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fangdokja · 20 days ago

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He’ll pay any price for your love—what’s your worth?

❤︎ Synopsis. In a love that teeters between devotion and obsession, escape is futile—his jealousy isn’t just possessive, it’s a consuming force that leaves no room for freedom. With each calculated act, he dismantles your world, ensuring you’ll always belong to him, body and soul.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Pantalone x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Heizou x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Venti x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Xiao x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Heart's Chains - Part 4

♡ Word Count. 4,301

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

♡ Pantalone – The Merchant’s Bargain.

“They think they can provide for you better than I can? How quaint. Shall I show them the cost of their insolence?”

The rhythmic echo of his boots against the cold marble floor carried a cadence of inevitability, a sound that sliced through the gilded silence of your confinement. You had dared to defy him once—a futile, trembling act of rebellion—but the memory of your failure still clung to you like a shroud. That night, his voice, smooth and deliberate, had wrapped around your resolve like silk hiding steel.

“Freedom?” he had mused, tilting his head as though you’d spoken in a language he had long since conquered and discarded. The gloved fingers under your chin forced your eyes to meet his, those calculating pools of dark ink that shimmered with amusement and an undercurrent of unspoken threat. “Ah, my dear. You misunderstand. Freedom is not yours to hold. It never was.”

The realization had come too late, slipping into your chest like a dagger hidden behind a bouquet of roses. And then there was his touch—clinical, practiced, a scholar examining his magnum opus. His lips brushed against your skin, leaving trails of cold fire in their wake, while his hands—gloved but never less intimate—claimed every part of you that you had once believed untouchable. It wasn’t affection. It was triumph, meticulous and unyielding, as if sealing a deal that had never required your consent.

“You are mine,” he had whispered, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. His words weren’t a confession but a decree, immutable and eternal. “Every thought. Every tear. Every heartbeat. They belong to me.”

Even now, the memory of his voice—velvet layered over iron—made your stomach twist in a combination of dread and something you refused to name. He was not cruel in the way of brutes who lashed out in fits of rage. No, his cruelty was far more refined, a blade sharpened to perfection, slipping between your ribs without a trace of blood. When he destroyed those who dared to covet you, it was not with fists but with contracts and whispered promises that unraveled their lives thread by thread.

“They thought they could compete with me?” he had remarked once, his smile as sharp as shattered glass. “Quaint. Shall we see how far they fall without their illusions?”

And fall they did. Men who had once walked with pride were reduced to husks of themselves, their empires razed to ash by the sheer weight of his machinations. You had watched, helpless and horrified, as he dismantled them with the same precision he used to trace the curve of your jaw, the line of your collarbone. His methods were merciless, but his gaze, whenever it turned to you, was something worse. It was possessive, yes, but layered with an almost tender mockery—a reminder that you were both the prize and the trophy.

At night, he would come to you, his presence filling the room long before his touch reached your skin. The scent of leather and cold metal clung to him, an oppressive cloud that left no space for you to breathe. He would undress you slowly, not with passion but with a reverence that felt more like dissection. His fingers, deft and unrelenting, mapped every inch of you as though committing you to memory. And when he finally pressed his lips to yours, it was not a kiss but a seal, binding you to him in ways no contract could ever replicate.

“You tremble so beautifully,” he had once murmured, his voice laced with something dark and predatory. “Do you realize what that does to me? Knowing that every shiver, every sigh, is mine to command?”

You wanted to scream, to push him away, to claw your way out of the golden cage he had built around you. But you knew better. His control was absolute, his influence extending beyond these walls to every corner of your life. Every ally you might have turned to, every path you might have taken, had been methodically closed off. He had seen to it that there was no escape, no hope, no future that did not orbit around him.

The nights were the worst. His body was a furnace against yours, his arms an unyielding cage that held you captive even in sleep. His whispers—promises of pleasure, threats of what would happen should you ever try to leave—invaded your dreams, turning them into nightmares you could not wake from. And yet, there were moments when his touch softened, when his lips brushed against your forehead in something almost resembling affection. Those moments terrified you most of all, for they reminded you of the power he held—not just over your body but over your mind, your soul.

When you cried, he would wipe away your tears with a gentleness that felt like mockery, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he smiled down at you.

“Hush now,” he would croon, his voice a paradox of warmth and cruelty. “There’s no need for tears. You should feel honored. Do you have any idea how many would give anything to be in your position? To be cherished by me?”

Cherished. The word tasted bitter in your mouth, a poisoned fruit wrapped in silk. But what choice did you have? He had stripped away every semblance of agency, every illusion of autonomy. You were his, bound by chains you could not see but felt in every breath you took.

Even now, as he stands across the room, his gaze heavy with unspoken promises, you feel the weight of his control. He doesn’t need to speak for you to know what he’s thinking. The slight tilt of his head, the way his fingers tap against the armrest of his chair—it all speaks of a man who knows he has won. Who knows that no matter how much you might dream of escape, you will always belong to him.

And when he finally approaches, his movements slow and deliberate, you can’t help but shiver. His hand cups your cheek, his touch as cold as the Snezhnayan winds that howl outside. He tilts your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes leaves you breathless.

“You’ll never leave me,” he says, his voice soft but laced with an unshakable certainty. “Not because you can’t, but because you won’t. Deep down, you know the truth. I’m the only one who can give you what you need. What you crave.”

His lips capture yours in a kiss that feels like a signature on a contract, binding you to him in ways you can’t fully comprehend. And as much as you want to resist, to pull away, you find yourself succumbing, the lines between despair and desire blurring until you can no longer distinguish one from the other.

Because in the end, he’s right. There is no escape—not from him, not from the darkness he has woven around you. You are his, now and forever. And he will make sure you never forget it.

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♡ Heizou – The Deceptive Detective.

“You think you can hide from me? Oh, darling, you underestimate how much I enjoy a good chase.”

It starts with his voice—not a shout, but a murmur, low and velvety, winding its way into the recesses of your mind before you even realize you’ve stopped breathing. His tone is soft, almost tender, like the caress of satin against bare skin. But beneath it, oh, there’s an edge—a razor-thin blade poised to cut. Shikanoin Heizou doesn’t need volume to dominate a room. His presence alone does the work, wrapping around you until your own thoughts feel like they’re not entirely yours anymore.

“You’ve been busy,” he says, his voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement. Each syllable is deliberate, each pause measured to pull you in deeper. His words aren’t a question but a statement—an observation so sharp it feels like he’s dissecting your very essence. You glance at him, but he’s already looking at you, his eyes—those unnervingly keen eyes—piercing through you like scalpels.

His lips curve upward, a faint smile that dances just shy of genuine. It’s not joy. It’s calculation, a mask so carefully constructed that it only heightens the unnerving tension coiling in your stomach. The distance between you is too small, and yet he steps closer, each footfall soft but purposeful, like a predator closing in on cornered prey.

“Tell me,” he continues, leaning against the edge of the table with an ease that seems casual but is anything but. His fingers trail idly over its surface, tracing invisible patterns. “What’s their secret? What’s so fascinating about them that you’d risk... neglecting me?” The words drip from his lips like honey, sweet but cloying, their weight suffocating.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your throat tightens as though he’s already wrapped those deft fingers around it. He tilts his head, his smile widening just a fraction. It’s not kind. It’s a noose tightening, a slow and deliberate constriction designed to choke the air from your lungs.

“Ah,” he sighs, as though the silence itself has confessed everything. “I see how it is. You’re testing me.” His voice drops, and there’s an undercurrent now, something darker, something that makes your pulse thunder in your ears. He straightens, his frame deceptively relaxed as he paces a slow circle around you. You’re keenly aware of how close he is, how the faint scent of sandalwood and something metallic clings to him.

Heizou’s methods are meticulous, his attention to detail almost inhuman. He doesn’t lash out—not physically. His cruelty lies in his precision, in the way he dismantles you piece by piece without ever raising his voice. “You know,” he muses, his tone light but laced with something sinister, “I caught them lying today. A terrible liar, really. But then again, I suppose they didn’t realize who they were dealing with.”

His footsteps stop, and you feel him behind you before you see him. A hand brushes against your wrist, and the touch is warm, almost gentle—but it lingers. His fingers tighten, just slightly, just enough to make your skin prickle.

“They were so nervous,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “The way their hands trembled when I said your name… quite telling, wouldn’t you agree?” There’s a pause, a stretch of silence so oppressive it feels like the air itself is suffused with malice.

Then, he chuckles—a soft, mirthless sound. “You don’t think they’re smarter than me, do you?” His grip tightens abruptly, the sudden force jolting you. “Because if they are, darling, then why were they begging by the end?”

The words linger, heavy and cold, and your stomach churns. He’s toying with you, savoring the way your breath hitches, the way your pulse flutters beneath his touch.

“You underestimate me,” he says softly, his tone almost mournful. “And that’s what hurts the most. After everything I’ve done for you, after all the times I’ve protected you…” He trails off, his hand sliding up to cradle your face. His thumb brushes against your cheek, a gesture that might’ve seemed tender if not for the vice grip of his other hand.

When he leans in, his lips ghosting over yours, the kiss isn’t an expression of love. It’s a claim, a binding force that leaves no room for doubt. Heizou’s affection isn’t freely given; it’s demanded, extracted, enforced. His lips are soft, his movements precise, but there’s no gentleness. Only control. Only possession.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes you want to shrink away. “Do you know what I love most about you?” he whispers, his voice so low it feels like it’s crawling beneath your skin.

He doesn’t wait for a response. “It’s how much you need me. Even when you think you don’t. Even when you try to run.” His smile returns, but it’s twisted now, a reflection of the madness simmering just beneath the surface.

“But don’t worry,” he murmurs, his thumb pressing into your jaw just enough to make your breath hitch. “I enjoy the chase. And you, my darling, are such a fascinating puzzle.”

His hands drop away, but the weight of him doesn’t. It lingers, heavy and inescapable, like the echo of a nightmare you can’t quite wake from. He steps back, but his eyes never leave yours, and you know, with a sinking certainty, that he doesn’t need chains to keep you. His words, his presence, his gaze—they’re all the binds he needs.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he says, his tone almost gentle now, as if he’s offering comfort. “I already know everything. I just like hearing it from your lips.”

The room feels colder as he turns away, the smile still playing on his lips. But you know it’s not over. Not even close. Because Shikanoin Heizou doesn’t just want you to stay. He wants you to realize—to understand, to accept—that you were never free to leave.

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♡ Venti – The Bard’s Obsession.

“The winds have whispered your name to me, and now I can’t help but sing of you. Forever.”

Venti’s jealousy is a quiet, insidious thing—gentle as a breeze at first, slipping unnoticed into the crevices of your life, only to grow into a tempest that consumes every corner of your existence. It begins with the way his songs shift. Once lighthearted and carefree, they become laced with longing, their melodies carrying a haunting undercurrent of possessiveness.

You hear it in the way his voice lilts when he sings of freedom, the irony cutting sharp as glass. Freedom is his domain, the cornerstone of his identity, yet the thought of you seeking it elsewhere gnaws at his very soul. He can’t abide the idea of you straying too far, can’t stomach the sight of another’s eyes lingering on you for too long.

“You’re the only hymn worth singing,” he tells you one evening, his words coated in honey but laced with something darker, something you can’t quite place. His aqua eyes gleam in the fading light, the soft glow belying the storm brewing beneath.

It’s not obvious at first. His jealousy manifests in small, seemingly innocuous gestures—a hand resting a moment too long on your shoulder, a sharp glance at anyone who dares approach you during his performances. But the signs are there, subtle as the wind. You feel it in the way the air grows stifling when he’s near, as though the atmosphere itself bends to his will. The winds whisper your name, carrying his voice to you even when he’s nowhere to be seen.

He’s always watching. Always waiting.

When another admirer dares to offer you a flower—a simple token of affection—Venti’s response is deceptively cheerful. He plucks the bloom from your hands with a laugh, spinning it between his fingers before casting it into the wind. “A lovely gesture,” he muses, his tone light. “But nothing compared to what I could offer you.”

Later, you notice the absence of that admirer. No one mentions them again, and you dare not ask.

Venti’s touch is soft, almost reverent, as though you’re a delicate melody he fears will shatter beneath his hands. But there’s a hunger in his eyes, a desperation that betrays his playful facade. When he holds you, it’s as if he’s trying to merge your very existence with his, to bind your soul to him in ways words and songs cannot convey.

“You’re my muse,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice trembling with an emotion that borders on madness. “Without you, my music would wither. Without you, I’d be nothing.”

It’s in his desperation that his true nature unfurls, dark and unyielding. The winds themselves seem to conspire with him, pulling you closer, trapping you in an invisible cage. When you try to leave, the gusts become relentless, tearing at your clothes, your hair, until you’re forced to seek shelter—and he’s always there, waiting with open arms and a saccharine smile.

His jealousy grows with each perceived slight, each moment you spend with another. One evening, after you’ve spoken too long with someone else, he pulls you aside, his grip on your wrist firm but not painful. “Tell me,” he says, his voice low and dangerously soft, “do they make your heart sing as I do? Do their words weave melodies in your soul?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.

When he kisses you, it’s with a fervor that borders on desperation, his lips bruising against yours as though trying to erase the memory of anyone else. His hands roam your body with a possessiveness that leaves no room for doubt—you belong to him, and he will not share.

In the privacy of his embrace, his facade crumbles. The playful bard gives way to the archon he once was, his true power humming in the air around you. The winds howl outside, rattling the windows, as he whispers promises of eternity, of devotion so absolute it would shatter the heavens.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, his voice trembling with the weight of his obsession. “No one else can have you. Not the mortals who pine for you, not the gods who dare to covet you. Only me.”

And when he takes you, it’s with a mix of passion and desperation that leaves you breathless. His hands are everywhere, tracing the curve of your spine, the line of your jaw, as though trying to memorize every inch of you. His kisses are intoxicating, leaving you dizzy and gasping for air, and his touch is both a comfort and a curse, binding you to him in ways you can’t escape.

The winds outside carry his song, a haunting melody that speaks of love and loss, of a devotion so fierce it borders on destruction. And as he holds you close, his breath warm against your skin, you realize that you are both his muse and his prisoner, trapped in a melody that will never end.

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♡ Xiao – The Guardian’s Desperation.

“I’ve slaughtered demons for centuries, but none of them haunt me as much as the thought of losing you.”

Xiao’s jealousy is a silent storm, his emotions buried beneath a stoic exterior. But when someone dares to approach you, his mask slips, revealing the feral possessiveness that lurks beneath. His love is a battlefield, and he will destroy anyone who stands in his way.

“They think they can protect you better than I can? Foolish. I’ll erase them from existence before they even draw their weapon.”

He watches you, always from the shadows—a sentinel whose presence is as consuming as the shadows that cling to him. You are unaware of his gaze, or perhaps you pretend to be, your every step laced with a naive confidence he simultaneously admires and despises. You wander too freely, too trustingly. It sets his teeth on edge, a low thrum of irritation pulsing in his chest like the steady hum of karmic debt.

You should not be so careless. Not when the world is teeming with dangers you cannot comprehend, threats he has battled for centuries. Not when he exists, tethered to you by something far more insidious than mere duty.

The first time he approached you, it was a fleeting moment at Wangshu Inn. Your voice was a melody too bright for this tainted earth, your laughter soft but cutting, a knife wrapped in silk. He didn’t speak then, didn’t dare disturb the fragile balance of your ignorance. But he memorized the cadence of your voice, the way it trembled slightly on certain words, how your lips curved when you smiled—a smile not meant for him but for the world you inhabited so freely.

It was maddening.

He hated it.

He wanted it.

You—a mortal bound by the confines of fleeting years—had ensnared him, shackling his mind in ways no karmic curse ever had. He should have left. Should have buried the feelings clawing at his chest in the deepest recesses of his being. Yet every step you took away from him, every day you spent beyond the sanctuary of his watchful eye, fed the gnawing hunger inside him. It was unbearable.

And so, he followed.

At first, it was subtle—a shadow flitting in the corner of your vision, a faint sensation of being watched. You dismissed it, a trick of the light, perhaps. But he was there, always there. The walls of Liyue Harbor—so bustling, so alive—could not deter him. Nor could the open plains, the forests, the winding roads you took on your whimsical adventures. His presence was constant, suffocating, unseen but palpable.

He told himself it was to protect you, to shield you from dangers you could not perceive. The truth was darker, more primal. It was not merely protection; it was possession. You were his. From the moment he decided to lay claim to you—silently, secretly—you belonged to him. It didn’t matter if you were unaware of it. It didn’t matter if the world continued to spin in blissful ignorance of his obsession.

But there were others.

Of course, there were others. Xiao had seen them—those who dared to tread too close, their gazes lingering too long, their voices too familiar. A pang of something dark and bitter twisted inside him each time it happened. Jealousy was a foreign sensation, one he had no name for but understood viscerally. He despised the way it coiled around his throat, hot and suffocating, and yet he could not escape it. It made his blood sing with a violent need—to eliminate, to erase, to make you see that no one else could be worthy of you.

It was a quiet night when he finally let you see him again. The sky was painted with stars, their light muted against the crescent moon. You were alone, as you often were, wandering near the cliffs overlooking Dihua Marsh. The wind played with your hair, carrying it like a banner of defiance. He appeared silently, a shadow stepping out of the void, his golden eyes piercing in the dim light.

You gasped softly, startled but not afraid. Not yet. His expression was unreadable, as it always was—a mask of cold indifference that barely hid the turmoil beneath. “You should not be here,” he said, his voice low and steady, yet tinged with something unspoken.

You tilted your head, curious. “Xiao?” You said his name like it was a question, like it was fragile, like it belonged to you. His fingers twitched at his side.

“It’s dangerous,” he continued, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming in its intensity. You did not step back, though your breath hitched imperceptibly. He noticed, of course. He noticed everything about you.

“I can take care of myself,” you replied, a faint smile gracing your lips. It was the wrong thing to say.

His jaw tightened, the golden irises of his eyes darkening like storm clouds. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice sharp now, a blade against the fragile air between you. “You don’t see the things I see. You don’t know what’s out there.”

“Then show me,” you challenged, your voice steady but your pulse quickening. He could hear it, the rapid thrum of your heart, and it ignited something dangerous inside him.

For a moment, silence stretched between you, taut and suffocating. Then, faster than you could react, he was there—too close, his breath warm against your skin. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to convey an unyielding dominance.

“You don’t understand,” he repeated, softer this time, almost a whisper. His gaze bore into yours, unrelenting, unyielding. “I will not let anything happen to you.”

And you knew, then, with chilling certainty, that he was not speaking of mere protection. There was a possessiveness in his voice, an edge of something raw and unrefined. He was not asking for your consent, your understanding, your compliance. He was taking it.

The wind howled around you, a mournful sound that seemed to echo the inevitability of your fate. You tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, just enough to make you stop, to make you understand.

“Do not test me,” he warned, his voice dropping to a growl that sent shivers down your spine. There was no malice in his tone, only an unwavering resolve that promised you would never escape him.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. His other hand reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The gesture was almost tender, a cruel juxtaposition to the iron grip on your wrist.

“You belong here,” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours. “With me.”

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monamipencil · 1 month ago

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when strawberries bloom (teaser)

“When the strawberries bloom, I'll be by your side.”

premise. mingyu is content with his life in the capitol as a victor, although he's haunted by the images of the nightmare he lived ten years ago. but all that comes to an abrupt stop, when he discovers that you—his greatest demise had been alive all this time.

content. hunger games! au, victor! mingyu, f! reader, pseudo major character death, hints of trauma, mingyu is a blink away from alcohol poisoning, capitol shenanigans, this is set in the period of second rebellion, slow burn, jealousy, both of them are in denial, fight scenes, friends to lovers (?) to strangers to rivals (it's one sided??) to ???, angst, fluff, crack, smut. heavy fruit metaphor, yearning, pining, happy ending.

warnings. will be added in the fic post.

word count. tba.

release date. around december end.

author’s note. this is a part of the ‘catching fire’ collab hosted by @vitaminkyeom. i'm very excited to write this and share with you guys. though i'm barely done with fic, i thought i'd put out as a teaser to fuel me to finish it. and pls feel free to come to my inbox and scream abt this fic <33 send an ask to be added to the taglist !

Mingyu controls a deep sigh as yet another woman presses herself against him in the name of dancing. He fakes his gaze, pretending to be enamoured. The strong perfume she’d used makes his head throb, and irritate his nostrils.

The woman whispers sultrily, “I can’t believe I got you all to myself tonight.”

She flutters her eyelashes at him, her hands playing with the tie of his masquerade mask. It only covers the lower half of his face—a skillfully sculpted skull mask, lined with golden chains. He avoids looking at her, eyes darting all over the room to find something to fixate on.

His lack of attention doesn’t seem to faze the woman as she only steps in closer. He bites his tongue and focuses on the details of the mansion. Gold painting lines the ivory walls that are basked in the dim lights of the party now. Grand, maroon curtains hangs by the arched windows, slightly swaying as the wind flows in.

Awe turns into confusion which is replaced by disappointment when his eyes land on a glowing liquor fountain. But if he’s really honest, he’s a bit intrigued and his tongue feels dry, aching for the bitter taste of alcohol on it.

Another shift of his eyes lands on a familiar lady, adorned in a black gown and dancing with an old man. He recognizes you as the lady from the balcony though your face is now obscured with a masquerade mask. Relief floods through his system, if he had to catch another glance at your face, his heart would stop beating once and for all.

But as Mingyu had discovered long ago, things never really go the way he wishes them to. You turn your head, catching his gaze. Heat floods his cheeks and all the oxygen trickles out his lungs. He sucks in a sharp breath as you maintain eye contact. He doesn’t realise that he had stopped dancing till the woman whines. The sound prickles his skin, sending a shot of annoyance through him.

All the voices around Mingyu drown out, turning into a mere buzz. A vine wraps around his heart, its thorns puncturing the gentle muscle. He watches as you shift your attention. Your beautiful lips curving into a smile, reacting to whatever the man had said. Your body leaning towards the old gamemaker, drawing attention to your cleavage. Rage courses through his veins along with another feeling. Jealousy.

The feeling is foreign to him and he can’t even deduce why he’s jealous. Or, he knows why he’s jealous but even that mere idea seems incredulous. Still envy coils in his gut, rattling its tail at him and mocking him. Your eyes land on him again, and his heart skips a beat.

Just then, the song switches, carrying a seductive note. Soon, the woman is whisked away and not even a second later, you end up in his arms. His hands skate down your silk gown to the small of your back and he pulls you flush against him. The proximity makes your breath hitch and you place your arm on his shoulders, swaying to the notes. Your breaths mingle together, body heat diffusing into one.

Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system or maybe you look too much like her, but he doesn’t find it in himself to care. With a sudden craving of intimacy, he holds you tight against him and the other intertwines with your left hand as you both sway to the flowing music.

Any rational thought is chucked out his mind. The more he looks into your eyes, the more you look like her. In contrast to his prior wish, he wants your mask gone now. It obscures most of your face, cutting off near your right cheekbone to expose your right eye.

He brushes stray hair aside. His soft, manicured nail beds caress the exposed skin off your face. You tighten your hold on him, doe eyes staring up at him with something he can’t pinpoint. His heartbeat quickens, a strange nostalgia permeates the air. Mingyu swears that this has happened before, a sense of deja vu fills his veins.

Before he could comprehend his own actions, he undoes your mask. The sultry note tunes out into nothingness and the world seems to have stopped spinning. The mask hits the ground with a clank that gets muffled in the shock of the revelation.

And there stands Kim Mingyu with his long lost lover and best friend who’s supposedly dead.

You mirror his expression, horror staining your face as you shuffle to retrieve your mask. All while he stands still, going over the millions of possibilities. Why and how are you alive? Or is this a sick joke that someone is trying to play on him?

You try to slip away from him, but he catches your hand, stopping you in your tracks. His grip tightens when you try to pull your hand away. His fingers brush over a bump on your skin, drawing attention to it. His eyes land on a scar that runs from the palm of your left hand to your wrist.

Just then, you free yourself from his grip and escape into the bustling crowd of the party, leaving him alone. Though the mansion is filled with hundreds of citizens, an impermeable bubble seems to surround him—as if no one had witnessed what had occurred. It makes Mingyu question whether you’re real or if he made you up, like a mad man.

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blood-smiles · 3 months ago

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𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 ᡣ𐭩₊⋆

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 TW MDNI Fake religion . angel being creepy . profanity and small blurbs of NSFW . M!preg to some degree?

Eyes, many eyes, all watched you silently, feathers fell around you in a circle, the beautiful fluffy bird like wings curled around your form, a gorgeous man stood in front of you, eyes alike to those of a prism shining under sun, a kaleidoscope of colors reflecting off his beautiful hues and back into your own (e/c) irises.

He held you ever so gently, his fingers trembling as he softly caressed your face, his long ashen hair flowing down his back, alike to smooth silk.

He opened his mouth to speak but as soon as he was about to form a sentence your eyes snapped open.

ᝰ.ᐟ Your friend poked you with their finger, waking you up from your surreal dream and back into reality.

You were thinking about angels again, weren’t you?— They had been appearing in your dreams for the past few days, strangely they always centered around this man, a beautiful man.

After waking up you couldn’t remember anything else but his stunning crystalline eyes, those rainbow eyes were burned into the back of your head, you knew that he was beautiful, could it be your guardian angel visiting you?

ᝰ.ᐟ You had been assigned an essay on the topic of the heavenly protectors, your professor wanting to have a change of pace and focus on something more niche.

There were limited sources, so you had to dig deeper.

You had been looking at links as of late, locations that centered on religious themes and creatures.

ᝰ.ᐟ Lucky for you a new location appeared on your browser, what seemed to be a library that nuns and priests went to often, to study and solidify their fate.

ᝰ.ᐟ You walked into the library quietly, clutching your messenger bag close to your chest, your feet tapped against the pristine white flooring.

ᝰ.ᐟ This library was large, huge even. You had no idea how you never noticed it, the structure being a behemoth among other buildings.

The architecture of this place was simply breathtaking, your eyes drinking in every inch and centimeter of the temple, you knew you came to the right place when you noticed cherubs intricately carved into the white plaster above you.

ᝰ.ᐟ You were too much in awe to realize that you were about to crash into a person, instantly hitting their chest with your face and falling back onto the floor.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere!Angel let out a faint breath of air when he saw you, his heart beginning to beat rapidly, he had found you. He had finally found you!

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel helped you up immediately, gently taking your divine hands in his own, holding them as if they were golden 3 carat chains.

“Oh my! Are you alright, dear?”

ᝰ.ᐟ You thanked Yandere! Angel, your jaw slightly ajar from the beauty of the man, Yandere!Angel laughed lightly, covering the lower half of his face with his hand bashfully.

“You can take a picture so it lasts longer, hm?”

ᝰ.ᐟ Your eyes drifted down to his neck, star shaped scars lining the circumference of his throat over his skin. How strange.

ᝰ.ᐟ You cleared your throat, deciding to ignore that comment all together, taking out your small note pad you read from the pages, asking Yandere!Angel if the library had any books on your selection.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel’s brows raised, he knew you were here for something.. But about his own kin? It seems that he was guided to you and you were to him, just like faith.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel took your hand and ushered you to follow him, a slight flush centering on his cheeks. the both of you ventured to the very back of the temple like library, the undercover angel pushed a book case with impressive strength to a side.

A cloud of dust came off the shelves, bringing a hand up to cover your mouth and nose from the puff of dust.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel beat you to it as he gently put his hands over your face, protecting you from inhaling grime particles, the unexpected and honestly intimate gesture making you gaze up at him quizzically.

“Wouldn’t want you getting sick, dearest.”

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere!Angel couldn’t believe he had just touched you, he had touched YOU. Ecstasy flooded into his system, the golden blood surging in his veins boiling.

His face twitched, eyes behind eyelids making small movements, a nervous smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he dusted your shoulders off.

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel took out a few books, blowing the dust away with a flick of his hand, he grasped the human leather cover, staring at it for a moment before handing the heavy enciclopedia to you.

“This is the most in depth book we have here, it isn’t every day anyone asks for books such as these.”

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel watched as you opened the pages, tracing the book with your hands, he shuddered, would you touch him like that too?

He gently plucked a feather from the wings attached to his back, gently putting the soft feather in your hand, he opened his eyes for a split second.

Beautiful. Breath taking crystalline eyes, those eyes. You could recognize them anywhere! Those were the eyes from the man in your dream!

“This feather is from an angel, Seraph if you may. Treasure it, keep it with you at all times and it will keep you safe.”

ᝰ.ᐟ You stared at his eyes, it was like they were eating at you, just who was he? It would be silly to think he would appear in your dreams.. Wouldn’t it..?

“..Lucien.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Lucien, (Y/N).”

ᝰ.ᐟ How did he know your name? You never told him your name.. you gave him a funny look, you smiled awkwardly while turning on your heel to make a hasty departure.

You glanced back over your shoulder, a bad habit you had developed as a result of walking home alone during night time.

ᝰ.ᐟ Your breath caught in your throat, Lucien. That same strange librarian was no human anymore, he stood in front of a window, he lifted his hand slowly waving to you, a nice flush tinting his cheekbones.

Long white wings adorned his back, lush feathers falling onto the pristine floor of the temple. A golden halo behind his head, circulating and hovering in clock wise motions. Small wings that hid under his hair twitched and fluttered as they unfolded, looking unbearably soft and pretty.

“..What the fuck..?”

ᝰ.ᐟ You gasped to yourself as you stared at him, he smiled wider, you had noticed, he knew you had noticed! And you didn’t go crazy!

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel was delighted to make the discovery that you weren’t driven to insanity while seeing his half form. most humans would have been having seizures on the floor right about now, but you just blinked a few times and turned back around, shoulders tense and rigid.

ᝰ.ᐟ He shivered in delight, humans were at times so adorable— Well more like you were the cutest little thing he has ever seen!

ᝰ.ᐟ He just wanted to grab you and tuck your little self into his nest and have many many children! He hasn’t had his first batch of eggs yet.. he was going to be plump with eggs soon.

ᝰ.ᐟ the both of you were mates! Yes, yes there was no other explanation for these events, perhaps [ REDACTED ] had finally blessed him!

ᝰ.ᐟ Yandere! Angel ‘s face turned a deeper shade of red, he could swear there were little hearts coming out of him.

He held his face in his hands, his cheeks felt agonizingly hot, he put his hands to work, trying to bat his face a little to keep the blushing down.

ᝰ.ᐟ You were safe. You had taken his feather. Basically a natural tracking device, and soon he would work his way into your life little by little.. Guardian Angel or not he was going to take you as his.

“My wings..? You want to touch them? Well of course, darling! All of me is yours.”

(Touching an angels wings is an intimate act where mates solidify their mating bond. Discretion advised.)

#yandere x reader #smilesyanderes #yandere #male yandere x reader #male yandere #gn reader #gender neutral reader #fem reader #x female reader #LucienPosting

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sukunas-wife · 1 year ago

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Sealed 1

2 3

Sukuna had been betrayed and sealed away by fellows sourcers.

The last thing you remember was How you pulled him with you, he was just starting to learn his cursed technique. It was as devastating as his fathers technique, but he still didn’t understand how to use it properly, you couldn’t find your husband, where was he, you detached frantically carrying your son out the palace as you ran, the frantic screams of the palace help, where was Uraume you couldn’t find them either.

You’d be a fool to run straight into battle, your own skills weren’t as strong as Sukuna’s but your experience had definitely left you well off, but the Toll of Carrying the frightened Yuji and fighting as freely as you could was draining your Stamina, you could feel how you were being surrounded. Silk kimono torn from battle, you tried to outrun and take cover outside the palace after Sourcerer’s had made it in.

Just as you were going to make your escape you felt the burning against your skin before you saw the red chains dragging you back, holding Yuji to look st you in a panicked rushed voice “Run Yuji, Find Uraume or find My lady in waiting the one who always wears white robes with a black belt. Don’t let anyone catch you and don’t trust anyone until you find either your dads help or mine. Please Go.” He watched as your dug your hand into the ground catching a rock he had tried to burry in the ground long ago, “no! Mommy i don’t wanna leave you come with me.” He didn’t move from your arms as you tried to set him down “Yuji, please.” You managed to set him down holding on to that large rock muscles shaking “I’ll come get you when it’s over but you need to be safe for now.”

His teary eyes tore into your heart and shook your head no with a weak smile “Don’t cry baby” using your free hand to wipe away the un fallen tears, “Promise you’ll come back for me?” “I promise baby, I won’t leave you alone longer than I need to, I’ll be right back.” He held his little hand “Promise me like you do daddy.”

Your heart aching you took his little hand, the giant ghost of chains wrapped around your wrist and his leaving a faint star like mark on his upper fore arm and yours “See I promise, now go!” He nodded and started his run, finally out of site you let go of the rock thrashing as you’d were being dragged grabbing the chain and pulling yourself up, the chain around your ankle had become the weapon once you came face to face with the sourcerer who thought they could so easily dominate you.

🖤🩶🩶🩶🖤🩶🩶🩶🖤🩶🩶🩶🖤🩶🩶🩶🖤

The smell of smoke, your dizzy head on the floor, Sukuna was i front of you at a distance trying to break from all the chains and seals they had used on him. You tried to raise your head only to be kicked back down, causing Sukuna to thrash and yell the chains sounding like they were ready to break

“Su..kuna.” Your weak voice as you caught his eyes he looked at you, raging more when you could barely keep your head up and eyes open, “Yu.. where’s yu-“ the cries of your son forcing you up to turn and scream, the heart breaking cry as your watched a group of men carrying your son by the back of his robes, he kicked cried and screamed and looked at you when he heard your cry, the women there didn’t even flinch when you cried and screamed out hideously, your voice resembling the screams of curses and the cries of Demons. Your sons cries called out “ MOMMY! DADDY!”

“YUJI.” Sukuna’s sharp Yell as he managed to stand in his Chains

“Yuji!” Your voice hoarse as you forced your flesh to burn against the chains so you could move “yuji…” the “Ryomen Sukuna you have-“ your consciousness was in and out over the sounds of your heavy breathing and crying and you didn’t all you could to drag yourself to Yuji,

“As a result you WILL be sealed away, but first to make sure this never happens again, We will also ve sealing your son in the lines of time to assure you never come across him again, you and your supposed wife are far to powerful to risk in the line of time you will both be sealed in your respective manner.

Forced to watch as Sourcerer’s circled yuji ignoring his cries and please, ignores your screeches and tears as your son looked at you one last time with teary red eyes and red cheeks, “Daddy.. Mommy.”

Your heart shattered and screamed thrashing around when your son was gone completely. The prison realm was opened around you, and you turned to Sukuna who was surround, the chants around him as they started to seal him one by one, you locked eyes with him, your words “I love you.” His face just as he managed to say it back he was gone. Your head hanging low as you stared at the box “any last words cursed woman.” You shook your head “no words just this.” In a last minute attempt you forced out all of your cursed energy in one solid push, everyone fell, you fell weak, the man informe of your who had almost been severed managed out a choked “close.” the prison realm closing forcing you in

There you sat in the prison realm on a throne of skeletons begging to reach up and touch you. You were tired but there was no doubt in your mind now you had all the time in this work your cursed technique would be sharpened until the day you would make your escape.

#sukuna ryomen #sukuna x you #jjk anime #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #sukuna thirst #jujutsu kaisen #reincarnated Sukuna’s wife #sukuna x wife reader #sukuna x reincarnated reader #yuji and mom reader #yuji x mom reader #Sealed Away

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almostempty · 2 months ago

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he knows (lucien x f!reader)

(lucien x f!reader) | wc: 3.2k | other fics | pic from here

UH HEY! I’m just gonna drop this here and scurry away to finish the other lucien one shot that i also started today, ….and then i’ll return to finishing divorced dad rock joel, and responding to all of the lovely people on here–but, like, i really just need this guy in the most emotionally unavailable and fuckable way, i hope one of y'all gets me

tags/warnings/thots: 18+/explicit, smut, toxic ex/fuckboy lucien, sex instead of communicating or processing emotions, angst but we fuckin’ and that’s the whole plot, we hit raw in my fics bc of my imaginary latex aversion or something, crying, biting, dom lucien vibes (? i never know when that’s the right tag), big dash of pls sexy man fuck the feelings away, tell me if there’s something i should add

– no editing, no thinking, wrote this in a fever dream while staring at one of the new gifs all afternoon, idk his character! I haven’t watched anything! i just saw the chains and the face and let the horny devil in charge of my sole brain cell take the lead, aka he's my barbie, i was trying to challenge myself to just do something short like 1k- but, uhhhh it’s only 3!

seeking feedback though (as always) so i can improve!! tell me all ur thots pls!

“I know,” Lucien argues, “but I never meant to hurt you.”

“I don’t care anymore.” You speak plainly. Small and quiet. Without conviction. Apathetic. Honest.

“Anymore?”

“Baby, please.” He looks at you with those stupid round eyes. He’s effortlessly put together like the wrinkles in his silk shirt were approved by a team of stylists to give him a hint of carelessness. Your incessant attraction to an emotionally unavailable man, it pulls you toward him like a bitter fate. Your therapist, Angie, says you need to learn how to find healthy attachment attractive, but if you shudder with disgust at the thought then what’s the point?

“Just listen to me,” he continues, talking in circles. Apologizing without taking accountability. Explaining away everything. His behaviors, words, decisions. Apparently, he floats through life at the whim of others. Like one of those ugly deep sea creatures, he tempts you like a glowing lure in the dark. Your eyes glaze over, everything shifting out of focus as you dissociate in your living room. No matter how numb you are, he calls to you.

You aren’t listening to the words. They don’t matter. It doesn’t matter if his tone is sincere or if it’s thick with flattery and empty promises. It’s more basic than that. Simple. The timbre of his voice. Unique to him. Imprinted in the chambers of your heart. A sharp ache spears through you, and something cracks. A fat, hot, tear escapes. With your shoulders drooping, staring at the ground, the tear falls, splashing on the floor.

When you look up, meeting his eyes, it’s over. Lucien pulls you close, wrapping his heavy arms around your frame, bracing for the crescendo, keeping you steady. Tears stream endlessly, flooding down your cheeks, sticking to your face and his neck as you bury your face into his warm skin. He’s still trying to placate you, speaking nonsense, thinking he can comfort you. Thinking he knows why you’re upset. Thinking he understands you.

When your therapist asked you to define love you had described it as being understood. Being seen. Being known. Being considered and prioritized.

Lucien thinks he knows you. Thinks he understands you. Does he think he loves you?

Following this line of thought hurts. Splitting you open, a raw beating heart, glistening, thumping, full of life, or a meal fresh and hot for a carnivore to tear into with its sharp fangs. Plump muscle, rich and dark, bleeding out, helpless. Snapping back into reality you shake, a violent sob racking your diaphragm as the pads of his fingers massage the back of your neck. Soothing. Coaxing.

You want it sharper. Rough. Violent. Distracting. Painful. Anything. With wet lashes, swollen eyes, and ragged breath you become fixated. Licking the salty tears from the dip where his neck meets his shoulder, you can feel his muscles and tendons beneath the flesh. So human and alive. He strokes his hand down your spine, attempting to pacify you, but it sparks something lurid and ravenous, instead.

You graze your teeth along his neck. “What are you doing?” he mutters the question over the top of your head. Maybe he does know you. “What do you need?” He growls, lowly, the hand he traces your spine with trails lower this time. He’s gluttonous and torrid. A hair-trigger to shift from his concern for your pain and the hole in your heart to a sordid desire to mollify you with his fingers and his cock.

Maybe it’s a perversion, the tangled experience of despair and desire, the duet of anger and arousal, the sick escape using sex to skip over the emotional suffering. But it’s exactly what you want. It’s the root of the fucked up toxicity. Of everything wrong between you. He does know. He does understand. The same heat that flickers in your core sparks in his.

Voracious and brash. You bite down, sinking your teeth into his neck, igniting a wildfire. An untamable beast. Again and again and again. Biting, sucking, kissing. His skin tender and raw, your lips wet and swollen. You run a hand along the back of his neck, tugging into his hair, anchoring your grip, and pulling a husky groan from his throat.

“What do you need?” Lucien repeats, this time with a sharper edge. He detaches you from the safety of the crook of his neck. His two hands. Unnecessarily large, warm, and steady brace either side of your jaw, his fingers wrapping behind your neck. He holds you in front of his face. Vulnerable. Messy. Heat radiates from your cheeks. You release a shaky breath.

“Don’t make me say it.” It’s a whisper. Pleading and demanding at the same time.

The cocky smirk that spreads on his face is sickening. It makes you want to slap him, to hear the crack of your palm against his cheek. It makes you want to surrender. Soft and pliable, ready to please and earn praise. It makes you want to scream. To bite him so hard you draw blood. To fuck him until he can’t talk.

You tell him all of it. Exactly what you need, what you want, what you refuse to say. You tell him all through your kiss. The hunger in your lips as you press them to his, the violence on your tongue, the desperate and vulnerable need to be cared for in the soft moans that rise from your chest, from your heart, from the blood in your veins. He chases all of it. The punishment and pleasure.

He backs you into the kitchen, caging you against the counter like a scene from a movie. Impervious to whatever protest you make as he clears space, blindly sweeping his arm over the counter before lifting you onto it. The edge of the counter digs into your soft thighs, but it doesn’t matter. You’re ready to drown in the vanilla musk and bourbon-spiced scent of him. The bass in his voice that makes your eyes fall shut and your head tip back against the cupboard behind you. The bruising pressure of his grip that he knows you crave.

“Baby,” he croons. His words are soft and gentle. As if he propped you on the counter to tend to your wounds. But his hands show no mercy. Roughly ridding you of your clothes. Dropping them into a pile on the floor. He’s ruthless with you. In ways you can’t be with yourself. In ways other lovers could never master. Harsh without being cruel. Deliberate without a plan.

He lets you tug his shirt over his head. Skin to skin the intensity is primal. “Fuck,” is all you can manage to say. The heat is overwhelming, prickling your nerves and sharpening every sensation. Lucien toys with you like it’s his favorite game. Alternating.

First, palming reverently at the flesh, sweeping his tongue over your hard nipples, and teasing the wet skin with his hot breath.

You let him make the decisions. Take the lead. You’re done arguing, done thinking, done with the guilt of letting him in the door, done with acting like you’re any better than him. You brace yourself, one palm flat on the counter, the other resting on his shoulder. Taking whatever he gives.

He switches up. Everything becomes pointed and precise. He sucks marks into your skin on the underside of your breasts. He pinches and flicks the pert bud of your straining nipples. The contact of his fingers, tongue, and teeth sends white-hot jolts of electricity straight to your cunt. He bites down hard enough to make you choke on a moan. Your whine fills the room, twisted with pain and pleasure.

“You poor thing,” he purrs. Your face is still wet from your tears. But now they’re tears of frustration. “Just a mess.” You reach for his belt, impatient, but he stops you. He’s not done looking. He lifts one of your legs, propping your foot onto the counter and posing you obscenely in front of him. His gaze makes your pussy throb.

He’s torn.

Studying your face. Everything unsaid in your eyes. The anguish and rage. The acerbic disdain. The nearly imperceptible longing.

Admiring your sex, spread open for him. Shining with your arousal. Swollen, slick lips so sensitive for him. Your core, fluttering with anticipation, achingly empty without him.

He holds your chin between his thumb and curled forefinger. His eyes swirl with lust and something you can’t quite place. “You have no idea,” he rasps. “No idea how much it fucking kills me to see you like this. And knowing I’m the reason why.”

You don’t know if he means it breaks his heart to see the way you suffer or if he means the sight of you dripping on the counter has him so hard it hurts. You don’t know which you’d believe anyway. He’s not hard up to find someone else to torment or to fuck. That thought makes your throat dry.

“I can’t stay away from you,” he traces his fingers down your soft inner thigh, closer and closer to where you need him. “How could I?” You tip your head to the side, your limbs and head feel heavy, drunk on a cocktail of everything you love and hate about him all at once.

“Then don’t.”

Your reply makes him smile again. He’s so handsome when he smiles it’s infuriating. “You could scream at me, kick me out, hate me–but you still let me touch you, you need me to touch you. Why do I love that so much?”

“You like feeling important.” You let your snarky comment out without thinking. His question was definitely rhetorical. A few emotions flicker across his face before, a dark little smirk curls the corner of his mouth.

He feeds off of your challenge. “There she is.”

“I never left,” you snap, frustration spilling over. He laughs, loose and easy.

“Listen to me,” Lucien says, low and velvety. Subduing you with the tension and proximity. “I know. You want me to use you. Like you’re my toy. Until you can’t keep those beautiful eyes open.”

“Yes.”

“I know.” He echoes. Then he closes the gap, kissing you with affection. Holding himself back, but you aren’t reserved. You’re greedy; you want it harder. He just said he’d ruin you, why is he being so gentle? He pulls back with something sincere in his eyes. A whimper falls from your lips, pouty and baffled.

“Gonna fuck you like I’m trying to ruin you, baby.”

You narrow your eyes at him. Sometime soon, hopefully? You don’t snap again, answering with another yes.

He leans in, breath fanning hot over your ear. “But, we both know that tonight you’re the one using me. Ruining me. I’m your toy.”

Your breath hitches at that. You mouth I know in response, not even able to whisper it. He doesn’t need to hear you say it. He nips your ear lobe and you loose a surprised cry before gasping out his name.

He’s swift now. Purposeful. Undoing his belt, shoving his pants down and revealing his cock. Reflexively your hips tense and shift. Just looking makes you salivate. He runs his thumb over the bead of precome, drawing it along his length.

He knows how you want it. His fingers can coax you to an orgasm in no time, but you don’t want that. You want the resistance, the stretch, the dull ache, and intensity as your muscles work to let him in deeper. Nobody makes you feel the way he does. Full. Complete. Mindless.

It could be pornographic, vulgar, raunchy. The way he pushes your inner thigh further open with one hand while he uses the other to languidly stroke himself. The way he grips himself so tightly like he’s punishing himself. The way his jaw hangs slack and he mutters under his breath about how badly you need him.

To you, however, it’s a profound admission. A candid confession. The more he goads you the more it solidifies that he’s the one that needs you. That it flows so easily from him because he’s really talking about himself.

“You say you don’t care anymore, but look at you now, baby.” He shifts closer, at counter height you’re aligned perfectly. He glides the head of his cock up and down the folds of your soaked cunt. You shudder and moan, mesmerized by the sight.

“It’s almost sad how much you need me, like you can’t breathe without this,” he keeps talking.

He demands that you watch, as if there was a chance you could stop, as he lines up and sinks into you. You groan in unison. You’re so tight, he draws back out. Repeating the same motion, feeding his cock into you deeper and deeper each time. Your hot, plush walls pulse around him, adjusting. When he finally meets the end of you, he hums, pleased. “You feel that?”

You bob your head, nodding, agreeing. “Yes.” Your voice is breathy. “Perfect.” You grind against him as if you could take him any deeper, begging him to move with your needy display. It’s wholly overwhelming as is, every nerve within you alight as his cock kicks within you, tensing with the same craving to move.

He takes your hand in his, nestling your fingers around him. Somehow he feels even larger than he looks, like he shouldn’t be able to fit inside of you, but here you are feeling it and seeing it for yourself. Slowly, Lucien tilts his hips, almost pulling out of you completely before plunging in with force. He keeps up the tantalizing pace, guiding you to touch yourself. He watches your fingers with rapt attention, bracing a hand on your hip to keep you in place as he drives into you with another snap of his hips that edges you closer.

He gradually speeds up, a master at tempering his desire. Your hip flexor aches as you hold yourself in place but it doesn’t matter. You find your rhythm as he holds steady at a pace that has him landing brutal thrusts that force the words out of your lungs. Soft oh’s and fuck’s pour out of you, under your breath, adding fuel to the fire blazing between you.

Lucien savors your chanting and the image of you fixed in place, taking him eagerly. Your fingers move with urgency, chasing the release that looms closer and closer. Your mind is blissfully blank, reduced to something animalistic, removed from the burden of your history. “Don’t stop,” you plead, “I’m so close.”

He doesn’t stop. He fucks you at the same pace, all the way through it. As you contract around him, when everything pulls taut and snaps within you, crying out his name, when it’s too sensitive and you whip your hand away, and as you shudder and breathe deeper and deeper. As the ache in your legs from being spread wide open returns and your ass feels numb where the edge of the counter digs into your flesh. Another tear spills from the corner of your eye, but you can’t say what it’s from anymore.

When you fidget, he stops moving, letting you readjust. A sheen of sweat glistens all over your chest and you’re suddenly acutely aware of how loud the slick noises between you are. How easy it is to get lost in Lucien's hot and heavy magnetism. You know you were falling apart before he propped you up on the counter, but you’re sure you’re a complete wreck now.

Lucien pulls out but then leans against you, pinning the length of his cock between you, hot, slick, and messy against your sweat-damp skin. He floods your senses, all you can see, hear, and smell. Caging you in his hand find a possessive hold on you, one wrapped around the back of your neck, one wrapped tight around your thigh as you hitch it around his hip.

“You feel good?” he asks. You hum in agreement. You do feel good. You know he’s not done yet, and smile wide, still hungry for more. “How good?” he asks and you know there’s something coming next.

“So good.” You trail a hand between you, drawing a line down his chest and back up to cradle his cheek in your palm. Something about the prickle of his facial hair along your palm feels so natural, domestic, and sweet. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek, nuzzle against his ear, and ask him to take you to bed. But you can’t. You’ll never have that. Instead, you bait him. “I think you’re holding back though, I know you can fuck me harder than that.”

He scoffs, unamused, blowing a hot puff of air between you. His fingers dig deeper into your thigh, applying the kind of pressure that stirs arousal low in your belly.

The dark glint in his eye gives you butterflies. “I will, Baby,” his rumbling voice is innately sensual, but the condescension in his tone makes you tingly. You’re so close to him that you can feel his heart beating in his chest, you can feel the same pulse thrumming in his cock, still flush against you as he slants his lower half along yours. He’s all things heavy and firm, strong and sculpted, yet fitting so naturally against you. You need more, wriggling and squirming against him, you can’t contain the restlessness.

“You know,” he says slowly, drawing your eyes back to his. “You can keep trying to move on, but no one else will ever know you like this. No one else will ever ruin you the way I do. You can tell me you don’t care anymore, but you’ll never let anyone else in the way you let me. They won’t touch that part of you, the one that’s mine—because it’ll always be mine.”

It trickles through you slowly until your blood feels like it’s boiling. They’re tears of anger now. It’s like a sick double entendre.

“I know,” your words are steeped in every emotion cascading through you.

You don’t know if it’s worse that he’s right. That there’s a Lucien-shaped mark imprinted on your heart that will never fade. Or if it’s worse that he doesn’t even know it applies to him just the same. That he always comes back because he’s trying to fill the same void.

Maybe he does know. Maybe he does know and this is all he can do to make it up to you.

Maybe that’s why he leads you to your bedroom and lives up to his word.

Why he fucks you so hard you see stars. Why he doesn’t stop even after he comes deep inside of you with a possessive always gonna be mine. Why he litters your skin with more false promises and confessions. Why he gives you so many orgasms you lose track.

Maybe that’s why he’s still there when the sun starts to peek through your window. Why he fucks you slowly when you’re too tender and exhausted to take him any harder until you’re floating in limbo between a dream and reality. Why he stays there, just cradling your back into his chest and listening to the rhythm of your breath.

Maybe he does know.

PLEASE COME YELL WITH ME ABOUT THIS FICTIONAL GUY BC I NEED HIM IN A SUPER NORMAL WAY or tell me if my writing was incoherent or if you can't relate to the toxic ex that is still the best fuck of your life (cruel and twisted fr)

dividers by @/cyberangel-graphics

tags for the babes that let me annoy them with my thots <3

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame

@magneticecstasy @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin

#lucien de leon x f!reader #pedro pascal character smut #lucien de leon x reader #lucien de leon x you #pedro pascal #ppcu fanfic #pwp fic #the uninvited #lucien flores #but not #lucien x f!reader

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heirofnight · 5 months ago

Text

meddling, pt. 3

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.9k - i will never not be a yapper

summary: ah, my favorite little adorable pair. part three of the meddling series. reader wants to thank azriel for being so kind to her since her arrival at the house of wind several months ago. she gifts him with a silver chain. azriel loses his mind. fluff, so much fluff.

warnings: none, except for potential cavities from the sweetness.

a/n: this was the brain child of a post that i made thirsting over azriel wearing a chain & rings. someone commented on that post and suggested i incorporate that into this series. and here we are. probably my favorite piece of writing that i've done so far, ok. i'm simple. pining azriel makes me weak. enjoy! <3

read part one & two

you clutched the tiny, wrapped gift box in your hands, your fingers moving to glide along the cobalt blue silk bow adorning the lid.

you felt jittery, nervous. butterflies had taken flight throughout your chest and belly, relentless wings swirling.

you supposed this gesture wouldn't strike azriel as odd, or out of left field. after all, the male had been going out of his way for you for months.

his warm, kind gestures toward you as he sat next to you during your first dinner at the house of wind - you'd been so petrified, but he took you under his wing (literally). the kind, soft eyes he'd given you. he'd served your plate, giving you hushed anecdotes about each dish so you could choose what you'd wanted to indulge in. you hadn't admitted it, but you only chose to try azriel's favorite foods.

then, the sweater. he'd given you one of his oversized sweaters to snuggle into. you'd mentioned to him one time that you often froze, no matter the weather conditions, and he'd somehow remembered that detail - presenting you with the best solution he could muster. now that you knew him a bit better, you weren't sure if he'd actually remembered you admitting how cold you always were, or if that fact was just something he was able to observe himself. he was the spymaster, after all. maybe you were just easy to read.

if you were to actually ask azriel, he'd say that he remembered every word you'd ever spoken. every detail, every slight reaction. and it wasn't because it was his job to do so - wasn't because rhys had ordered him to watch over you seven months ago upon your arrival to the house of wind. no, you no longer needed his watchful eye. you were settled in, comfortable, part of the family.

he remembered the words you spoke because he hung onto every word that left your lips.

today, you sat in that favorite armchair of yours in the private library on the third floor - as always. you glanced over to the large shelf closest to you, a smile slowly spreading across your lips as you took in the romance books neatly lined before you. the romance books that azriel had removed from an obscenely tall shelf that was completely unreachable. to you, at least - unless you felt like scaling the entire thing.

he was so observant. he'd noted your favorite genre, remembered that you struggled to reach that row of books. took time out of his day to rearrange the entire left side of the library in favor of making you more comfortable. and now, here you sat. your favorite novels within arm's reach at any given moment, all because of this achingly kind male.

yes, he deserved this gift. he'd done so much, you wished you were able to bestow him with more. you were wearing his sweater again today, but this one was different. he's since presented you with four more sweaters from his closet, although he hadn't grown less bashful about offering them over to you - even though your reaction is always the same. blushing, bright eyes staring up at him in wonder as you grip the fabric and hold it to your melting heart.

and azriel, he revels in those moments. he can't help the sense of pure pride that warms his entire body from the inside out. he couldn't stop doing things for you if he tried, your smile and twinkling eyes circulating throughout his bloodstream like the first hit of a drug so strong, it threatened to bring him to his knees.

you took a deep breath, eyes flitting towards the elegant grandfather clock to your left. he'd normally stroll into the library around this time each day, joining you to read in silent, comfortable companionship.

and, like clockwork, that feisty, stray tendril of shadow that you'd come to love twirled through the crack in the wooden double doors with a flourish. it darted straight towards you, as it always did - worrying over you for a moment each time it found you. you'd imagined it was giving you a general once-over to make sure you were safe and content. it was much like its master in that regard.

the shadow looped through your fingers and hands, taking notice of the gift box that was sitting on your lap. it focused its attention there momentarily, swirling through the silky bow that matched the color of azriel's siphons - a detail you'd hoped he didn't find weird.

azriel made his appearance a second later, pushing through the doors with a book held under his arm. he moved with so much grace, despite his tall, muscular frame. he was astonishing to watch, even if the action was something completely mundane. tearing your eyes from him sometimes felt impossible, the allure he possessed was almost suffocating - but in the sweetest way.

he didn't even try to hide the fact that his sights were set on you immediately. he used to give a sweeping glance of the entire space before he allowed himself to find you, but now, he looked for you first - and you were always there. he felt any lingering tension within his body melt into the floor beneath him.

"hey, you," you spoke tenderly towards him, and the smile that he gave you made your chest warm.

he approached you, as he always did, unable to stay too far away. his eyes raked down your torso, never tiring of the feeling of seeing you in his clothing.

"i think this one is my favorite on you," he noted, eyes turning to molten honey as he took you in.

you preened at this, making a mental note to don this particular sweater a little more than the others.

"i, uh, i have something for you," you started, extending the small gift box towards him. now you knew how he felt, waiting to see if you'd accept the items of his clothing each time he presented you with them. you held your arm out without wavering, even though you felt a bit silly now.

his cheeks tinted a light shade of pink, and he studied the box in your hand for a moment. it wasn't lost on him that you'd chosen a bow that was the exact color of his blazing siphons. he felt his heart lurch against his ribcage at the realization.

"it's just a little something," you started again, voice woven with a nervous undertone at his continued silence. "i wanted to thank you for being so kind to me since i've arrived," you cleared your throat. "you've really made this place feel like ... like a home," you finished, giving him a shy, tentative smile. he could tell by the look in your eyes that you were pleading with him to accept it. you didn't have to beg him - well. maybe he'd like that, in other circumstances. however, not now, not for this.

a small smile spread across his lips at your last words. a home. he'd made someone feel like they were home, and that was enough of a gift for azriel. several times since meeting you, he'd felt as though his heart was swelling uncontrollably, growing beyond the confines of his chest. like you were somehow nurturing and tending to it. this was one of those times.

he reached a scarred hand towards the box, taking it from you gently. "y/n," he traced the bow with his fingers, slowly tugging the ribbon apart. "you really, really didn't have to do this. i just wanted you to be comfortable here, with us," he flicked his soft eyes towards yours, and you were doing that thing you did when you were nervous - fiddling with your fingers. he wanted to grab your hands then, run his lips along your knuckles, kiss each fingertip slowly. i will love it no matter what it is, he thought to himself, please don't be so nervous.

you dipped your chin at his words, huffing a small, breathy little laugh. "well, i am, az. comfortable here. with you," you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, and azriel trembled with the urge to gently place the delicate gift box aside in favor of gently tugging your delicate body towards his instead.

he took a deep breath then, composing himself, as he lifted the lid from the box. inside was a custom-made, silver curb link chain. one that was long enough to rest right in the middle of his clavicle. small, glimmering cobalt blue stones were hand-set throughout - only able to be seen when the light hit them a certain way. but when the light did hit them, they were stunning. the surface of the gems danced with the fragments of light as though they were on fire, alive.

this made him think of you: the light that found his shadows, setting him aflame.

his breath caught in his throat, and he lifted the chain from the silk pillow that it rested on. he loved it. absolutely, wholeheartedly, loved it. it was powerful-looking, strong. the best gift he ever remembered receiving.

now, you'd be lying if you said this present wasn't also - maybe, sorta kinda - for your benefit. his strong, tanned neck hugged by a silver chain? gods. okay, yeah, this was slightly indulgent on your part.

but, in your defense, azriel had begun sporting silver signet rings on several of his elegant fingers. you thought a similarly-fashioned chain would tie the look together nicely. this was just a product of your own observant nature. really, that's all it was.

...

azriel let out an exhale of astonishment, meeting your eyes with widened ones of his own.

"this, is - i mean. beautiful. this is - thank you," he breathed out, setting the now-empty box, and the book he'd been cradling under his arm, down beside you. he gently began working at the clasp of the chain, his movements so careful, you could tell he was trying his hardest not to break it - ruin it.

you stood up before him, taking a step so that you were right in front of his towering frame. "here," you whispered, tenderly taking the chain from his hands. you unclasped it with ease, standing on your tip-toes to reach behind his neck - wanting to place it on him. he ducked his head for you politely, allowing you to see what you were doing a bit better.

you were so close to him, and with his head ducked down towards you, his chin was nearly resting on your shoulder. you fought every instinct within your body that was screaming at you to move closer, breathe deeper, inhale his scent, touch him.

but you didn't. you held your composure, clasping the necklace around his neck - making sure to be careful of his wings.

azriel had his eyes closed, also fighting similar urges of his own. he wanted so badly to rest his face within the crook of your neck, wrap his arms around the middle of your back, tug you into him.

two lovesick idiots, silently pining for the other.

necklace now adorning his neck, you stepped back. azriel stood to his full height once more, and he peered down at you with a gaze that he fought to keep friendly - instead of one that screamed complete adoration.

"well," he croaked out, swallowing thickly. your eyes darted to the movement, watching his adam's apple bob beneath the silver jewelry.

you were fucked.

"how's it look?", he continued, his hand reaching towards his neck to trace the smooth, curbed chain.

it was your turn to swallow hard, which of course, he noticed. he fought a smirk, especially when he witnessed your cheeks growing hot.

you pursed your lips together, trying your best to think of a response that wasn't akin to a dog barking.

"it's -," you sighed thoughtfully, smiling warmly up at him, "you look very handsome," you stated playfully, hooking a finger underneath the chain, tugging him towards you lightly.

he faltered for a moment, almost stumbling into you. not because of your light tug, but because of your words. handsome. he loved that compliment - was one of his favorites. however, the one bit of praise that always sent him to his knees was being called pretty.

"so pretty, az," you whispered again, seemingly more to yourself than to him, eyes caught on his neck.

okay, so now azriel was fucked.

a/n: okay, i think this was my favorite installation of this series so far. i'm giggling and kicking my feet, and i'm the one writing it lmfao. azriel is making me WEAK, i need to lay down now. let me know what you think! thank you for reading <3

tag list: @stressed-reader @vhjlucky13 @scarsandallaz @victory-salads @weirdo-fun @topaz125 @mrsjna @lovegoodlunaa @lilah-asteria @andreperez11 @luna9876 @kennedy-brooke

let me know if you'd like to be added!

#acotar #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #azriel imagine #azriel x you #azriel drabble

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rafescvntyclubgf · 5 months ago

Text

Needy - Rafe Cameron Blurb

+18 Minor DNI

Dom!Rafe Cameron x Sub!GF!Reader

⭐ republished ⭐

🪄 Teasing, oral male receiving, use of restraints, threats, name calling, needy!rafe, use of pet names (baby girl, honey, sweetheart, daddy, rafey)

📖 Rafe lets his girlfriend (reader) be in charge, but there's only one way you're ever in control — if he's restrained

✨“I swear if your lips aren’t around my cock in two minutes I’m busting out and you’ll regret bein’ such a fuckin’ tease.” You walk over to the nightstand, drawing out two silk restraints. “We clear? Why aren’t you responding?” He hisses.✨

1.8k

Reader’s POV:

Rafe smiles as he draws your chin up. Your beautiful eyes resting on his pleading blues. “Please,” he chuckles weakly.

You giggle in reply, grinning and shrugging. “I don’t think you’ve earned it.”

Rafe lets out a cackle of a laugh before sucking his teeth. “Easy, kid. I might just put the kibosh on all this shit and take what I want. I’m playin’ nice. Do you know how easy it would be to overpower you? To just hold your head and fuck your throat, baby girl. It’s mine, after all.”

“Rafe…” You pout, looking up at him with doe eyes. You tap your manicured finger against his muscular chest. “You said, ‘I’m in charge, daddy’.”

He purses his lips and rolls his eyes before softening them again. His sweet little sub is getting the chance to dominate him for once. Withholding… That was your plan. Rafe always gets what he wants from you. Morning sex was a given, but his usual blow job wasn’t a part of it and of course, he let you know.

It was fun to tease him all day. Rafe, of course eyed up your pillowy lips first thing in the morning, the way you sucked the cinnamon roll frosting off your finger at brunch, later watching as you slicked some lipstick on your pout before heading out to the Island Club for drinks.

You could tell he was fixated on your mouth, watching you talk and smile. Rafe wanted nothing more than to fill it, make you gag, and have his cum coat that pretty little throat.

“You’re in charge, princess. But you’re pushing it. Remember that.”

And you did. Remembering how Rafe could so easily take what’s his… You. He needed to be contained…

You reach behind your back, unfastening the hook and eye. The sound of your zipper splaying draws Rafe’s attention back to you. He watches intently as the pink satin fabric tumbles to your feet; his eyes journey back up your body as he starts to unbutton his shirt. “Let me help you,” you breathe, walking his way. Rafe gives you a little nod in reply, eyes trained on your lips as he licks his own.

You pinch his buttons between your fingers, opening each one as his eyes dance along the curve of your lips, watching the way you bite at the bottom. “I’m sorry I’ve been teasing you, daddy…” you whisper, flicking your lashes up to his.

“S’okay baby,” he breathes as a fake smile sets on his lips. Drawing his shirt off his broad shoulders, you watch it fall to his feet. Your hands drift down his body, working over his chiseled chest; his gold chain glints on his tanned skin.

Moving lower you trace his abs, down to his v-lines; the indentations greeting the waist of his pants. You dip your fingers under the band, working to the middle. Unfastening his pants, you tug them to his feet.

He sneers as you rise up again, hoping you’d just cave right then and there. Your hands shift behind his neck, guiding his lips to your own. “Thank you for today,” you whisper against his lips, simply brushing, not committing to a kiss. You lean away slightly when he goes to take it for himself, the faintest growl in his throat as you rob him of yet another want.

“Love takin’ you shopping, doll,” Rafe soughs.

“You’re too good to me.”

“Mhmm… Hmm… Not good enough, though. Right? Those lips weren’t wrapped around my cock like they usually are. The ride home was a little vanilla. Like my ‘thank you’s’ a little more x-rated.”

“I know you do… Let me thank you.”

Rafe tugs you to the mattress, guiding you on top of him, taking a grip on your hips. His eyes drink you in, just a few pieces of fabric, keeping the two of you apart. You can feel Rafe’s cock, hardening against your warmth. Your fingers trace lower, light touches drawing over his skin. Rafe follows your hands with his eyes. You tease him when his gaze lands on your panties, rolling and winding your body into him slowly. “Mouth first,” he whispers.

“Rafe,” you tut.

He clears his throat and pinches his eyes shut. The withholding and defiance just about enough to send him off the rails. You lean down slowly, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“You don’t want my pussy?”

“You know what I want first,” he warns. You wind back up, reaching behind your back, unclasping your bra, and letting it fall slowly. Rafe’s hands dive for you, going for your chest. You take a hold of his wrists.

“Who’s in charge?” Your eyes lock on Rafe’s as his narrow on yours.

“Fuck – You. You are in charge. You’re in charge. Hurry the fuck up,” he snaps.

“Exactly… Hands above your head.”

“No… No fuckin’ way. Absolutely not.”

“Now.”

His eyes slice into yours. “You’re not tying me up.”

“I am.”

“Nah.” He crosses his hands in front of his chest, muscles flexed, the vein in his throat protruding. Damn… Once this is done I’m in for it. Good thing I like it when Daddy gets rough.

“Rafey…” You whine like a baby, making his icy exterior melt enough. Rafe stretches his arms above his head, submitting for the moment, eyes stalking you, watching and waiting impatiently for what you’ll do next.

“I swear if your lips aren’t around my cock in two minutes I’m busting out and you’ll regret bein’ such a fuckin’ tease.” You walk over to the nightstand, drawing out two silk restraints. “We clear? Why aren’t you responding?” He hisses.

“Crystal clear, daddy.”

He loses his train of thought as you lean down, reaching for his wrist. You loop it around and tie a knot, fastening it to a rung on his headboard. Your lips move closer, catching his quick breathing as you deny yet another advance for a kiss.

“Princess… please,” he whispers.

“Is it too tight?”

“No. I just – I would like you to,” he swallows thickly. Doing something he’s rarely done before. “Babygirl… Will you please suck my cock.”

”So polite, daddy,” you coo. His eyes lock on yours when you take a grip on his other wrist: his brows furrow, Rafe, at a complete loss of control.

“NOW-” He stops himself fast. “Please, stop makin’ me wait.” You lean in close, tongue snaking around his ear making him moan and groan. Goosebumps flare across his body at the feeling of your mouth against his hot skin. “This is killing me, honey.”

“You look fine,” you mock in a gentle voice as you cup his cheek, watching his blue jean eyes haze with anger.

Rafe’s head lifts off the pillow, studying your movements, biting his lip, craving contact. You crawl toward him slowly, slotting yourself between his thick thighs as you get closer. You slip your fingers under the elastic of his boxers. Rafe bucks his hips instantly. His length springs free, standing straight.

Fuck, he’s huge. You hold back every urge to pounce on him as you eye his dick, long and incredibly hard. A slight curve that kisses your G-spot in all the right ways. A little cum rolls down the side, making you wet you pout. Your eyes drift up to his, dripping with lust.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he pants. Taking a seat between his legs, you ogle his body. Yours for the taking. You touch his ankle softly, he lets out a groan. Your finger drifts up his leg slowly, reaching his thigh.

You can feel Rafe’s hips moving slightly, trying to manipulate the situation. You continue to torment him. Your fingers get dangerously close, drifting away again. “Please,” he whimpers.

Your eyes flick back up to his. ”Sorry… Did you say something?“

”Please,“ he strains.

You smile playfully, your fingers ghosting up his length. He lets out an exhale, relaxing into the pillow. You circle your finger around his head slowly, continuing to toil with him. His eyes flutter as a result. Rafe’s cock pulses with every touch, glistening at the tip. You swipe his precum with your finger, bringing it to your mouth.

”Baby, c’mon,“ he rasps.

“Just take it, Rafe.”

His eyes widen as the words slip your lips; Rafe instantly pulling at the silk restraints in anger. “Enough!” He barks. You can hear the desperation still laced in his voice.

“Daddy…” You warn.

He shakes his head, scowling at you. Grabbing his thighs you start to lean in, lowering yourself to his cock. “Fuck, Princess. Keep going, baby,” he pleads.

You run a line of spit down to his cock, making him moan loudly when it makes contact; his fat cock throbs, muscle clenching. “Jesus fuck,” he tosses his head back on the pillow.

“Is there something you want?”

“Suck my goddamn dick!” He barks. Your face twists slightly, waiting for the magic words. “Please. Fuck! Just please do it. Just do it for me. A’ight? Do it for Daddy? You’re daddy’s girl. Yeah?”

“I am.”

“What do you want? Anything… Anything you like. You want those earrings? Those Tiffany ones? They’re fuckin’ yours. N’we can fly out to the Nassua tomorrow. Stay at that little resort you love. I’ll get you a ring. I’ll fuckin’… Please – I’ll do whatever you want, just suck my cock.”

“A ring? What kinda ring, Rafey?” You whisper, tilting in more.

“Any ring.”

“Any?” You gasp as you wiggle the little fingers on your left hand.

“Obviously,” he pleads.

“Wow… That’s quite the gesture,” you breathe, letting the warmth of your whisper fan over his cock.

Opening your mouth, you put his tip on your tongue, making his eyes roll back. ”Holy shit…” he puffs, returning his eyes to yours. “Thank you, baby. Goddamn. Give me more. Please.”

You use your hand to move his length, polishing the head of his dick with your tongue, running circles, and working it back and forth. “Your mouth is so fuckin’ warm, baby. So, so wet. And your lips, shit, they feel like heaven. Just for me – the mouth is mine,” he mumbles.

Holding him tighter, you rub your lips along the underside, working your way back up to the tip, your eyes burning into his. “You’re so beautiful, sweet – sweet girl,” he stutters. You can see his pleasure increasing. “Just suck it. For me? Just suck my dick, honey. Choke on me.”

You spit on his cock, fisting his length fast. “Got the ring in my dresser. I swear. Top fuckin’ shelf. 6-carat Harry Winston. With your name on it. I’m gonna fuckin’ cum. A’ight? You gotta fuckin’ suck me off. Don’t make me cum like this.”

Holy shit… You slip your lips around him, sliding down as far as you can go, bobbing back and forth. “Yes! Fuck, baby… Just like that-” Rafe lets out a string of praise as you swallow a few times. You cup his balls in your hands massaging them softly before licking and sucking them as well, making his toes curl.

”Baby… Mmm. I’m gonna cum, sweetheart. Keep goin’. Don’t stop,“ he pants. You increase your suction, bringing him closer to the edge. Rafe arches his back, his eyebrows knit together. ”O-Oh… Shit. Fuckkk,“ he moans lowly; the warmth of his climax hits the back of your throat. His cock twitches on your tongue; his thighs, quake. You swallow as Rafe reaches for air. He closes his eyes softly, a satisfied smile on his lips. You grip the base of his cock, drawing off slowly, milking out the rest of his pleasure. “So good, baby. That was so damn good,” he moans.

“Anything for you, Daddy.” You reach up, catching the little silk restraints, drawing each one off Rafe’s wrists. His eyes work to yours, a wicked smirk stretching on his lips.

“Big mistake.”

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#rafeyscurtainbangs library 📚#rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe #obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe smut #rafe x fem!reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe blurb #rafe x reader smut #rafe x reader

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rafesangelita · 28 days ago

Note

really really loved the john b drabble, it’s like ur in my brain xoxo — but i wanna know what ur readers got for xmas!! hope u had a good one <3

: 🧸

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bambi!reader:

a hefty barnes & nobles giftcard, calico critter sets, a fawn patterned throw blanket, lace lingerie tops, brown mascara, rilakkuma blind boxes (bakery keychains), a handmade dollhouse for her little trinkets to live in, and an apple pencil so she could start sketching on her ipad

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 sheep!reader:

babydoll dresses + stockings and frilly socks, vintage barbie dolls, poodle figurines for her vanity, vinyls for her record player, old beauty magazines, hair rollers, ‘marie antoinette’ on dvd so she can watch it whenever she wants, rose scented candles, and some yarn for crocheting

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 latina!kook!reader:

lots of chunky jewelry, cruise tickets, some embellished dresses she’s had her eyes on, lace-up floral heels, shimmery eyeshadow palette, a pair of sunglasses, some stuff from kali uchis’s ‘homebody’ line, bikini sets for weekssss, and pink tory burch sandals

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bitchy!kook!reader:

chrome hearts wallet (in both pink and black), dior heels, black chanel bag, customized chain, black fur coat, leopard print undies + bra, some wildflower phone cases, black silk pj’s, dior lippies, she definitely got some makeup pr, fancy furniture (she spoils herself too ofc)

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 bitchy!pogue!reader:

she’s been begging so she finally gets a pole installed in her room, bedazzled platform heels, playboy bunny necklace + matching bracelet and anklet, juicy couture baby tees, victoria’s secrets sparkly lipgloss, glittery makeup bag, fuzzy slippers, pink rolling papers and a little something something from dealer!rafe

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 kook!sweetheart!reader:

lots of scrapbooking material, pink ugg boots, new hair curler + flat iron, chanel hair accessories, new digital camera, vintage chanel heels, her favorite foreign chocolates, swarvoski rings, new bed sheet set + comforters, dainty tea cup set, a few skirts, bath bombs and shower gels

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 farmer’s!daughter!reader:

a new hat, boots with flowers embroidered on the sides, bootcut jeans, a belt buckle to add to her collection, an old doll that she thought she lost, pig plushie, baby chickies, quilted blanket that was made just for her, cherry chapstick + red nail polish, and a new lana del rey vinyl

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 pogue!sweetheart!reader:

a new mixing machine, cutesy cookware + more baking dishes, customized apron, cupcake stickers, some added upgrades to her bakery, two new pairs of kitten heels, a charm bracelet full of goodies, pink lingerie sets, decoden picture frame, and some customized press on nails since she can’t wear long nails consistently

#𝜗𝜚 ‧₊˚ ⊹ misc #i’m so happy you loved the drabble bb i love writing it <3 #૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა 🧸 anon #₊˚⊹♡ bambi!reader #₊˚⊹♡ sheep!reader #₊˚⊹♡ latina!kook!reader #₊˚⊹♡ bitchy!kook!reader #₊˚⊹♡ bitchy!pogue!reader #₊˚⊹♡ kook!sweetheart!reader #₊˚⊹♡ farmer’s!daughter!reader #₊˚⊹♡ pogue!sweetheart!reader #outer banks #obx #rafe obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey

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novaursa · 5 months ago

Text

Chasing the Inferno

- Summary: It was during Rhaenyra’s and Laenor’s wedding feast, that the king noticed something he was blind to for far too long.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Harwin Strong

This whole work is inspired by this brilliant anonymous ask:

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, has striking resemblance to her late grandmother Alyssa and is younger sister of Rhaenyra. These events happen after The Flames We Hide. To read all the chapters in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 3 532

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The evening air carries the scents of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fresh flowers into the grand hall, mingling with the vibrant sounds of revelry. The hall is a living tapestry of silks, banners, and candlelight, casting everything in hues of crimson and gold. A sea of finely dressed lords and ladies flows beneath the arched ceiling, the thrumming heart of the grand wedding feast of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon.

You arrive with the grace and splendor expected of a Targaryen princess, a vision that commands the attention of every eye that lands on you. The dress you wear is a rich deep plum, the color of ripened plums at dusk, lined with golden thread that shimmers in the light. The sleeves are long and bell-shaped, flowing with each movement, while the bodice is tightly laced with intricate embroidery of dragons in flight. Around your neck, a delicate chain bears a pendant of a dragon curled around a glittering ruby—a gift from your father. Your silver hair is braided in intricate patterns, falling down your back with hints of shimmering ribbons intertwined through each strand.

You sit beside Rhaenyra at the high table, your twin sister glowing with happiness under her finely woven veil. She leans toward you with a playful smirk. “I see you’ve decided to steal the attention for yourself tonight, Y/N. Not even the newlywed princess is safe from your charms.”

You laugh softly, returning her smirk. “It’s not stealing, dearest sister, merely borrowing for the evening.” Your eyes flick toward the bustling crowd, scanning the faces, seeking a particular one even as you engage in idle conversation.

You find him across the hall—Ser Harwin Strong, the Breakbones, the man who has captured your heart in ways you would never openly admit. His broad shoulders and easy smile cut a striking figure amidst the revelers. He leans against a pillar, eyes fixed on you with a heat that makes your pulse quicken. Even from here, you can feel the intensity of his gaze, the unspoken challenge in those dark eyes. A smirk pulls at your lips. Tonight is not just about celebrating your sister’s marriage—it is a dance, a game of fire and shadow that you and Harwin have played many times before.

As the feast progresses, the lords and ladies rise from their seats, drawn to the center of the hall where the dancing begins. You stand, gracefully gliding down the steps, the train of your gown trailing like liquid night behind you. Many lords vie for your attention, each more eager than the last to have the honor of a dance with the daughter of the King.

You indulge them—one by one, offering your hand with a practiced smile that promises nothing but amusement. Lord Beesbury twirls you first, his steps light but unremarkable. Lord Tyrell is next, his flattery sweet yet forgettable. Each time the music swells, you shift, gliding seamlessly into the arms of another suitor, all while casting sly glances over your shoulder to see if Harwin is watching.

And he is. His eyes never leave you, following every step, every spin, the set of his jaw tightening each time you turn away just as he moves closer. You can feel his impatience building like a storm, the tension of the game heightening with every dance.

Finally, after what feels like endless teasing, you find yourself caught in a whirl of movement, spinning until you are only steps away from him. Harwin’s expression is a mix of hunger and frustration as he makes his move to claim you at last.

But just as his hand reaches for yours, you slip away, turning instead into the arms of a young knight from the Westerlands, offering him a dazzling smile that is only for show. “My, Ser Harwin, are you growing weary of this dance already?” you tease, your voice lilting as you catch his gaze. You can see the fire in his eyes, a silent vow that he will not let you slip away so easily next time.

When the dance ends, the Westerlander knight bows low, eyes filled with admiration as he releases you. And as you turn, Harwin is there—closer than before, a step ahead of any other. This time, you do not pull away when his hand grasps yours, his grip firm and warm, sending a shiver down your spine. His voice is low, rough with suppressed desire, as he murmurs into your ear. “Do you truly believe you can keep running from me, Y/N?”

You tilt your head, lips curving into a smirk as you meet his gaze fully, violet and brown heat clashing. “Run, Ser Harwin? I am only leading the chase.”

Without giving him the satisfaction of a response, you spin away from him, the hem of your dress sweeping across the floor as you are swallowed back into the crowd. You glance back over your shoulder just long enough to catch the frustration in his expression before disappearing into the throng of lords and ladies once more. Harwin will catch you like he always does—of that you have no doubt. The thrill is in making him work for it.

But for now, the game continues, and you savor every moment of it.

The night is young, and so are you—dragon-blooded and bold, playing with fire and reveling in the heat that comes with it.

The music swells, a lively tune that fills the hall with mirth and energy, but it does little to settle the unease that creeps into King Viserys’ chest. Seated at the high table, he holds a goblet of wine, though he has barely touched it. His gaze drifts from one side of the room to the other, watching the mingling guests, the lords and ladies spinning in intricate dances. Yet his eyes keep returning to the center of the hall, where Rhaenyra and Daemon move together with a fluid grace that borders on impropriety.

His brow furrows as he watches them—his daughter and his brother. The distance between them is too narrow, the smiles exchanged too familiar. Even now, after all these years, Viserys cannot fully discern what lies behind those shared glances. His hand tightens on the armrest of his seat, his knuckles whitening with the effort to maintain composure. The court is watching; he cannot afford to let his concerns show. Not here. Not tonight.

But then, from the corner of his eye, something else catches his attention—a flash of deep plum silk, a braid of silver hair glinting in the candlelight. His eyes shift, narrowing as he tracks the movement, and there you are, his younger daughter, Y/N, weaving through the crowd with that same effortless grace, the very image of your late mother Alyssa in her youth.

Viserys watches as you glide from one partner to the next, a playful smile ever present on your lips. Each lord who steps forward is charmed, entranced even, but there is one figure whose presence never strays far from your orbit—Ser Harwin Strong. The son of his current Hand, a man known for his strength and loyalty, but also for the intensity of his gaze, a gaze that now rests solely on you.

Viserys leans forward slightly, frowning as he observes the exchange unfolding before him. Harwin moves closer, clearly intent on catching you, and you—ever the playful one—tease him with fleeting glances, spinning just out of his reach each time he draws near. The way your eyes gleam with mischief, the way you turn your back only to glance over your shoulder at him, invites more than just a dance. It’s a game, and one that is all too familiar to Viserys, who remembers his own youth, and the thrill of such pursuits.

But then Harwin catches you. His large hand wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, closer than what is proper for a dance in front of the entire court. Your laughter rings out like silver bells, light and teasing as you push back against him, yet the way Harwin’s hand lingers—fingers splayed possessively against the silk of your gown—does not escape your father’s notice. The look on Harwin’s face is far too unguarded, a mixture of admiration and longing that sends a jolt of concern racing through Viserys.

Viserys’ chest tightens as he watches you lean in, saying something that makes Harwin’s smile sharpen, though the words are lost to the music and laughter that fills the hall. Then, just as quickly as he caught you, you slip away again, your skirts swirling as you twirl out of his grasp, leaving Harwin standing in the middle of the floor with a look of mingled frustration and desire. The scene plays out before Viserys like a vivid memory, like something he should have noticed sooner, something he should have acted upon long before tonight.

His eyes narrow as he follows the thread of events with growing unease. You laugh and dance your way out of the hall, light-footed and swift, and though Harwin remains behind for a few moments, his gaze tracks you with the keen eye of a falcon. Then, as discreetly as he can manage, Harwin moves toward the exit, following you.

Viserys’ grip on his goblet tightens until he fears it might shatter in his hand. He remains rooted to his seat, unwilling to cause a scene, yet the implications churn in his mind like a dark tide. The daughter who bears his blood, a Targaryen of pure lineage, slipping away with the son of his Hand? It is unthinkable—and yet, Viserys cannot ignore the undeniable connection between the two of you. The way you moved in tandem, how easily you played off one another as if you were two parts of a whole. It stirs something in Viserys, a deep-seated dread that this could lead to something more—something he has not prepared for.

His gaze shifts, and he meets the eyes of Lord Lyonel Strong. The Hand is seated farther down the table, looking distinctly uncomfortable, as though he too is aware of the precarious position his son is placing him in. When their eyes lock, Viserys does not miss the brief flash of unease in Lyonel’s expression, followed quickly by a nod of acknowledgment, as if to say he understands what Viserys is thinking. And, undoubtedly, he does.

The memory rushes back, clear as day—months ago, when Lyonel Strong came to him with a proposition a second time. “Your Grace,” Lyonel had said, his voice steady and filled with the gravity of a man who understood the weight of his words, “there are many fine matches to be made for your daughter, Y/N, from prominent houses across the realm. But I would humbly suggest that what my son Harwin offers may be worth more than mere lineage. His devotion to the princess is unwavering, and his love is without question. He would be a husband who honors her above all else, a union built on something deeper than mere alliances.”

At the time, Viserys had dismissed the notion—politely, but firmly. His daughter was a Targaryen, and surely she deserved a match that would strengthen their house politically, not merely satisfy matters of the heart. Yet now, watching the scene unfold before him, Viserys finds himself second-guessing his decision. Could there be merit in such a match after all? Could Lyonel’s words hold more truth than Viserys had been willing to see? But then again, to allow such a thing would be to acknowledge a love affair that has clearly grown far beyond simple courtly affection.

Viserys’ thoughts whirl, torn between the duty of a king and the love of a father. He knows that if he raises the matter now, it could cast a shadow over the entire evening, drawing unwelcome attention to something that should remain hidden, if only for the sake of peace. And yet, can he afford to remain silent, knowing the path that such unchecked desire could lead his daughter down? His gaze flicks back to the entrance where you vanished, and a part of him itches to rise from his seat, to go after you and demand answers.

But he stays rooted in place, forced into inaction by the eyes of the court and the weight of his crown. Instead, his gaze returns to Lyonel, and he sees the older man swallow nervously before looking away, clearly wishing to be anywhere else. The tension between them is palpable, unspoken yet undeniable.

Viserys takes a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. The decision he makes next could have lasting consequences, for both you and the realm. As the music swells and the laughter of the court continues around him, the king’s mind churns, trapped in a web of duty, love, and fear.

For now, he decides to wait—he will watch, and if Harwin oversteps again, then the matter will be brought to light. But the seed of doubt has already taken root in Viserys’ heart, and it will not be easily dismissed.

The night is long, but Viserys’ thoughts are longer still.

You slip through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, your heart thrumming in your chest as you make your way deeper into its shadowed recesses. The sound of music and laughter fades behind you as you reach a secluded passage, hidden away from the eyes of the court. This path is familiar, a secret shared only between the two of you. You’ve met here before, during stolen moments when the weight of duty and the eyes of others became too much to bear. The flickering torchlight casts long shadows along the stone walls, giving the space an almost dreamlike quality. Yet there is nothing dreamlike about the tension that crackles in the air as you wait, anticipation coiling like a serpent beneath your skin.

Footsteps echo faintly down the passage, the heavy tread unmistakable. A smirk tugs at your lips as you press your back against the cool stone, the thrill of the chase still buzzing in your veins. He always catches you in the end; it’s a part of the game, a part of the dance you both know so well. You hear him approach, his steps purposeful, a hunter closing in on his prey. You hold your breath, relishing the thrill of being caught, knowing what comes next.

And then he’s there—Ser Harwin Strong, towering and fierce, the firelight casting sharp angles across his rugged features. He looks at you with that smoldering gaze, dark and intense, his chest heaving as he closes the distance between you. “You run from me as if you ever wanted to get away,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

You don’t reply with words, only a wicked smile that dares him to come closer. And he does, with a predatory grace, until his body is pressed against yours, trapping you between the stone wall and his broad chest. “Caught you,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw while the other grips your waist possessively.

Before you can retort, his lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s all fire and hunger, the pent-up tension of the night spilling over as he devours you with a need that’s impossible to hide. You kiss him back with equal fervor, fingers tangling in his dark curls as you pull him closer, desperate to close the distance that’s been kept between you all night. Every touch, every bite and nip, is laced with the emotions you can’t express openly—a love too dangerous to voice in the light of day, but undeniable in moments like this.

Harwin’s hands roam over your body with a familiarity that sends heat pooling in your core. He tugs at the laces of your gown, his fingers rough but practiced, until the fabric loosens and falls away, exposing the soft skin of your neck and shoulders. You gasp against his lips as he nips at your throat, the scrape of his teeth drawing a moan from your lips. His own garments follow suit—his tunic and belt discarded hastily, the sound of cloth hitting stone echoing faintly in the small space.

The air between you crackles with a desperate need, the kind that’s built up over countless stolen moments, secret touches, and longing glances. There’s no pretense here, no titles or duties—only the raw, unfiltered connection between you. Harwin’s hands slide down your waist, gripping your hips firmly as he lifts you, pressing you harder against the wall. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, gasping as you feel him against you, hard and ready. The anticipation coils tightly in your belly, every nerve alive with want.

His eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment, and in them, you see everything he can’t say aloud—devotion, desire, and the promise that he would burn the world for you if you asked. But words are unnecessary now. You reach down, guiding him until he’s pressed right where you need him most. There’s a brief, charged pause—a moment where everything hangs on the edge—and then he pushes into you in one smooth, powerful motion.

The world tilts, pleasure and need blurring everything else as he sets a rhythm, hard and fast, the way he knows you both like it. It’s familiar and yet never loses its edge—each thrust, each gasp, sending sparks of electricity through you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, biting down on the rough skin to muffle your cries, while his own growls of pleasure vibrate against your ear. His hands grip you tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he moves, driving into you with a force that leaves you breathless.

But it’s not just the physical pleasure that binds you in this moment. It’s the intimacy, the shared understanding that this is where you both belong—together, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world. Here, you are not a princess, and he is not merely the son of the Hand. Here, you are simply two people who have found something rare and precious, something that defies the rules of the world you live in.

He kisses you again, slower this time, a searing heat beneath the tenderness as he deepens the connection between you. Your bodies move in sync, finding that perfect rhythm that drives you both higher, closer to the edge. You can feel it building, a tightening coil of pleasure that threatens to snap at any moment. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, a desperate plea, and he responds with your name in kind, low and reverent.

The world narrows to just the two of you—the heat of his body, the rough press of stone at your back, the intoxicating scent of sweat and desire. And then, with one final thrust, the tension breaks, pleasure crashing over you like a wave, drowning you in bliss. Harwin follows a heartbeat later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buries himself deep, his body trembling with the force of his release.

For a long moment, neither of you move, the air thick with the aftermath of your passion. You stay entwined, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath, your heartbeats slowing in tandem. His hands are still on you, holding you as if he’s afraid you might slip away even now. And for a moment, the world is quiet, all worries and responsibilities forgotten in the haze of sated desire.

But reality is never far away. Slowly, you both come back to yourselves, and he reluctantly pulls back, letting you slide down until your feet touch the ground once more. There’s a flicker of regret in his eyes, a wish that this moment could last longer, but he says nothing as he helps you adjust your gown, his touch gentle now.

You smooth down your skirts, fixing your hair with a practiced ease, though the flush of your skin and the brightness in your eyes would give you away to anyone who looked closely enough. Harwin lingers, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a soft, almost reverent caress. “You always make me chase you,” he murmurs, his voice laced with fondness.“

And you always catch me,” you reply, the smile on your lips tinged with affection. “Perhaps I simply enjoy the chase.”

He chuckles, but there’s a seriousness in his gaze as he cups your face in his hands, holding you still for a moment longer. “One day, I won’t let you run again,” he says quietly, the promise heavy in the air.

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you lean up to kiss him one last time, slow and lingering, tasting the bittersweet mix of what you have and what you cannot yet fully claim. When you pull away, you give him a final smile before slipping out of the shadows and back into the world where duty and decorum await.

Harwin remains behind, watching you go with a look that holds both longing and resolve. He knows this is far from over.

#house of the dragon #hotd harwin #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #harwin x reader #harwin x y/n #harwin x you #harwin breakbones #ser harwin #harwin strong #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd viserys #viserys targaryen

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livwritesstuff · 1 month ago

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inspired by a tiktok that i will come back and link when i'm not at work anymore lol

edit: big thanks to the 18-hour tiktok propaganda "ban" for reminding me that i never came back and linked the tiktok (here it is)

Midway through December, Eddie’s publishing house puts on a holiday party at their HQ all the way in NYC.

Okay – all the way might be a little dramatic. New York isn’t too far a haul from where Eddie and Steve put down roots in Massachusetts, but with three hellions under the age of seven, anything outside of their typical routine is a stretch.

They’re making it work though – anything for an opportunity to get some childless time together – and they’ve got Robin and Nancy watching the girls so they can stay overnight in the city, and they’re getting all dolled up too (Steve is wearing an enormous cableknit sweater with a turtleneck underneath and, seriously, Eddie had no idea that many layers could still be that fucking hot until he met Steve).

Normally Eddie wouldn’t give a shit (he likes to bring a kind of come as you are type of vibe to the function, typically), but he’s actually looking forward to an evening spent wearing clothes that aren’t covered in snot and craft glitter and food.

He’s wearing these dark grey plaid trousers and he’s got a silk-ish black button-down on over a black undershirt, tucked in and unbuttoned simultaneously, and he’s topping it all off with a positively ancient leather jacket that he’s had for longer than he can even remember.

He looks pretty fuckin’ snazzy, if he’d say so himself.

Eddie is putting the finishing touches on his look – selecting the perfect assortment of rings and chains – when the door pushes open and his four-year-old, Robbie, enters the room.

Robbie pulls a confused kind of face as she looks him up and down.

Eddie furrows his eyebrows.

“What’s that look for?”

Robbie’s still got her nose all scrunched up as she says, “What happened to you?”

And now Eddie is offended because he actually thinks he looks pretty great, thanks, and he could do without judgement from his pre-schooler (who still gets dressed with her shirt on backwards half the time, just for the record).

“Amelia Robin, you cannot be serious.”

“What happened to you?” she repeats.

“Oh, you’re gonna double down on that?”

Robbie doesn’t even bother responding, just skitters back out from whence she came or whatever. He can hear Robin just behind him trying not to laugh.

“Did you tell her to say that?” he asks her, because it’s far from outside the realm of possibility.

“I swear on all that is holy I didn’t,” she snickers, “That was totally her.”

Eddie sighs.

“Y’know, Steve’s got all this big talk about oh, she’s you, Ed, she’s just like you,” Eddie says, his voice going all high and mocking, “But that – that was pure Steve.”

They head downstairs not too long later where Steve is walking Nancy through the insane binder he stores all of the girls' info in.

“Hey,” Steve says, a grin growing on his face, “Look at you.”

“Eugh,” Robin groans, “Can you guys leave already and be gross outside my line of sight.”

“You look good as hell,” Steve ignores her as he tugs just a little on the hem of Eddie’s coat.

“Can you tell your daughter that, please.”

#robin has received several Talks already about not laughing when the girls misbehave #steve: it makes it really hard to get them to stop if they think it’s funny #robin: it is funny tho #steve: *i* know that. we can’t let them know that we know.#liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie dads

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itsabouttimex2 · 2 months ago

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Eclipse Kings

Part Four: Sweet Little Star

(Part One: Mountain Monkeys) (Part Two: Barbed Dusk) (Part Three: Wild Dawn) (Part Four: You Are Here)

(Extra One) (Art! Thank you to @lemon-ti)

(The “servants” around this lovely ecliptic pagoda are well-tailored to the needs of their lords, no matter the scenario- including hot meals and tension breakers.

You are the only sanctuary that MK has ever known. Through blistering summers spent as the shores of a rippling blue lake, through winters spent huddled together under a stack of blankets, hidden in a hole of straw-lined mud to try and avoid withering chills.

You are all the “home” that MK knows.

But the two demons who call him are certainly trying their damnedest to make up for lost time… to very little avail.

“Since we found you so late yesterday, we never got a chance to celebrate your birthday, Xiaotian... we can-

“Yesterday wasn’t my birthday,” the boy huffs, fingers deeply kneading the thick cotton trim of his new cape. “That’s not until winter.”

“…Xiaotian,” Macaque says, almost astonished at how confidently incorrect his son was, “you were born in the middle of autumn - who told you that it was winter?”

“Y/N.”

“…ah. No, that- okay,” he huffs, pinching the growing knot on his scarifying forehead- without the crown, his usual gouges were quickly healing - as he quickly pieced things together. “They didn’t know your birthday, so… so they just made that up. You were too little to remember the day, so Y/N lied-“

“Nuh uh! They wouldn’t lie to me !”

“…my bad, kid. Of course not. No, you were too little to remember, so Y/N just… pretended to know so you could celebrate. But your real birthday is in the middle of fall- it was yesterday.”

“No, cause it’s in the winter!”

Wukong laughs as his sable mate sits beside him, nestling into the plush cushions and groaning.

“Easy, moonbeam. Don’t push yourself- he’s still a toddler. We’ll get through to him.”

“I’d rather him just remember us and everything we did together,” Macaque snaps back throwing his head into Wukong’s lap- who, for his part, begins to smooth out the inky tresses of fur laid out before him. They stay there for a minute, quietly enjoying each other’s company, and then-

All of Macaque’s ears stiffen, six sharp points flaring up under his fur, which Wukong fluffs to hide them from sight. As much as he loves them, his mate’s feelings are very dissimilar.

He looks over with both hands over Macaque’s ears, looking to the marble doorway-

And it’s just you , wearing “your” lovely sky-blue hanfu, sash shoddily tied and silk pouch held close.

The umbrakinetic demon stands up without a noise, slowly walking over to you for a closer examination- he had heard about your little fit, and didn’t want a repeat for himself.

“It suits you,” Macaque says, giving an approving look to your new outfit- he reaches for the sash, maybe to correct or tighten it, but pulls away when you flinch, simply saying: “You can keep it. If you want.”

Be polite. You want this outfit. And you want the pouch. Be polite.

“…thank you. And.. were you… talking about his birthday?”

The king rolls his shoulders to stretch them, causing the thick spikes of fur on his head to swish and temporarily dip over his many, many forehead scars- they’re a lot more obvious now that he’s smashed the barbed circlet and scrubbed the dried blood from his forehead. “We were. Xiaotian didn’t know that it was in the middle of autumn. I hear the two of you celebrated it in winter.”

“Well, most of the time- it was just whenever snow fell for the first time in the year- I… I really didn’t have… I didn’t have too much to work with. So it was… usually in winter, or really late fall, one time we got really unlucky and it was mid-spring.”

“…what do you mean, ‘unlucky’?” Asks the Monkey King, standing up from his lavish recliner to replace all his accessories, each string of citrine beads and looping gold chains clinking against each other as he threaded them back into place. “I don’t remember ever hearing the mortals talk about a bad snow during spring- not anytime this century, at least.”

“It wasn’t bad- not for anyone else. We- MK and I,” you start, trying to ignore their little twitches at you using his nickname, “we lived in a little sunken hut. It was always falling apart in place, and- and I had to patch it up all the time- so snow was always really hard, cause it would make the mud I used all wet, and it’d drip from the holes-“

“You were using mud to keep your house together?”

Both of them share the same look, worriedly gazing upon little MK with a sort of regretful hindsight, thinking on how hard it must’ve been for him to reside in that squalid, rotted hovel- though Wukong is the one who speaks up. “So you- you and Xiaotian were living in a little muddy wreck?”

Macaque- you can’t read his expression, not quite, stares on with a deeply set frown- if you had to wager a guess, he seems to be some form of vaguely disappointed . Maybe that’s standard for kings when they hear about things like this. You don’t really care what he thinks- not when MK was fed, warm, and happy.

That was enough for you.

If they wanted to pull back and say it wasn’t enough for them, then- oh well.

But that’s not what happens. There is no remand or reproach, nor any discouraging words as to your care of their darling boy.

They just frown, thinking of what you- and more importantly, MK - might have gone through.

And you frown too, caught in a tense silence louder than any storm, more charged than a bolt of lightning forming in graying skies.

It’s simply… too much. There’s been too much everything across too little a timeline to accommodate for proper adjustment, so now everything has wound to a point of near shattering, fractures displayed so prominently across the terse “bond” shared that they were nearly visible to the naked eye.

And it isn’t for a solitary second that the quiet stretches on, heavy and suffocating- it’s pervasive, leaving you all standing there quietly.

You can feel their eyes on you, assessing, judging—not just your words but the years you spent with MK, the choices you made when you had nothing to work with but scraps and hope. They’ve swooped in now, claiming- reclaiming, as the nagging voice in your head reminds - him as theirs, and though you know he’s safer here, better provided for, the thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

He had been fine without them.

He had been fine with you.

Why couldn’t it have just kept being you and- not your “temporary charge” Qi Xiaotian, Golden Star of Flower Fruit Mountain- but your little brother, MK?

Life had been miserably hard. It had been cold and drudging and dreary, and more than once you had come to one of the many peering peaks across the mountain, and sat on the idea of a quick end to the struggling.

And you had met your little “Monkie Kid”, just as cold and alone as you had been.

He had not just been your little brother-

He had been your entire reason for living.

And what did you have to live for now, with two people who could grant him ever luxury and possession a child could desire?

What did you have to live for?

Was there anything you-

“Excuse me,” calls a curt voice from behind, slicing the tension with practiced, professional ease. “We’ve prepared dinner for you, my lords.”

Like a metal door long unopened, there’s a hesitant, straining moment before the inevitable give , and then you all turn to look- at a very lovely woman. Her hair has been trimmed chin-short and styled into thick black waves, pulled to each side of her face to prominently display a golden ferronnière.

“My husband and I have finished cooking, and we wished to call you in before the meal grew cold,” she says, utterly unabated by the gone-cold atmosphere. “So we insist that you come and eat soon- preferably, right now. ”

There is no rolling of heads or smashing of bones arisen from the terse almost-command, and instead the Monkey King nods along with a chuckle and a laugh half-forced. “Of course, of course. Sorry for forgetting-“

“If you were truly sorry, you’d be in the kitchen eating all of our hard work.”

“Ahahaha! Fair enough! Moonbeam, let’s go have dinner. We can talk about celebrations tonight, together- when it’s quieter.”

Without you around to interject, of course.

Because why would anyone care about how long you spent in a crumbling shack held half-together with scraps of scrounged fabric and dried mud when you offered inconvenient things like “makeshift birthdays” and “learned attachments”?

Before your thoughts get too seething, the woman lightly claps her hands, snapping you and MK to attention.

“Since the two of you have… “lived a life of little substance”, let’s say, we’ve prepared a list of softer meals to help you both adjust to proper eating as quickly as possible- in about the course of a week. Sudden indulgence to richer foods could sicken you both- especially Lord Xiaotian. Today we’ve made a honeyed rice porridge with ripe tropical fruit, but I imagine you’ll also see fortified broth with bouillon powder, and… well, we’d be here all day if I laid them all out.

As the woman sends you and your brother down a hall together, before turning back to her eployers.

“And,” she whispers to the two kings, voice nearly low enough for you miss it, “ we’ve set aside some fruit purée and steamed milk with honey, if nothing else will work.”

“You are such a gem,” Macaque breathes, expressly pleased with her loyal diligence. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-“

“Your children are waiting,” she confirms, nudging him along. “Hurry and eat with them-“

And though he starts to correct her, to clarify that you are in fact not his child- the woman is gone in a swish of her long green dress.

You keep your head down, one hand gripping all of MK’s tiny fingers during your unflinching trek down the ornate hall. There’s hand-drawn pictures of many different demons, all portrayed with respect and pride. In one a purple minotaur holds an axe over his shoulder, horns and blade polished to a shine, in the next he’s standing beside a red-robed woman, tears brimming through his amber eyes as they focus on a small bundle in her arms. In another there’s a pachyderm demon, portrayed with thick glasses and a gargantuan stack of books- including one he must’ve been working on when the picture was drawn. The next is a bird with golden wings held aloft, spear dug into a training dummy made of stone. Then a lion, holding as many mortals possible aloft while trudging in waist-deep waters. One after another, demon after demon- though only those same four, aside from the woman.

Whoever they are, the kings clearly cherish them.

And said demons walk in unison just backwind of you, though their steps lack the carefree rhythm of easygoing camaraderie. They are just in steady lockstep, too close behind for comfort. You can hear the faint clinking of Wukong’s gold chains and the occasional rustle of Macaque’s red and black robe as they exchange glances, silent communication passing between them.

And then MK squeezes your fingers at tightly as his little fingers allow- a familiar gesture you’ve known through harsh nights and sluggish days, through famine and sickness and chill.

An anchor of reassurance in the overwhelming storm of unfamiliarity.

The shift you underwent was violent and painful. You had woken up half-paralyzed and nude, being scrubbed down by the two beings you feared most, incapable of speaking or moving- it had left a not-insignificant mark.

But MK?

MK had made a choice. He had chosen to come back, you were sure of it, sure that he had made a deal for your safety and retrieval alongside his own- of course he was going to adjust better than you.

But he was still a little boy.

A little boy who had spent his life in the hollow embrace of mud walls and patchwork blankets, in the firm grip of your scarred arms. This was a kingdom of excess, a world so vast and strange that it overwhelmed just as much as it comforted. He looks up to you, his tiny thumb fiddling with your knuckles, and you know what is being asked.

Are you staying?

You squeeze his hand back.

Always.

Neither of you is exactly cozy , but the air between you feels warmer for that little exchange, the newfound fuzziness lasting until the tall and gilded arc of a lavish dining room stands before the two of you, beckoning in.

Inside, the dining room gleams with you might bitterly call opulence . The long table stretches nearly half the length of the room, carved from a dark wood polished to a mirror’s finish. Gold filigree edges the surface, intertwining in swirling patterns that catch the warm glow of the lanterns overhead. The chairs are high-backed and cushioned, draped in fine fabrics with purple and gold-threaded embroidery. The centerpiece is a grand arrangement of flowers- peach blossoms and chrysanthemums interspersed with glowing lotuses.

The sheer decadence is suffocating .

MK gasps loudly at the sight, his wide eyes reflecting the glittering splendor. You squeeze his hand again, grounding him, grounding yourself. The boy looks up at you, half in wonder, half in unease. You feel it too- the crushing weight of not belonging. This isn’t your world. Not really. Not ever.

Not yet.

A man; dressed as elegantly as the woman that you presume to be his wife, is stocking the table with loaded plates. Not a drop spills onto his gold-lined white tangzhuang, no matter how much he moves.

“It’s an honor to be serving you again, Lord Xiaotian. And an honor to serve his savior, dear child.

He pushes up the bridge of his circular glasses, causing a sharp gleam to roll over them before coming over to usher you both in.

“Now, please- take your seats.”

There’s two chairs set aside specifically, both piled with stiff cushions to help someone of the height-disadvantaged reach the table- MK’s is especially egregious, containing no less than four.

Speaking of the boy, he tugs at your hand again, his curious eyes shifting between you and the chair meant for him. “Can we really sit here?” he whispers, voice laced with awe and a hint of anxiety.

Before you can answer, Macaque’s low voice cuts through the air as he and Wukong stride into the room after you, affably clapping their servant on his shoulders. “Of course you can,” he says, his tone soft but firm as both golden eyes land on you both. “This is your home now, Xiaotian. You can be wherever you want.”

Home. The word burns.

Maybe it sears even worse than the branding iron that haunts your dreams.

You take the seat beside his, allowing the cushion to sink as best it can under your meager weight, providing a nice abatement to your sore legs- though the cream Macaque had used to clear out grime and dirt had stopped burning not long after it was used, there was a dull ache left from both the concoction and, well… everything , really.

The man with glasses places bowls of warm, sweet-smelling rice porridge before you and MK, forcing your eyes to the bowl. The simple meal is an obvious concession to your past, but the presentation is impeccable, garnished with thin slices of banana and a drizzle of honey. It’s almost too beautiful to eat. Almost .

MK digs in immediately , tiny hands clutching the spoon with the clumsy enthusiasm only a child could muster. His muffled hum of delight sounds out at the first bite, drawing adoring coos from the two kings, and a faint, weary smile from you.

He deserves this, you think. He deserves a hundred lifetimes of warm meals, safe beds, and more love than his little heart could stand to hold.

You, however, hesitate. The porridge is still steaming, the honey forming golden rivulets over the creamy surface, but you can’t bring yourself to taste it just yet. It feels foreign, indulgent in a way that grates against the life you’ve lived- against the life that has shaped you into a scrapes-by survivor accustomed to spare bits of fuel.

You manage to lift the spoon and take a small bite.

The honeyed porridge is warm and sweet, slices of ripe banana on top to add a buttery texture that melts effortlessly on your tongue, imbuing a whisper of richness to each bite.

It’s good. Too good. It makes your chest ache.

Hunger is the world you have known, sprinkled through every aspects of your life in pieces. In the cold of winter on your stick-thin ribs, never enough meat to keep warm. In the gnawing ache that follows you to sleep. In the morning, curling like smoke in your chest as you wake, already weary. Hunger walks beside you, a shadow that stretches long.

A word heartbreakingly uttered from the lips of your darling little brother, spurring you to further and further extremes to keep him fed.

But today you are both full and warm, dressed and clean.

The thought pricks your eyes with tears, and the spoon seizes as a lump grows in your throat.

You could have never given this to MK.

The movement of your unwieldy hand grows faster and faster, shoveling more and more of the sweet porridge into your mouth, smearing it over your lips as tears begin to fall. Your spare hand drifts downwards to cusp the mildly growing curve of your stomach, feeling the meal compound through you. You drop the intricate spoon, and it clatters uselessly to the ground. In favor of scooping the meal bite by bite into your mouth, you do the simplest- and more importantly, fastest- thing possible.

You upend the contents directly into your mouth, the honeyed porridge spilling past your lips and onto your chin and cheeks. You drain it to the last drop and lick the remnants like a starving dog, and then set down the exquisite piece of china to reveal the tears dribbling over the sticky mess across your face.

“I want more,” you beg, voice plain and will broken. “Please, I-“

“ I don’t want to be hungry anymore.”

“…get them another bowl,” says Macaque, looking at you more closely than ever before. “As many as they need.”

”Until they’re full.”

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #MK #Yandere Father #Shadowpeach #Eclipse Kings #Not The Beloved #3K

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solbaby7 · 10 months ago

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Hi!! I have a request if you don’t mind 💜💜

Could you do a Rhys x reader where she has bought some lingerie for the first time without Rhys knowing she bought it and he catches her trying them on in their bedroom?

He’d have a hard time trying to decide on if he wants to fuck you with it on or to rip it off.

Temptress

pairing: rhysand x reader

warnings: sexual descriptions, swearing, a million different ways to say panties, possible typos

—

You’d been swayed.

Captivated by such delicate pieces that when the sweet shop owner offered you a discount on the piles of lingerie you’d been sifting through—you couldn’t refuse.

Bags hang off your arms filled to the brim with intricately detailed bustiers and corsets, thongs of varying colors and cuts with garters and thigh high tights to match. Some were riskier than others; crotchless panties or g-strings decorated in shiny chains with a custom diamond encrusted ‘R’ dangling over your ass.

A warm glow casts over your form, gaze fixed on your figure reflected in the mirror and you can’t help but admire the way each piece looks on. Velvets and silk, lace and leather that fits as if it were made specifically with your measurements in mind. Too distracted by the effects of a push-up bra, you don’t even notice your High Lord lingering in the doorway. Both arms cross at his chest, shoulder resting on the doorframe and head slightly tilted as violet eyes roam you over.

Rhysand’s perfectly silent while you move to change, bending over to slip on a silky pair of underthings with thin pearl strings that held at your hips. Teeth bite at the fat of his bottom lip as he takes in the round of your ass against the pale pink material and he fights the urge to tear it clean off.

Your hands smooth over your figure, utterly oblivious, eyes squinting in thought before flicking over to the male in the mirror. A low gasp of surprise, a blush fanning across your cheeks at the dark look looming in indigo irises. “Rhys,” It’s instinctual to cover up, arms crossing over your chest to hide parts of you he’d already memorized a million times over. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He hums low, almost dismissively as he drinks in the feminine whine lacing your tone. “Didn’t see you much today, sweet girl.”

“I went out to the city to do some shopping,” You confess softly, slowly lowering your arms to show off the newly acquired purchase. “Pretty, right?”

The look in his eye is predatory no matter how subdued his tone is. Because while you’re referring to fine details in the lace line cups; Rhysand is fully ogling the generous lift of your breasts. “Absolutely mouthwatering,” Four steps is all it takes for him to clear the length of the room and to your surprise, he strides right past you and settles into the chair tucked by your mirror. Rhys pulls the bag into his lap, shuffling around the items until he finds one that had his cock jumping in his pants. “Try them on for me—start with this one.”

A sheer little slip dangles from two fingers, the matching thong draped over his knee and excitement swells in your belly when the door closes behind you. The lock sliding into place with nothing more than a cocky lift of his brow. A shiver runs down your spine, body wedged between his spread legs. “Help me take this off?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Rhysand takes more care with the fabric than you would’ve. You’re forced to remain still as the bra is unhooked and eased off your shoulders. A pleased hum pulls from the back of his throat, reacquainting himself with the weight of your breasts and the hardened peaks of your nipples. Goosebumps ripple against every inch of bare skin, stomach clenching when his knuckles trail a path down the soft swell of your belly. “Leave these on,” A thumb slides under the elegant pearls holding the underwear in place. “I like them.”

“Elegant enough for a High Lady?”

Rhys chuckles, settling back into the chair with low lids. “Elegance has no place in the plans I’ve made for you tonight.” The lights go dim; darkness beginning to cloak your bedchamber and Death Incarnate seems to expel a sigh of relief when allowing such subdued power to stretch free from its confinements.

Chiffon nearly slips free from your grasp, limbs quaking as the tension held this in the air. He watches your every move, a bulge steadily growing in his pants but he makes no move to touch himself. “You’re not working?”

“It’s not going anywhere.” Your brow raises, a little smirk quirking in the corner of glossy lips and his eyes are rolling before you can even throw in your two cents on how any other night his answer would be completely different. “Besides, what kind of male would I be if I chose boring documents over my mate—one who’s half naked and hot as sin.”

“You flatter me.” Thin straps snap against your shoulders, the powerful darkness casting perfect shadows against feminine curves. A blush begins on the apples of your cheeks, lashes fluttering fondly as you eat up the praise. “I’ve barely even gotten to the fun stuff yet. Should see the kinds of goodies I’ve got stuffed in that bag.”

A smile curls at his full lips, body language effortlessly regal, arms lax at his sides as his legs spread just a little wider. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Your eyes dip down without permission, catching the outline of his erection through tailored dress pants. It strains again the stitching and yet there’s no shame in sight when staring so brazenly. Desire clouds your thoughts, lust darkening your gaze as you turn slowly—providing the perfect view of ass in your underthings. Power fills the space, tainting the air with a thickness felt with each breath taken.

You don’t shy away from it though, steps holding a newfound confidence as you prance over to the bed. Legs elongate, back arching and soft hair dips messily against your cheeks in a way that sends your High Lord in a frenzy as you sink into the sheets. You make a show of getting settled, allowing the satin to shift up your thighs, bunching invitingly near your hips.

Painted toes dangle against the headboard, canopy draping tied securely at each side to leave the view of your ass exposed to him. It’s a tease; an invitation for Rhysand to waltz over with that unwavering air of entitlement and take what belonged to him. “This one might be one of my favorites,” The playful dip of your tone tugs him from his thoughts, though the look in his eye does little to hide the things conjuring up in his mind. So you feed the depraved fantasies, slowly spreading your legs and sliding a hand down the length of your body until manicured fingers collide with delicate fabric. “Easy to put on after a long day of spending all your money.”

He takes the bait, entranced by your shamless groping. “Terrible, horrible thing.”

A nail hooks into the fabric covering your sex, offering a fraction of a glimpse before it returns to place with a snap. “The worst,” You agree, engulfed in the perfect scent of you and Rhysand intermingled in the sheets. Still, you crave more; every fiber of your being begging to his touch. “How about you come teach me a lesson?”

“I will.” He undoes the bindings holding his breeches together, allowing his cock to spring free and one strong hand wraps around it; stroking the hard length up and down. “But first, I want to watch you play with it.” Darkness clasps around your ankles like chains, a cruel laugh echoing in your ears as your hand follows the command without hesitation. Your arousal is audible, squelching obscenely as a free hand keeps lace tucked to the side. “Atta girl, just like that.”

#acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x you #acotar #high lord rhysand #rhys x reader smut #pro rhysand #rhysand acotar #rhys x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand smut #rhys smut #rhysand #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you

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