be able to fit.” He muttered. You shook your head and sighed.

“We will find a way for all of us. Or none of us.” You said adamantly.

“Go through the tunnels. I will go through the back corridors toward the kitchen. There is a tunnel down to the river just outside. I think I can get there and I should be able to get us some supplies.” Your brother said eagerly. With a reluctant sigh, realising there was nothing else any of you could do but surrender. 

“We should go at dawn. We will be able to get to the shore before sunrise and find a boat. The fishermen for the town nearby will be leaving then.” You whispered and leaned forward despite no one being able to hear you all in your hiding place. Your brother agreed and the plan was made. Through a small crack in the wall, your brother was able to keep watch until it was the perfect time. With your siblings' clothes checked that they were fastened and wouldn’t hinder them if they fled, the three of you bolted. Your younger brother yanked your hand, leading the way to the tunnel entrance. Your hands were sweaty and you could feel your heart pounding as you pushed against the statue that blocked the passage. The three of you slipped inside and worked together to try and pull the statue back into its original position.

******************

Aemond stopped as the men dragged the boy through the kitchen and out to the front courtyard of the keep. “Make him talk. There are three more. We cannot let them reach Dragonstone.” He shouted. Turning down the corridor he looked into the dimness that the morning light created. The torches were extinguished and there was an odd breeze. Slowly making his way down the corridor he held out a hand, letting the cool air graze over his hand until he stopped. There was a large statue that ran from floor to ceiling but under his foot there was a small lip. Crouching down he could see that the statute had been moved and when he dug his fingers into the side of the hard stone he found a gap.

“Here!” He shouted and a dozen men hurried to his side. They pulled on the statue and it slid aside. “Follow the path. Take whoever you find back to King's Landing” He commanded. Aemond went out to the front courtyard and winced. He had hoped the older of Rhaenyra’s allies' children would surrender. He lay on the stone floor of the courtyard staining his own rightful home with his blood.

“He had a letter. From the traitors.” One of the men said and handed a strip of paper to Aemond. It didn’t matter how they got the messages to and from Dragonstone anymore. It was clear that the family had been ferrying messages back and forth past Aegon's army.

“Well. Thankfully he is dealt with. We should go back to King’s Landing. We have what we need.” Aemond ordered. He left the keep and headed to a large clearing nearby. Vhagar was basking in the sunlight and lazily yawned at him as he approached. She allowed him to climb into the saddle but it took several attempts for him to rouse her and encourage her to move. It took so long that the army he was leading was beginning to march back. He flew on ahead and guided Vhagar towards where Cole had told him he would be before Aemond had left. It was a short flight with Vhagar gliding lazily through the cool air. He spent the afternoon at the camp Cole had made outside of the city and talked with him until late in the evening. A servant was sent in a carriage to say that his hostages from Rhaenyra’s allies keep had arrived. 

“Aemond.” Alicent called as soon as he entered. With a sigh, he looked up to the ceiling and muttered to himself before turning to see her hurrying down the stairs.

“You have not only killed them but their son too?” Alicent snapped. She glared at Aemond who shrugged.

“I gave them options. Tell my men what they wanted to know or…” Aemond trailed off and smiled at his mother who looked disgusted for a moment and shook her head.

“There will be no way to get that house to join ours. Their army has already left to join the blacks and you have left their keep unattended. For anyone to take for their own.” Alicent scolded. He looked at her carefully before raising an eyebrow.

“Mother. Perhaps your anger comes from your friend's betrayal. She was a friend you shared with the traitor in your youth. Was she not?” Aemond left his mother seething in the hall and went towards the council chambers where he knew Aegon would be waiting.

He heard her storming after him but made no effort to stop. He was wrenched to a standstill with his mother almost colliding with him when he opened the door to the council chambers. A girl was fiercely shouting at Aegon. Helena had her hands clenched over her ears as she pleaded with Aegon to simply send the girl, and the two smaller children that huddled behind her, to a room to rest as they’d clearly had a dreadful day. Otto sat with his head in his hands as Aegon bickered back with the girl who jabbed a finger in the air rather accusatorily. 

“(Y/N).” Alicent said. Her voice was soft, quiet, patronising. The way you might plead with an animal who had gotten itself foolishly stuck. Aemond bit back his judgement and watched as his mother approached the feral beasts. When Alicent reached out a hand to comfort the girl she slapped it away hard enough to make a crack that echoed around the room.

“Traitor! Liar!” She snapped at Alicent who shrank back. There was only fury on the girl's face. Nothing Alicent said or did changed that.

“Perhaps you should think of your brother here. He is the lord of your family now. You are only in a position to do whatever you need to survive.” Otto spoke up when Alicent finally surrendered and gave up on coaxing the girl around.

“He is not… My brother is.” She sputtered out.

“Your brother is dead. As is our mother and father. The rightful king and his hand offer you a chance to redeem yourselves. After your parents gave their support to the would-be usurper.” Aemond spat out. The girl clung to the children who began to wail again.

“He is not king.” She muttered. Helena let out a quiet plea and pulled on Aegon’s arm when he started to get to his feet but Alicent moved forward. Motivated to defend the honour of her son or her younger self it was impossible to tell.

“Enough. You have been told lies. We are not the villains. We will raise your brother and keep his house in order until he is old enough. Because your mother and I were once dear friends before Rhaenyra turned her against me. You. You will wed Aemond. Your army will return to your keep and your father’s bannermen will swear fealty to Aegon.” Alicent commanded and then waved her hand dismissively at Cole who roughly grasped the girl's arm while she was still frozen with shock.

Screeching and shouting filled the halls as Cole dragged you through them and no amount of fight stopped him from roughly shoving you into a room. Turning to charge at him he pushed your sister into the room and you had to stop short to avoid crashing into her. Your attempt to avoid her gave Cole just enough time to slam the door and lock it.

“Let us out!” You shouted as you pounded on the door. Your youngest sister huddled by the window across the room. She had cried herself out and was hiccuping quietly to herself. Your brother had been pulled away under the guise of giving the young lord his own rooms someone had informed you through the door.

“We could send another letter to Rhaenyra… or Baela. She likes us.” Your sister said quietly. You smiled and hurried to sit down beside her.

“Yes. She does like us. That is why we are alive. We know them. They may as well be our own family. You cannot tell anyone here any secrets or anything we know about them. Rhaenyra will want revenge for our mother and father. Jace and Baela will want revenge for our brother. We must work together to help them.” You said in a whisper. Your sister smiled, too young to know the danger of your suggestion but feeling rather grown up at being allowed to take part.

“Like the Valeryon lady in the story Rhaena tells? The one with the coloured flags?” She asked and you nodded recalling the story Rhaena and Luke liked to tell the younger two. One about a Valeryon woman who took to the sea and would communicate with a code made up of several coloured flags flying at different heights.

“Yes! Exactly so. We will find a way to get messages to her. That way if we cannot escape before I am made to wed Aemond, we can steal their secrets and get them to Dragonstone.” You grinned at your sister who smiled wearily and shuffled towards you. She climbed into your lap as you leaned against the wall next to the window and asked you to tell her the flag story as she fell asleep in your arms.

Tags:

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[vyainide]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ kento, shoko & thigh riding

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤnanami kento, ieiri shōko

tag(s)&warning(s). drabbles, afab! reader, nsfw, vague bdsm dynamic (for both), brat taming (nanami), a littleeeee bit of sadism and dacryphilia (shōko)

from vyon. i... got carried away... sorry... idk why shōko's was more beautiful and poetic and symbolic, lesbians just do it for me, shoot the messenger ig 😰😰 wanted to get this out on the 3rd but shhhhhh 🤫 NEARLY LOST THIS DRAFT TO MY DUMB WIFI 😭😭😭 ( & @sugojosgf cheer up baby 🫀🫀)

nanami swears he hates this as much as you do. he hates having to punish you for being a brat but he knows what has to be done when he's met with that petulant frown, your eyebrows pinched together like the foldings of an envelope that'll only reveal the simmering annoyance in your eyes when he drags a hand over your jaw, nodding your head up to his gaze. he takes in the subtle way you flinched when he breathes a deep breath through his nose— obvious disappointment in his ministrations. he doesn’t like out–right denying you though, and you appreciate that, you really do— but when it ends with your legs spread over his thighs, hopelessly grinding down for the smallest fractions of friction, it starts to feel worse than not having him at all.

Your hands fisted the material of his dress–shirt, marking folds and creases into the otherwise ironed shirt. Nanami's hands are settled on your hips, patting an encouraging rhythm— other than that, you have him no where else. It's a punishment, he reminds you, he's not going do anything more than this, than what's necessary to put you back into your place. So you're left to fend for yourself, trying your best to hump against Nanami's thigh with no footing; it feels stupid, you're sure you look stupid. Your feet hang just a few millimetres from the floor, dangling in the air as your toes stretched out purposefully so you can stabilise your lower half enough to push your hips forward.

Frustrated tears have been blurring your vision for however long this has gone on, Nanami leans back into the support of the chair, making a point of keeping away from you as his hands tap. You can't help but grumble, frustrated and whiny, at his constant reminder to keep your pace even. "If it's not to apologise for the way you behaved," Nanami speaks after what seems like hours of silent watching, "then I don't want to hear anythin'."

he makes you hump against his thigh as a punishment, knowing that no matter how long you spend trying to find the right position to purposefully push your clit down, you'll never get satisfied enough to cum. he doesn’t touch you, he doesn't talk to you— it's like he isn't there at all, reminiscent of all the lone nights when you have to settle for your fingers to press against an ache between your thighs that nanami had worked into you. his patience is the most annoying part of it— how his eyes brush over your features without a care for your struggles. depending on how stubborn you feel that night, nanami will either interfere with subtle touches to break down your walls or he'll soften at the sound of your apology between sobs.

Exhaustion taunts your movement, unfortunately, Nanami knew that you weren't ready to give in; his eyes trail over the clock and finds himself surprised by how long you'd been at this. Memories of your actions trickle back into his mind, wondering why you felt so especially wronged to sulk this long— maybe he'd been in the wrong this time. He wonders the specifics for a bit before coming to the conclusion that you were just being particularly stubborn about this and he'd hadn't been wrong to issue a correction for your behaviour. However, it didn't seem to be doing its job, neither helping you nor him.

Decidedly, he reaches an hand out to push your hair behind your ear. You curl into the touch almost immediately and he has to fight the satisfaction that corrupts inside him when you chase after him. Sweat lines your forehead, features permanently scrunched up, your mouth parted open as you panted. Full of unbridled tears, your eyes flickered to Nanami and you finally squeeze out a please, whisper to him that you're sorry. It's all that Nanami's wanted to hear so he leans in, a hand pushed upwards under the hem of your shirt and the other grabs your leg, hooking it over his other thigh so you could slide into his lap comfortably. You settled right over his bulge, a satisfied sigh shivering through your spine as Nanami trails his hand up; he pushes his fingers through your hair at the base of your hair and holds it out of the way when he nods his head down to press kisses at your neck. Sorry's fall out of your mouth at a hurried pace when you finally get to grind against his bulge, finally able to focus some kind of attention to your clit.

you're always tired by the time nanami decides that you've been good enough for your punishment to end or you give in and apologise; your legs ache from all the strenuous effort, no matter how long you'd been at it. since you've already shown regret for your actions, there's no need to nanami to shy away from taking over. he allows you to lie weightless underneath him, only twenty–one grams left of your soul boneless and floating as nanami finally gives you gentle reprieve. fucking you slow as he hums, praising how good you've been, telling you you'll always be his doll— no matter how you act out.

it's mere fun for shōko. something about it is electric, evokes some disturbing sense of feeling through nerves that she's left in slumber for years; thrumming inside of her, pandora's box bursts open inside of her bones, insects buzzing alive and rattling through narrow calcium passageways in search of an exit. she erupts with life when you're so desperately chasing after your own high, neglecting her touches, on her thigh. your whines and mewls feeding the torturous ache inside her to always have you here, ready–made for her. it's strange for shōko to like this as much as you do— maybe even more, when she gains no physical gratification from it, despite that, she's obsessed.

High–pitched moans have been altering the space of Shōko's bedroom for a while, the furniture all oozing down into the walls and floor as her brain focuses both hemispheres on you; they both fight to see which side can get more of you. Her left hand squeezes the fat of your hips, switching between mean grips and soothing cirles; her right hand is messing with the clasps of your bra, trying to get it off so she can see your tits bounces everytime you jostle forwards. She's all over you and encourages you to do the same with her.

Her face pushed right into the burrow of your neck, desperately kissing and licking over your skin, like she could wear it away enough with her tongue alone to have an entrance to push herself into your body to make home. Spurned on by the fact that you're grinding against her so desperately and still it's not enough, she's untamed. Her kisses are broken into intervals where she stops biting and sucking to murmur praises into your skin, making herself known to your intimate body.

there's little logic as to why exactly shōko enjoys the practice so much. she thinks it's the view, honestly. your flushed face— too fucked up to worry about appearances, your hair sticking to your forehead like strokes of paint, how you scramble your hands over her in search of some texture and stability, the tears and the sobs that follow. she watches it all with a patience and steadiness that could only belong to someone with her kind of profession and it only spurns you on more, knowing that there was some kind of obscene part of shōko that loved this. even though she shushes you so gently, wipes your eyes, and gives you soft kisses over the parts of your cheeks where makeup has loosened from sweat and tears— she makes you keep going until your body gives out.

She hums, pleasant and supportive next to your ear when her kisses lead her back up to your face. Your nails tightened into her shoulders, the tension of a cable holding an elevator wound up your body, a burn in your thighs like you'd been awake with the weight of the world on your shoulders for a millennia and more. You've been asking for something for a while— you're not sure what exactly but Shōko knows. She always does when you're whimpering please's in her ears. Your head lay on her shoulder, pants falling from your lips and a dazed look on your face as your hips shift and stutter, prompted by her encouraging hands. "Please, Shō," you beg again and again, "I— I need," and you don't finish cause she swats at your thigh.

"Jus' a lil' more, okay pretty?" Strangely, she sounds just fucked up as you. "A little more, then I'll take care of everything." Shōko's never disappointed you, she's not cruel enough to be made for that, so you trust her and you keep going. When your breathing slows, breaths more purposeful and you're sniffling, obvious tears rolling down your face, she waits for the weight of your hips to shift entirely into her palms— a burden on her shoulders— and then she'll take over. "You did so good," she hums as she moves you to lay down on the bed. "So, so good, 'm gonna take care of you now, 'kay?" You nod and her tongue swipes over the tears that fall from your eyes over to your ear before kissing the skin.

when she's satisfied with how worn out you already are, she takes over. shōko thinks this is also why she enjoys having you tire yourself out on her thighs first; you're so docile, so quiet, so receptive to everything she does now. every slow, tantalising stroke against unassuming expanses of skin makes you twitch and squirm; you're too tired to even call her name so she listens to your squeals and whines instead, using them as guides for her next movements. she knows that you'll hate her in the morning for managing to talk you into this, but right now, she doesn't hear a bratty peep out of you and it's how she likes it. she already deals with too much stress in her life— the last thing she needs is for you to add onto that and even though you'll pout at her and turn away from her warmth in the morning, she knows you like your mind reduced to liquid, you don't like the weight of your own thinking either.