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feirceangel · 8 months ago

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Asks are open you say? Well how about a dynamic flip? Feyd is the proud warrior but is unexpectedly bartered away in a deal his brother makes to humiliate him. Surprised and furious he fully intends to conquer his new "brides" family and kingdom only for them to recognize his strength and be met with the satisfying challenge of warrior/ farming planet.

So, I kinda went in a different direction with this, but I hope you still enjoy it, Anon!!

Imagine | A Match (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Imagine Feyd is given in marriage to a wealthy House in order to gain an alliance. His new bride is not what he expected.

Word Count: 1,737

Warnings: arranged marriage, attempted choking/stabbing, non-sexual nudity (reader), Powerful! Reader.

"What?" Feyd's voice is barely concealing his rage as he stares down his uncle and smug brother.

"It was necessary, my darling," the Baron's voice is rough, his tone placating. "We need this alliance more than you know."

Feyd finds his teeth clenching, hands forming fists at his sides. "Why not Rabban?"

"You know why," the Baron glares. "They would not accept Rabban as a suitable match. You are to go and wed their daughter. And in return they give us whatever we ask."

Feyd growls, "I outta slit your throat, uncle."

The Baron laughs, "This is for your benefit as much as it is mine, dear nephew. Now go."

Feyd storms out of the room, a hurricane of rage sweeping through the halls. He has never felt an anger this severe in quite some time. He should have known something like this would happen eventually. And, knowing his uncle, there is another scheme at play.

Always plans within plans within plans.

It's not the worst situation, he muses later when he has calmed and steadied his mind.

House Wallach would be a formidable ally, an asset that shouldn't be taken lightly. With control over three planets and being the largest horticultural power in the Landsraad, they are powerful indeed.

The leaders of House Wallach has birthed only a daughter, which leaves them without a male heir. All manner of eligible men have tried their hand at a marriage to their daughter. None has been successful.

Until now, apparently.

A feral grin spreads across Feyd's face as he thinks of the possibilities.

He will have no issue wedding the daughter and taking control of House Wallach when the time is right.

And, perhaps if he plays his cards right, take control of House Harkonnen as well.

He cares not who he has to marry, even if he'll be mad about it for awhile. After all, he can dispose of her eventually.

~~~

Feyd arrives with much fanfare, as befitting the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Bright sunshine surrounds those gathered to greet him, people who are swamped in bright greens, yellows, and browns. All around the envoy are orchards of all kinds of fruit trees. A vibrant sea of green.

So much more colour than Feyd is used to.

His expression remains neutral as he greats the Lord and Lady of the House. They appear cautious of him, perhaps overly so. It seems they know House Harkonnen’s reputation.

"It is an honour to be here," he says, bowing slightly. The lie slides easily off his tongue.

"We are pleased to have you in our home, na-Baron." The Lord says, returning the bow. "Our daughter is so pleased that you accepted the match."

Feyd's lips quirk up. Surely he's lying, no noble lady would hold any desire for a creature like him.

"As I said, it's an honour."

His gaze sweeps around, searching for his wife-to-be. All he finds is diplomats and soldiers.

"Where is Lady Wallach?" He asks, unimpressed at her absence.

"Forgive us, your arrival coincided with an event she could not miss," the Lord replies. "She is attending a Munus Ceremony."

This catches Feyd's attention, "A fight?"

"Yes, if you come this way, we may still witness part of it."

Feyd follows Lord Wallach, silently fuming.

His betrothed is watching other men fight to the death instead of welcoming him? His outrage is unparalleled, yet he remains collected.

They lead him up to the viewing tower of an outdoor coliseum, with vines growing on every available surface.

The viewing box is empty.

"There my lord."

Feyd's attention is brought down to a figure in the ring who brandishes a dagger with a graceful air.

"Our daughter,” Lord Wallach smiles, the action appearing forced.

He hadn't expected this.

Feyd was picturing a regal noble lady, demure and pitiful. He had not once pictured this creature before him, fluid in her movements as she battles her opponent.

She blocks attacks with ease and avoids ones that would cause serious damage all while attacking just as fiercely. Her opponent is skilled, to be sure, but is no match for the ruthlessness of her attacks.

He falls to the ground, unmoving. Feyd’s bride-to-be lifts her arms in victory, grinning as blood drips down her blade.

“We honour!” She shouts, and the crowd responds with deafening cheers.

“We know she is not exactly… How can I put it? Traditional, let’s say.” Her mother frets, “But she will be a good wife, na-Baron.”

He barely hears her, eyes transfixed on the beauty in the arena as she battles another opponent. Yes, this is an interesting turn of events indeed.

“Of course she will,” Feyd replies. “I must meet her.”

He watches as she disappears into the building, no doubt going to change and bathe after her match.

“Certainly. She’ll be out to give you a tour in no time. Meanwhile, a guard can show you to your room.”

Displeased, Feyd nods and obediently follows the man to his room. As soon as he’s alone, Feyd opens the door and stalks out with determination.

He cannot wait.

There is surprisingly little security surrounding your change room, Feyd notes as he quietly opens the door.

Your piercing gaze meets him immediately. Instead of being frightened, like he had anticipated, you smile warmly.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, I was not expecting you here. I’m afraid you have caught me unprepared to greet you properly,” you say calmly as you continue to unbutton your fighting tunic.

He doesn’t know what to make of your reaction. You’re not put off by his presence at all.

“I couldn’t wait,” he replies honestly.

You hum, “Excited to see me, na-Baron?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

The sound of your laughter is unexpected, “Of course not. I doubt I was what you were anticipating.”

His gaze lingers as you remove your clothes and retrieve a washcloth and bucket.

“Don’t you have servants?” He finds himself asking, motioning to the washcloth.

“I prefer to do it myself.”

He frowns, “You don’t seem very noble.”

“I assure you, Wallach blood flows deep in my veins,” your voice has taken an edge.

It seems he’s struck a nerve.

“I meant no insult, my lady,” his grin says otherwise, his voice rough and teasing. “It just appears you have odd taste. Fighting and doing the work servants should be doing.”

You return his even gaze, “I am not some snivelling noble who cannot take care of herself. Feyd, it seems you do not remember me.”

Your last statement has him pausing.

“What did you say?”

Lathering suds onto your bloodied skin, you barely spare him a glance.

“I said you don’t remember me. We met once, you know.”

He does not remember such a thing.

“Don’t toy with me,” he snarls. “Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you roll your eyes. “Feydie, I can’t say I’m not hurt you don’t recall.”

Your bastardization of his name brings a memory to the front of his mind.

A young girl bearing the Wallach crest getting angry with him over something and punching him clear across the face. He naturally returned the blow and they broke out into a fight right then and there.

He’s shocked he forgot it.

You watch as recognition filters through his eyes. Smiling, you rinse the suds off your body.

“Now you remember. To be honest, I don’t know why I was so angry with you.”

“You’ve always been a fighter,” he acknowledges with an inclination of his head.

“And I knew you could not be satisfied with a weak wife.”

He’s coming to realize this match may not have been a scheme of just his uncle.

“You wanted this match,” he phrases it as a statement as if he already knows the answer.

You smirk, “Does it not please you?”

“What makes you think I would want you as a wife?” He sneers, crossing his arms.

“I know you planned on controlling me, or killing me - whichever suited your needs best. You want power, Feyd. I can give you that and so much more. Is it too much to ask for you in return?”

He cannot find words, mulling over your proposal as his eyes study your every move.

You’ve certainly grown from that little girl who could barely throw a proper punch yet had the rage to carry through a fight.

Feyd observes as you dry yourself off. He leans over before you can, and grabs your fresh shirt from the table.

“Allow me, my lady.”

Surprised, you nod and present your back to him. A foolish mistake, to turn your back on a potential threat. He contemplates disposing of you right now, but finds himself frowning at the idea.

You’re so much more interesting than he first imagined.

Despite himself, he wants to know you better, to find out when you had your first gladiatorial fight or when you realized you could be so much more than wedding fodder for your parents to make a match with.

“So many suitors have tried to win your hand,” Feyd rasps as he guides your arms through the sleeves of your shirt. “Yet you denied them all.”

“None were you, my lord.”

“Why chose me?” He leans into you, pressing his chest to your back as he slowly starts buttoning your shirt.

You lean back into him, “You are a fighter, a warrior. You can wield blades and talk politics. And I know you can treat me right.”

“Why would I treat you any different than a common whore?” He suddenly presses his arm against your throat, cutting off your oxygen.

He looks at your expression, surprised to find a wide grin. A flash of pain goes through his side. Your eyes flicker downwards and Feyd looks down to find the tip of a blade piercing his skin.

He releases his hold.

“You will treat me differently, Feyd. And do you know why?”

You turn to face him, placing your hand on his bleeding wound.

“Because I will make you.”

Feyd cannot stop the smile forming on his plush lips as you bring your hand to his cheek.

He doesn’t say anything as you continue place a kiss to his lips before shoving him away.

“We must ready ourselves for the dinner tonight, there is much to discuss about the wedding.”

“Of course, my lady.”

[Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!]

#female reader #reader insert #feyd oneshot #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd imagine #dune #dune part two #dune x reader #fanfic

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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I have way to many idea so sorry for everything I’m going to send you 👉🏼👈🏼

Aemond x Niece (maybe a Nyra x daemon before her wedding!?)

He’s obsessed with her, she represents everything he want, she’s a perfect Targaryen white hair, purple eyes, huge dragon vermithor or cannibal?

But she’s engaged to Jace and he hate the fact that she is “given” to a bastard. So he tried by all things to make her his, he wish so hard to be found with her in a bad position that they obliged them to get married.

He make sure that Larys Steong see them, he even say to the maester to give her moon tee or medicinal herb for morning sickness ?! Otto find that about the maester and decided to marry them ( daemon and nyra are not ok they say It not real) and aemond took that personally and decided that they will have a child right now 🫣

The Dragon's Mark

- Summary: When Aemond found out about your betrothal to Jacaerys, he knew how all seven hells could not hold him back from taking what was rightfully his.

- Paring: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: Reader is the firstborn child of Rhaenyra. She had a reader with Daemon before she involved herself with Harwin Strong. Daemon legitimized the reader. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've changed the thing with a Maester to make it more believable. I hope you don't mind.

Aemond sat across from his mother, Dowager Queen Alicent, and his grandsire, Ser Otto Hightower, in the great hall of the Red Keep. The torchlight cast shadows over their faces, making their expressions harder to read, not that Aemond was paying much attention. Their voices drifted to him as if through a thick fog, muffled and distant. He stared at the tapestry on the wall opposite, its intricate designs of dragons entwined in battle barely registering in his mind. His thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by the image of you.

You, to him, were the embodiment of Valyrian perfection, a true daughter of Old Valyria. Your silver hair fell in soft waves, catching the light like molten silver, and your violet eyes held the depth of the ancient Targaryen bloodline. You are more than a princess; you are power personified, a dragonrider of Vermithor, the mighty bronze beast who had bonded with you when you were but a girl. Aemond could still remember the first time he had seen you astride Vermithor, your small form commanding the great dragon with ease, your expression fierce and unyielding.

Now, you are a woman grown, and in Aemond's eyes, you are perfect. You are the one he deserves, a match that would not only strengthen the bloodline but would also solidify his place in their shared history. He could see it so clearly in his mind: you by his side, the two of you ruling as a power unmatched, with dragons and fire at your command.

The thought of you set a slow burn within him, a mix of admiration and desire. He had always been captivated by your strength, your beauty, and the fire in your spirit that matched his own. You are everything he had ever wanted, everything he needed. A true Targaryen, unmarred by the weaknesses of others. Aemond clenched his jaw, pushing down the surge of emotions that threatened to spill over.

His attention snapped back to the present as his mother's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and clear.

"...Rhaenyra has decided to marry her daughter to Jacaerys," Alicent said, her tone carefully neutral, but there was a hint of distaste in her eyes.

Aemond's world tilted on its axis, the words crashing over him like a wave. His blood ran cold as the realization settled in. Rhaenyra intended to wed her daughter, you, the one Aemond desired above all others, to that bastard Jacaerys. His hands curled into fists on the table, the knuckles white as the force of his anger rose within him, threatening to consume him whole.

"A match to solidify her claim, no doubt," Otto added, his voice dry and calculated as always. "She seeks to ensure her line continues to hold power, binding her daughter to her eldest son."

Aemond could barely hear them now over the roaring in his ears. The thought of you, bound to Jacaerys, of the union of your bloodlines through a marriage that had nothing to do with honor or strength but everything to do with Rhaenyra's desperate attempt to secure her position—it was unbearable.

His mind raced with images of Jacaerys, the boy who had always stood in his way, who had always been favored despite the question of his parentage, despite his weaknesses. And now, to think that he would have you, the woman Aemond had longed for, the woman who should have been his—!

"Aemond." Alicent's voice broke through his fury, pulling his gaze to her. She looked at him with concern, as if sensing the turmoil within him. "What are you thinking?"

Aemond blinked, his breath coming in sharp, controlled breaths as he forced himself to calm. He could not reveal the depth of his feelings here, not now. He met his mother's gaze, his expression hardening into a mask of indifference.

"Nothing, mother," he said, his voice low and measured. "Only that Rhaenyra's choices will bring about her own downfall."

Alicent frowned slightly, but before she could press further, Otto interjected, his eyes narrowing as he studied his grandson. "This marriage will complicate things, Aemond. We must be cautious in how we respond. Rhaenyra seeks to bind the loyalty of her supporters through this match."

Aemond nodded stiffly, though his thoughts were still far from the politics of it all. He would not let this happen. He would not allow Jacaerys to take what should be his.

"Perhaps," Aemond began slowly, "we should consider our own alliances more carefully. There are other ways to weaken Rhaenyra's position."

Otto raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the shift in Aemond's tone. "What do you suggest?"

Aemond met his grandsire's gaze, a plan already forming in his mind, a way to ensure that you would not be lost to him, that Jacaerys would not win. His lips curled into a small, cold smile.

"There are always ways to turn the tide," he said softly. "We need only find the right pressure points."

Alicent looked between them, her unease growing, but Aemond paid her no mind. His thoughts were solely on you, on the woman who had unknowingly claimed his heart. He would have you, no matter the cost. You will be his, and nothing, not even Rhaenyra’s schemes, would stand in his way.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly as you sat at your vanity, the brush gliding through your long, silver hair. Each stroke was methodical, a ritual you found soothing as the day's events faded into the quiet of the evening. You took a deep breath, savoring the calm, but beneath the surface, your thoughts were a swirling current of unspoken feelings, thoughts that often turned to him—Aemond.

The quiet attraction you felt for him had always been there, lurking in the periphery of your mind, but never voiced, never acted upon. There was something in the way he carried himself, the intensity of his gaze, that made your heart quicken whenever he was near. Yet, the distance between you had always remained, unbridgeable, or so you had thought.

You placed the brush down, your hair now smooth and shining in the firelight, ready to retire for the night. But just as you were about to stand, a knock echoed through the chamber, pulling you from your reverie. You frowned, surprised by the interruption at this hour. Before you could respond, the door creaked open, and there he was, Aemond, standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"Aemond," you whispered, your voice betraying a hint of the surprise you felt.

He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His presence filled the space, commanding yet silent, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. His eye, that piercing violet eye, locked onto yours, and you felt your breath catch. There was something different about him tonight, an intensity that set your heart racing.

"I... wasn't expecting you," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond moved closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "I needed to see you," he said quietly, his tone carrying a weight that made your pulse quicken. He was so close now that you could feel the heat radiating from him, the scent of leather and smoke clinging to his clothes.

You swallowed, your mind racing as he reached out, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, and it sent a shiver down your spine. There was something in his eye, a hunger, a longing that mirrored the unspoken desires you had kept locked away for so long.

"I've thought about you," you admitted softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "But I never—"

He silenced you with a look, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw before tilting your chin up, his gaze darkening. "No more words," he murmured, and then his lips were on yours, claiming them with a fervor that took your breath away.

The kiss was everything you had imagined and more, a rush of heat and need that left you dizzy. You responded in kind, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his tunic. He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you, and you felt the world narrow down to just the two of you, the fire, and the beating of your hearts.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to steady yourself. But before you could speak, before you could mention the name that had been on your mind earlier, he shook his head.

"Don't," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "I don't want to hear his name tonight."

You nodded, understanding the unspoken plea, and let the thought of Jacaerys fade away, replaced by the man before you, the man who had captured your heart without either of you realizing it.

Aemond's hands moved to the ties of your gown, his fingers deftly undoing the knots, and you felt your pulse quicken as the fabric slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. You shivered, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze as he took in the sight of you, bared before him. There was a reverence in his eyes, a deep appreciation that made your cheeks flush with heat.

He shed his own tunic, revealing the lean, strong lines of his body, the scars that marked him only adding to the allure. You reached out, your fingers tracing the contours of his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. It was all so surreal, so perfect, that you almost feared it was a dream.

Aemond's hands were gentle as he led you to the bed, laying you down with a care that made your heart ache. He moved over you, his gaze softening as he positioned himself between your legs, his body pressing against yours in a way that felt both new and familiar, as if you were made to fit together.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, his eye searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You nodded, your hand cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over the smooth skin just beneath his patch. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. "I want this, Aemond. I want you."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss as he entered you slowly, the sensation both sharp and sweet, a mingling of pleasure and pain as he took your maidenhead. You gasped, clutching at his shoulders, but the discomfort quickly faded, replaced by a sense of fullness, of completeness, as he buried himself deep within you.

Aemond stilled for a moment, his breathing ragged as he took in the sight of you beneath him, your hair spread out like a silver halo on the pillow, your eyes wide with trust and desire. The knowledge that you were his, that you had given yourself to him, filled him with a satisfaction that went beyond mere conquest. It was everything he had ever imagined, and more.

Tomorrow, he knew, the servants who served Larys Strong would change the sheets, and the evidence of your union would be seen by those who needed to know. But for now, all that mattered was the here and now, the way you felt beneath him, the way your body responded to his.

You urged him to move, your hips shifting beneath him, and he obliged, setting a slow, steady rhythm that had you both gasping for breath. The pleasure built between you, a slow burn that grew hotter with every thrust, every kiss, until it was all-consuming.

Aemond was lost in the sensation, the feel of you, the sound of your breathless moans, the way your bodies moved together in perfect harmony. It was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed of, and more. He could feel the tension building, the pressure mounting as you both neared the edge.

As you reached the pinnacle, your release washing over you in a wave of pleasure, he buried his face in your neck, his voice rough with emotion as he urged you to call his name, to let the world know who you belonged to. "Say my name," he breathed, his words a plea and a command all at once.

"Aemond," you gasped, your voice breaking as you clung to him, your body trembling with the force of your release. "Aemond, please..."

And then he was there, the last threads of his control snapping as he spilled himself inside you, his own release ripping through him with a force that left him trembling. Your name was on his lips, a whispered prayer, a declaration of everything he felt, everything he could never put into words.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the warmth of your bodies pressed together, the lingering echoes of pleasure that pulsed through your veins. Aemond held you close, his forehead resting against yours as you both came down from the heights of your passion.

In that moment, there were no words, no need for them. Everything you had ever wanted, everything you had ever felt, was conveyed in the way you held each other, in the way your bodies fit together so perfectly, so naturally.

As you drifted into sleep, Aemond's arms wrapped around you, you knew that everything had changed, and there was no going back.

The morning arrived as Aemond moved with purposeful strides. His mind was sharp, focused, each step a calculated part of the plan he had set into motion. The events of the previous night played over in his mind, not with regret, but with satisfaction. Everything was unfolding exactly as he had intended.

He turned a corner and spotted Grand Maester Mellos in the distance, the elderly man’s stooped figure moving slowly down the hall. Aemond quickened his pace, his boots echoing against the stone floor, and within moments, he was at the Maester’s side.

“Grand Maester Mellos,” Aemond greeted, his voice measured and calm, though there was an undercurrent of urgency that could not be missed.

The Maester looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of the prince. “Prince Aemond,” he replied, bowing his head slightly in respect. “How may I assist you this morning?”

Aemond’s expression was inscrutable as he spoke, his voice low, as if to ensure their conversation remained private. “I require your expertise, Maester. There is a matter concerning Princess Y/N—my niece—that needs your immediate attention.”

Mellos frowned, his brow furrowing in concern. “Of course, Your Grace. What seems to be the issue? Is Princess Y/N unwell?”

Aemond shook his head, his gaze intense as he met the Maester’s eyes. “No, she is not unwell. However, I wish for her to be examined… to ensure that she has not been harmed.”

Mellos’ confusion deepened, and he tilted his head slightly, trying to understand. “Harmed, Your Grace? I do not follow. What examination, exactly, do you require?”

Aemond hesitated for only a fraction of a second before he continued, his voice steady and deliberate. “Last night, she and I... shared an intimate moment. I want to ensure that she was not hurt during our union, that she was not harmed in any way.”

The Maester’s face went pale, the full implication of Aemond’s words sinking in. His eyes widened slightly, and he took an involuntary step back, his hand trembling as he clutched the folds of his robes.

“Your Grace…” Mellos began, his voice shaky as he tried to comprehend the gravity of what had been revealed to him. “You… you wish for me to confirm that Princess Y/N was… that she…?”

Aemond’s gaze remained fixed on the Maester, his expression unwavering. “Yes,” he said simply, allowing the full weight of his words to settle between them. “I want you to ensure that she was not harmed. And if any trace of injury is found, I want you to inform me immediately.”

Mellos looked as though he might faint, the color draining from his face entirely. His mind raced, trying to grasp the enormity of what Aemond was asking, and the consequences that would follow. The bloodied sheets, the confirmation from the Grand Maester—these were not just symbols of a consummated union; they were a declaration of intent, a claim that could not be ignored by either Otto Hightower or Rhaenyra Targaryen.

“I… I understand, Your Grace,” Mellos stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper. “But, Prince Aemond, surely you realize that such news… it will reach the ears of the Queen, and Prince Daemon…”

Aemond’s lips curled into a faint smile, though there was no warmth in it. “That is precisely what I intend, Maester. The sheets will speak for themselves, and your examination will confirm what is already known. My niece is now mine, and any plans to wed her to Jacaerys must be reconsidered.”

Mellos swallowed hard, the implications of Aemond’s words weighing heavily on him. The Prince’s plan was clear now, as was the role he had unwittingly been drawn into. The Maester nodded slowly, realizing that there was no turning back from what had been set in motion.

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Mellos finally said, his voice hoarse. “I shall see to it immediately.”

Aemond inclined his head, satisfied that his instructions would be carried out. He could see the fear in the Maester’s eyes, the way his hands shook ever so slightly as he turned to leave. But that fear was necessary, a tool to ensure that the plan would proceed without a hitch.

“Thank you, Grand Maester,” Aemond said, his voice as smooth as silk. “I trust that you will handle this matter with the utmost discretion.”

Mellos nodded quickly, his face still ashen as he hurried away, his steps faltering as though the weight of what he now carried was too much to bear.

Aemond watched him go, a sense of triumph settling over him. The seeds had been sown, and soon enough, they would bear the fruit he desired. His grandsire would be forced to recognize the union, and Rhaenyra would have no choice but to break the engagement to Jacaerys. There would be no way to deny him now.

As he turned and walked back down the corridor, a sense of satisfaction filled him. Everything was falling into place, just as he had envisioned. And as for the flushed and worried Grand Maester, he was merely the first to feel the ripple effects of the plan Aemond had so carefully crafted. Soon, everyone would understand that you belonged to him, and no one—not Jacaerys, not Rhaenyra, not even Daemon—could take you away from him now.

Aemond entered the chamber, summoned by his grandsire. The usual sense of foreboding that accompanied meetings in the Tower of the Hand was magnified tenfold by the figures waiting inside. Otto Hightower stood near the center of the room, his expression grave, while beside him stood Rhaenyra, her face a mask of barely concealed fury. But it was Daemon, pacing like a caged beast, whose presence dominated the space, his anger felt in the air.

Aemond, however, was unperturbed. He walked with measured steps, his posture erect, his face a picture of calm satisfaction. His eye met Daemon’s, and he could see the rage simmering there, a wildfire barely restrained. Aemond’s lips curled into a slight smile, knowing full well that it would only infuriate Daemon further.

“You summoned me, grandsire?” Aemond’s voice was even, respectful, but with an edge of smugness that did not go unnoticed.

Otto cleared his throat, his gaze flicking between the furious Targaryens and his grandson. “Aemond, it has come to my attention—” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “It has come to my attention, through certain… whispers, that Grand Maester Orwyle was called upon this morning to examine Princess Y/N. An examination that has confirmed… certain truths.”

Rhaenyra’s fists clenched at her sides, her violet eyes blazing with a fury that matched the fire of the dragons themselves. “How dare you,” she hissed, her voice trembling with rage. “How dare you lay a hand on her!”

Before Aemond could respond, Daemon stepped forward, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword, Dark Sister. His face was a mask of barely restrained violence, and for a moment, it seemed he might strike Aemond down where he stood.

“Daemon,” Otto warned, his voice firm, though there was a thread of unease beneath it. “Violence will solve nothing here.”

“Violence is all I see fit to deal with this insolent whelp!” Daemon barked, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “He dares to defile my daughter, and you expect me to stand idly by?”

Aemond, unflinching, met Daemon’s gaze head-on, his own expression hardening. “I have done what was necessary, uncle,” he said coolly. “She is mine now, and there is nothing you can do to change that.”

Rhaenyra’s voice broke through the tension, sharp and cold. “Her betrothal to Jacaerys has been agreed upon for years. You cannot simply cast that aside as if it means nothing.”

Otto interjected, his voice measured, though the urgency was clear. “In light of these recent events, the betrothal to Prince Jacaerys must be reconsidered. It is in the best interest of both houses that Princess Y/N and Prince Aemond are wed, to avoid any… further complications.”

Daemon’s eyes flashed with a deadly light as he turned on Otto. “You would sell my daughter to this boy after what he has done? You forget yourself, Hightower. She will not be tangled into your schemes!”

Aemond stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “This is not a matter of scheming, uncle. It is done. She is mine now, and there is nothing that can undo it. You cannot deny what has been consummated.”

Daemon’s hand tightened on the hilt of his sword, but he did not draw it. Aemond’s words, as blunt and provocative as they were, held the weight of truth, and that was what infuriated Daemon most of all.

“The marriage must happen,” Otto pressed, sensing the shift in the room. “And it should happen soon, before word spreads and this matter becomes a scandal that neither house can afford.”

Aemond did not miss the opportunity to twist the knife deeper. “Indeed,” he said, his voice smooth, dripping with a satisfaction that only inflamed Daemon’s ire further. “The ceremony should be conducted in the traditions of old Valyria, where fire and blood bind us as one. And it should be done with haste.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the room before delivering the final blow. “For I hope that soon, another dragon will be born of our union.”

The implication hung heavy in the air, and Rhaenyra’s face turned ashen, her fury giving way to something colder, more calculating. Daemon, however, looked ready to strike again, his entire body tensed with the desire to lash out, to wipe that smug look off Aemond’s face.

But Aemond stood tall, his gaze steady, unflinching in the face of Daemon’s rage. He knew he had won. The plan had worked flawlessly. The whispers from Larys Strong, the bloodied sheets, the Maester’s examination—all had been carefully orchestrated to force this very outcome.

A tense silence stretched between them, thick and oppressive, until finally, it was Rhaenyra who spoke, her voice cold and sharp as a blade. “If this is to be done,” she said, “it will be done according to our customs, and with the respect due to our house. But know this, Aemond—should you ever bring harm to my daughter, not even your dragon will save you from my wrath.”

Aemond inclined his head slightly, accepting her warning with the same unyielding calm he had maintained throughout. “As you wish, sister. I will see to it that Y/N is treated with the honor she deserves.”

Daemon said nothing, but the look he leveled at Aemond spoke volumes. It was a promise, a vow that if Aemond ever crossed a line, there would be a reckoning, and it would be brutal.

But for now, Aemond had what he wanted. He had claimed you, and soon, the two of you will be bound in marriage. The thought of it sent a thrill of triumph through him, and though he kept his expression carefully neutral, inside, he reveled in his victory.

Otto, sensing that the matter was settled, nodded gravely. “Then it is decided. The preparations will begin at once.”

Without another word, Aemond turned and left the chamber, leaving behind a flushed, furious Daemon and a conflicted Rhaenyra. He knew that the days ahead would be tense, that there would be fallout from his actions, but none of it mattered now. You were his, and soon the world would see it, would understand that he was not to be trifled with.

And as he walked away, his thoughts were already on the future, on the life he would build with you, a future forged in fire and blood, just as the old ways dictated.

#house of the dragon #hotd aemond #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye

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deliciousangelfestival · 24 days ago

Text

The Imperfect Couple - 19 | End

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: Triggering conversation. Character died.

Words Count: 5,588

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

When life seems perfect, it often hides a test—a calm before the storm. For Steve, months after Peggy’s death, everything felt whole, secure. His presidency was steady, bolstered by approval from the public and respect from allies. Policies were sailing through Congress, his popularity was soaring, and his vision for the country was unfolding exactly as planned.

But something gnawed at him, an intuition sharpened by years in the military. A storm was coming—he could feel it.

“Mr. President,” Natasha’s voice cut through his thoughts as she entered the office with a stack of documents in her arms.

“Yes, Natasha?”

She placed a folder on his desk. “Here’s the speech draft for the press conference announcing your engagement to Miss Hazel,” she said, her tone carefully neutral. “If anything… goes south after the announcement.”

Steve took the folder, scanning the first page with a furrowed brow. He plans to introduce Hazel and Nate to the world. The public would need time to adjust to the news, and if the backlash was harsh, he’d be ready with a statement that cast Hazel in a sympathetic light.

“Thank you,” he replied, placing the folder aside.

Just then, the door burst open. An aide stumbled in, looking flushed and frantic. “Mr. President, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you need to see this immediately.” He thrust a tablet onto the desk, his hands shaking slightly as he pressed play.

A news anchor appeared on the screen, her voice grim and insistent. “Breaking news on an international scandal that could shake the nation. Our sources have uncovered what they’re calling ‘Deals in the Dark: Inside the Global Conspiracy Threatening Economic Stability.’”

The words "Steve Rogers" flashed across the screen, and the anchor continued, "Our investigation has linked these troubling deals directly to the highest office in the land.”

Steve’s face blanched. His name—his reputation—was being dragged through the mud in front of the entire country. Rage flared within him as he looked up, his jaw tight. “Get the Vice President in here. Now.”

A tense silence settled over the room as they waited. Moments later, Bucky entered, his expression carefully controlled, his eyes meeting Steve’s with a flash of concern.

“Close the door,” Steve ordered, his voice low and taut.

As the door clicked shut, Bucky stood before him, the weight of the situation hanging between them like a loaded gun. Steve’s hand curled into a fist, his voice barely a whisper but laced with fury. “Did you know about this?”

Bucky looked down, drawing a steadying breath, then met Steve’s piercing gaze. “I knew her was digging into things after her friend died, but… I didn’t know it would go this far.” He clenched his jaw. “I didn’t realize how deep she’d go—or how reckless she’d become.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed, a vein throbbing in his temple. “So you’re telling me you had no idea?”

“No, I didn’t,” Bucky admitted, his voice weighted with regret. “And I’m sorry, Steve. I’ll make this right. If you need a name to take the fall… blame me. I’ll shoulder this.”

Steve looked at him, surprised. Here was his Vice President—his friend—willing to sacrifice himself to protect him. It would be so easy to accept the offer, to let Bucky take the brunt of the fallout. It would keep Steve’s image intact, and Bucky could be quietly replaced.

But the advantage of having Bucky loyal by his side was too great. “No,” Steve replied, shaking his head. “This wasn’t your doing. And I need you here, not buried under this scandal.”

Bucky stepped forward, his gaze steady. “It’s alright, Steve. I haven’t done much lately as Vice President anyway. Let me take this on. We’re a team, aren’t we? Your problems are mine.”

Steve paused, looking at him, his anger tempered by the loyalty in Bucky’s eyes. “You’d take this for me?”

“Without hesitation,” Bucky replied firmly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

Steve exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He extended a hand, and Bucky took it, their grips strong, but their shared look even stronger. Then, in a rare moment of mutual trust, Steve pulled him into a fierce, brotherly embrace.

“Thank you, Bucky,” he murmured, his voice softened with unspoken gratitude.

As they pulled back, Bucky’s expression was resolute. “Whatever’s coming,” he said, his voice low, “we’re facing it together.”

Steve nodded, his mind racing with strategy and resolve. The scandal might be a blow, but with Bucky at his side, he felt fortified, ready to weather the storm—no matter how dark it threatened to become.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

With Bucky's promise still fresh in the air, Steve watched as his vice president worked hard to keep issues from flaring up. Bucky stood tall, his confidence showing as he spoke to reporters and citizens, assuring them that their concerns were being handled. But underneath, Steve could sense the tension in Bucky—his jaw tightened, and worry flickered in his eyes whenever new problems popped up.

Each time one issue seemed to fade, another arose, and it always seemed to lead back to you.

As Steve stood in the Oval Office, the weight of the scandals crashing down around him felt almost suffocating. Illegal domestic surveillance, military manipulation, a nuclear program scandal, and Stark Industries' data misuse—all of it traced back to you. The walls felt like they were closing in as he realized you were the mastermind behind this revelation. Even Bucky was oblivious to the full extent of the details.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady the rising tide of anger and betrayal, and faced you across the room. The tension hung heavy in the air, electric and dangerous. “When will you stop?” he demanded, his voice low and filled with barely restrained fury. “This is not only hurting me but also Bucky.”

You met his gaze, unflinching, your own anger simmering just below the surface. “Come and kill me, you crazy sociopath,” you shot back, your voice dripping with defiance.

Steve took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides. “If you keep doing this, you’ll ruin the future of Nate’s life,” he warned, his tone now tinged with a desperate edge.

“I knew you have a soft spot for him. And I appreciate it,” he sneered. “But imagine him being branded with the image of being the illegitimate child, with his father as the most evil president in history.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “Or you could choose this one: he’ll find out who I really am. Instead of shame, he’ll be proud to be the son of the president.”

“You fucking psycho,” you spat, taking a step back, putting space between you and the weight of your shared history. “Using your own son as your shield.”

Steve shook his head, disbelief mingling with a simmering rage. “You hate me because I killed your friend. Sure, I understand that. But if he were still alive, your husband and I probably couldn’t win the election.”

As the two of you locked eyes, the atmosphere crackled with tension—a brutal dance of hurt and anger, intertwined with a strange sense of familiarity. Steve’s breath quickened, the realization dawning on him that the battle wasn’t just external; it was deeply personal, and it threatened to consume them both.

“Everything is about paying back. Everyone in here knows everyone’s secrets.” Steve's voice was cold, his jaw clenched tightly as he glared at you, the tension in the air crackling like electricity. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, as if holding back the urge to lash out.

"I hate people like you—the idealistic type," Steve said, his voice low and simmering with frustration. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he locked onto yours, the tension in the air palpable. "If you get rid of me, there will only be another just like me."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

After talking to Steve, you returned home, your heart still racing with the weight of the conversation. As you stepped through the door, you saw Bucky waiting for you, his expression unreadable. The moment you locked eyes, tension filled the room.

"You’re just a puppet for Steve," you spat, your voice dripping with disdain. "I’m so ashamed of you."

Bucky's face hardened, his jaw clenched tightly as he stepped closer, his frustration boiling over. "You don’t understand anything! I’m doing what I have to do," he shot back, his tone sharp and defensive.

“Doing what you have to do?” you scoffed, your hands trembling with anger. “You’re covering up Ian’s death! You’re a coward for letting this happen!” Your words hung heavy in the air, each accusation striking a nerve as you paced back and forth, unable to contain your rage.

Bucky’s eyes flashed with a mix of hurt and anger. “You think it’s that simple? It’s not just about me! I have to protect what’s left of this place, even if it means making sacrifices!” He ran a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in the way his fingers curled into his scalp.

You shook your head, refusing to back down. “Sacrifices? You mean sacrificing your integrity? You’ve lost yourself to this game, Bucky! I can’t believe you let Steve manipulate you like this.”

Unbeknownst to both of you, your heated argument was being overheard. Natasha listened intently from the hidden bug that had been planted in the room, her brow furrowed with concern as she glanced at Steve. “Both of them are fighting. Bucky sounds surprised,” she informed him, her tone serious.

Steve leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk forming on his lips. “Good,” he replied, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. He relished the chaos unfolding, knowing that conflict could lead to clarity, both for Bucky and for you. The storm brewing between you two was exactly what he needed.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Even though there was turmoil at home, everything had to keep going. Bucky had to accompany Steve to attend the parade. The parade was a vibrant spectacle, a sea of red, white, and blue, with flags fluttering in the crisp air. Cheerful crowds lined the streets, waving banners and chanting the names of their leaders, their excitement palpable.

"Mr. President! Mr. President!" they roared, their voices a chorus of admiration for Steve Rogers, who stood tall and confident, a smile breaking across his face as he waved back. The warmth of the people's adoration radiated around him, but as the crowd's energy surged, the atmosphere felt electric, almost frenetic.

Beside him, Bucky Barnes maintained a more stoic demeanor. Though he wore the badge of Vice President, the cheers seemed to pass over him, fewer and far between. He appreciated the excitement but felt a twinge of disappointment that the cheers weren't for him. He turned to Steve, his brow furrowing slightly, and remarked dryly, "You know, I thought they would be a bit more enthusiastic about me."

Steve had brought Bucky here to entertain him because he knew about the problems between Bucky and you. You're wild and couldn't be tamed.

Steve chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned closer, "Put a leash on your wife, or she'll embarrass this country." His laughter rang out, mingling with the cheers of the crowd, but Bucky's gaze drifted past him, scanning the parade route.

"Yeah," Bucky replied, a hint of agreement in his voice, but his eyes were still fixed on the crowd. There was a tension in the air that he couldn’t quite place.

Steve turned to Bucky, his brow slightly furrowed with concern. "How is she?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Bucky crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his jaw clenched as he replied, "I told her to be quieter."

“Good,” Steve said, his expression softening a bit. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before continuing, "I’m planning to have Hazel by my side."

Bucky's eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. "What?" he exclaimed, his posture tensing as he processed the implications of Steve’s words.

"I knew you’d know," Steve said, a hint of regret creeping into his tone. He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "And I’m sorry. But I promise you, I will give Hazel and Nate the best future."

Bucky fell silent, the weight of Steve’s promise hanging in the air between them. He looked away for a moment, his thoughts racing, before finally nodding, a mix of resignation and reluctant acceptance etched on his face.

Steve smiled, relief washing over him as he saw Bucky's reaction. There was a sense of camaraderie in the moment, a silent understanding forged in the midst of tension. But as Bucky looked at Steve, his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty, hinting at the underlying conflict that still simmered just beneath the surface.

"I'm so glad to have you as my partner," Steve continued, sincerity evident in his tone. "May we work together until we die."

"Until we die," Bucky murmured, his voice almost lost in the surrounding commotion.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the noise, calling out, "Barnes!" A hand waved from the throng, the first time anyone had shouted his name that day. Bucky glanced at the person but didn’t respond with a wave like Steve did. Instead, he gave a subtle nod, a flicker of acknowledgment that felt more calculated than celebratory.

In that instant, chaos erupted. "KYAAA!!!"

A sharp crack rang out, slicing through the jubilant atmosphere. Bucky staggered as if struck by a physical blow, his eyes widening in shock.

The cheers turned into gasps of disbelief, and screams erupted as the crowd reacted in panic, some dropping to the ground, others frantically searching for cover. The Secret Service sprang into action, "Protect the Vice-President!", a wall of suits forming around Bucky as people pushed back in terror, the once-cheerful parade transformed into a scene of horror.

"Bucky!" Steve shouted, rushing forward, his heart pounding as he reached his partner's side. The world around him blurred, and all he could focus on was Bucky, crumpling to the ground.

Everyone was shouting, the air thick with fear and confusion, but all Steve heard was the ragged sound of his own breathing and the desperate cry of his friend. "Bucky!" he repeated, urgency lacing his tone.

Bucky's breath came in ragged gasps, his body sprawled on the pavement. The color drained from his face as he struggled to lift his hand, feeling the warmth of blood seeping through his fingers. With a surge of effort, he grasped Steve's arm, pulling him closer, anchoring himself to his partner even as the life slipped away from him. "All hail the President," he managed, his voice weak but resolute.

Steve's expression shifted from shock to horror, his body taut with the weight of impending dread. Bucky's grip tightened, holding him in place as if preventing him from moving, creating a storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm them both. "Bucky, stay with me," he urged, desperation lacing his tone.

Bucky locked eyes with Steve, seeing the fear reflected there. A strange calm washed over him as he whispered, "As Nate's father, this is my gift for you."

Then, without warning, a searing pain tore through Steve’s chest, a sharp shot of agony that rooted him to the spot. The world blurred around him as he struggled to comprehend what was happening, realizing in that instant that he was the true target.

Steve felt the impact before he could process the meaning behind Bucky’s words. The world around them seemed to slow as the realization of betrayal hit him. He caught a glimpse of Bucky's fading form, and in that moment, a twisted smirk crept across his lips. "Well played," he murmured, before the darkness consumed him, and he dropped to the ground.

Bucky’s grip slackened, the warmth of his hand slipping away. Bucky’s body went limp, and as everything turned dark around him, Steve felt his own strength faltering.

That day, which was meant to be a celebration, turned into a day of mourning. Two main leaders of the country were injured, and no one knew who was behind the attack. With the most important figures in the nation harmed, it felt like an embarrassment for a country that prided itself on its strength.

Both parties in the government reached a silent agreement to keep the situation under wraps and portray Steve as a hero.

The news headlines that would follow would echo through history: “The President Dies Protecting the Vice President.” It would be a legacy of sacrifice, a testament to their bond. Steve Rogers would forever be remembered as the only president who lost his life protecting another, a tragedy that would resonate for generations.

Everyone would remember him as a good symbol, sacrificing himself for someone, without recalling the darker aspects of his actions. This was the last gift Bucky gave to him.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

2 days later

Bucky's eyes fluttered open, the sterile brightness of the hospital room piercing through the haze of his coma. As his surroundings came into focus, the first thing he saw was you, your face streaked with tears, a mixture of relief and anger etched across your features.

You rushed to his side, gripping his arm tightly, your voice trembling with emotion. "You idiot! What kind of plan was that? Risking your life?"

Bucky's brow furrowed slightly as he tried to process your words, his voice hoarse but steady. "Didn't I tell you? I will accept it if you hurt me."

Both of you pretended to fight to keep Steve from suspecting anything. He knew how much Bucky loved you, and with the two of you constantly bickering, he wouldn't notice that someone else had hired an assassin.

It was Caroline. She was the one who hired the sniper to take Steve's life. Don’t mess with a mother—or a woman like her.

Bucky getting shot first was all part of the plan. Caroline’s intention was to take out Steve, but Bucky warned her that he would also become a suspect if that happened.

Instead, he proposed that he get hurt first, diverting everyone’s attention to him, allowing Steve to be vulnerable next.

It was a risky plan—an idiotic one, really. But Bucky insisted, determined to see it through despite the danger that loomed over them all.

A deep sigh escaped your lips, a blend of frustration and relief washing over you. You leaned against his chest, resting your head there, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your cheek. In that moment, everything else faded away—the anger, the fear—and all that mattered was that he was alive.

Risking his life was necessary to make his plan work. He didn't want the past six years of his efforts to go to waste.

The past six years had been exhausting for Bucky Barnes. He had immersed himself in the treacherous waters of politics, drawn in by the intoxicating taste of power that left a lingering sweetness on his tongue.

He quickly realized that understanding the law was not merely a tool; it was a weapon. Knowledge of loopholes became his advantage, a means to navigate the convoluted game of governance. But knowing the rules wasn’t enough; he needed to be ruthless. That was where Steve Rogers came into the picture—his mentor, a family friend for years, whose facade of integrity masked a far more sinister reality.

In Bucky’s eyes, Steve had always been perfect, a paragon of virtue. But as time wore on, the veneer began to crack, revealing the monstrous truth lurking beneath.

Steve was a predator cloaked in a hero’s guise. His charming smile belied a voracious greed that left a bloody trail in its wake. It was a shock to discover that Steve had been having an affair with Hazel, and now he was the father of Nate, the child whose very existence felt like a dagger to Bucky’s heart.

This betrayal was too much to bear. Bucky’s hatred for the man he once idolized simmered just below the surface, boiling over as he considered how to dismantle the carefully constructed empire Steve had built. Bucky knew the rules; he understood the political landscape better than most. But how could he bring down someone so deeply entrenched in the system?

Despite all his advantages, Steve believed he was the master of this game. No, he wasn’t. Bucky’s confidence swelled as he acknowledged that Steve’s skills—his war experience, his tactical mind—would ultimately falter against the true currency of politics. In this brutal arena, the real gold was connections and money. Behind every politician lurked unseen puppet masters pulling the strings, and Steve was no exception.

Bucky knew that while Steve had forged connections, he lacked the pedigree that defined the upper echelons of power. Steve had been a nobody until Peggy Carter had invited him into their circle, and that was when they made a monumental mistake—choosing Steve. He might have had his allies, but he would never be blue blood like Bucky and Peggy.

Then there was Peggy. The last straw. Bucky’s heart twisted as he recalled the circumstances of her death. He was all too aware that it had been Steve's machinations that had ultimately led to her demise. Bucky had witnessed the toll it took on her, the way she had struggled under the weight of her decisions, her life unraveling in the shadow of Steve's ambition. Bucky’s hands tightened into fists at the memory.

Caroline had been the voice of caution, her words echoing in his mind: “This is why you never bite the hand that feeds you.”

She may not have been a good mother, but she had been a loyal friend to Peggy, always protecting her interests, ensuring that her secrets remained buried. Bucky could see how easily Caroline could hire an assassin, how she moved through the shadows like a whisper, orchestrating the chaos without ever getting her hands dirty.

He never thought you and Caroline would join forces to rid the world of Steve. With each passing day, Bucky felt the walls closing in, the weight of the decisions he had to make pressing down on him like a vice. Steve would fall; it was only a matter of time.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky stood in the Oval Office, a resolute figure beside the iconic Resolute Desk, a Bible open in front of him. The room was thick with anticipation, everyone watching him intently as he prepared to deliver his vow. His posture was firm, shoulders squared, as he looked around at the faces of his colleagues and allies, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He glanced at the words on the page, drawing strength from their meaning as he readied himself to speak.

With a steady voice, he began, "I stand before you today, not just as your president, but as a servant of the people. I vow to uphold the Constitution, to protect the rights of every citizen, and to work tirelessly for the betterment of our nation. Together, we will fight against corruption and ensure that government truly serves the people. I promise to lead with integrity, to listen to your voices, and to bring about the change we so desperately need."

You stood behind him, pride swelling in your chest as you witnessed Bucky fulfill his promise to become president.

Behind you sat Caroline and Julius, the latter in his wheelchair, their expressions a mix of hope and admiration. Bucky’s oldest brother, Shawn, had called to congratulate him, his voice brimming with encouragement. Your brother Tim stood nearby, a smile on his face, reflecting the joy that filled the room. At the back, Hazel lingered, her posture tense and withdrawn, reluctant to stand close to her family.

As the applause began and everyone congratulated Bucky and you, Natasha approached Hazel, who stood near the corner as if she wanted to hide.

Perhaps she was too embarrassed to be there. Before, she had come to the White House as Steve's mistress, and everyone knew who she was but kept their mouths shut. This time, she was here only as Bucky's sister. “I have something for you,” Natasha said, extending an envelope toward her.

Hazel hesitated, her brows furrowing in confusion. “For me?” she asked, glancing from the letter to Natasha, unsure of what to expect.

Natasha nodded, a subtle smile breaking through her serious exterior. “Yes, it’s from Steve.” With that, she stepped back to take her position.

Hazel’s fingers trembled slightly as she took the letter, the weight of it heavy in her hand. As she opened it, memories flooded back, and she felt a rush of emotions. It was a final message from Steve, words that resonated with her deeply.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Hazel read the heartfelt letter, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Hazel,

If you’re reading this, it means I’m probably no longer living. And that's okay; I've come to accept it. The world I’ve inhabited has been fraught with danger, and I’ve made choices that have led me here.

Hazel, from the moment I met you, it felt like looking into a mirror—a reflection of my own heart and soul. You brought warmth and light into my life, even when I was lost in darkness. Your strength has always amazed me, and I want you to carry that with you as you move forward.

Live the life you’ve always wanted. I’ve made arrangements for you and Nate, ensuring you both have the financial support you need to thrive.

Please, for our Nate, support him and listen to him. He will need you more than ever now, and I have every confidence in your ability to guide him.

If there is a next life, I hope we never meet again. You deserve someone better than me. Now that I’m gone, please try to forget me and the mistakes I made. I genuinely wish you and Nate nothing but the best.

Steve Rogers

P.S. Don’t worry about the twins. They’ve been independent since they were young and have the Carters to guide them. They’ll be okay."

Tears fell onto the letter as Hazel finished reading it.

“Mom?” Nate's small voice broke through her moment of grief.

Hazel looked down at her son, the last legacy of Steve, and quickly wiped her tears away. “Do you want to visit Uncle Steve?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Nate nodded enthusiastically, his bright eyes shining with admiration. “Yes! He’s a hero for saving Uncle Bucky!”

Hazel flinched at the mention of Bucky, but she forced a smile, wanting to be strong for her son. She knelt down to his level and took his small hands in hers, feeling the warmth of his tiny fingers. With her other hand, she clutched the letter written by Steve, a reminder of his love and hopes for her.

Together, they held hands as they walked, Hazel’s heart swelling with determination. Just as Steve had wished, she would live life to the fullest and be a great mother to Nate.

After Hazel and Nate left, Natasha approached Bucky with a serious expression. “Both of them have left,” she informed him.

Bucky turned to her, his demeanor cool and composed, devoid of any trace of warmth. “She read the letter?” he asked, his voice steady and flat.

“Yes,” Natasha replied, nodding her head.

“Did she believe it?” Bucky pressed, his gaze sharp and focused.

“I hired a professional to copy Steve's signature, and I added a bit of his perfume to the paper,” Natasha explained, her tone measured and confident.

“Good.” Bucky’s expression remained impassive, his eyes betraying no emotion. He had written the letter himself, crafting it to sound like it came from Steve. His intention was clear: he wanted Hazel to move on from Steve, to find a new path without the shadows of the past weighing her down. This was necessary for her future, and he understood the sacrifices it took to ensure that.

“Good job.” Bucky looked at Natasha again, and she nodded in acknowledgment.

It was a curious alliance—how could a loyal supporter of Steve choose to work with Bucky? The answer lay in humanity. Natasha had pledged her loyalty to Steve because he saved her from the chaos of war when she had no one to turn to. In her eyes, he was a hero, and she had turned a blind eye and deaf ear to his misdeeds, including the affair with Hazel.

But everything changed when she witnessed the heartlessness Steve displayed toward Peggy. The righteous man she once admired had morphed into a monster, and her faith in him shattered. With Steve’s death, Natasha reevaluated her principles and decided to align herself with Bucky.

Bucky brought her on board because he recognized her skills and capabilities. He needed people like Natasha—sharp, resourceful, and fiercely dedicated. But he also understood the value of loyalty and did not intend to take it for granted. Their partnership was strategic, grounded in the shared goal of reshaping the political landscape, and Bucky was determined to build a team that could challenge the corruption that had long plagued their world.

“Have you got everything you need?” your voice pulled him away from his thoughts.

“Yes,” he replied, a smile breaking through his usual stoicism as he took your hand in his.

As you both walked through the grand halls of the White House, the sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the polished floors. Bucky’s grip on your hand was firm, steady, a reassuring anchor in the midst of the political storm surrounding him.

Bucky had his share of greed, but he loathed those who didn’t know their limits. Among those were his so-called friends, Edgar and Brock. Together with Steve, they formed a trio of self-serving opportunists, always proclaiming their actions were “for the people” while their true motivations were purely selfish—“for me, me, and me.”

What set Bucky apart from Steve, Edgar, and Brock was his ambition to dismantle the very system they thrived in. He wanted to rid politics of corrupt individuals like them, who masqueraded their greed as altruism. Bucky had seen too much of the damage they had inflicted on the community, and he was determined to be the catalyst for change. He refused to become like them.

To clean up the government, he knew he had to start with this corrupt trio. It was a slow and grueling process, requiring patience and strategy, but Bucky was committed to the fight. He would work behind the scenes, gathering evidence, building alliances, and slowly dismantling their influence. It was exhausting, but he was relentless.

His ultimate goal extended beyond simply removing them from power. He envisioned a government rebuilt on integrity, one that truly served the interests of the people rather than the egos of a few. The road ahead was fraught with challenges, but he was willing to face them head-on. Every step he took toward exposing the trio brought him closer to realizing his vision of a more just and equitable political landscape.

As Bucky navigated the murky waters of politics, he felt the weight of his mission pressing down on him. He was no longer just a pawn in the game; he was a player with a purpose. This time, he wouldn’t be silenced. He was determined to take the fight to them, fueled by a deep resolve to expose their hypocrisy and restore honor to a system long tainted by greed.

But alongside you, he realized something important: for an imperfect couple, you both made a perfect team. As you walked together, side by side, it felt like you were crossing a finish line, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. Each step was a testament to your shared commitment—a bond forged in trust and understanding, built on the ashes of past mistakes.

You glanced up at him, and in that moment, you could see the determination in his eyes, the fire that ignited whenever he believed in something. Together, you were more than just individuals; you were partners united in a common cause, ready to fight for a better future. In the complicated world of power and betrayal, your partnership was a beacon of hope, lighting the way toward justice and change.

-The End-

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who followed this series until the end. This story has its flaws, but I truly appreciate your support and dedication. It was incredibly difficult for me to wrap up this journey and say goodbye to Bucky and his fierce ex-wife. Writing a tale that intertwines politics with romance has been both a challenging and rewarding experience. I've learned so much about character development and the complexities of relationships, and I'm grateful to have shared this journey with all of you. Your feedback and encouragement have meant the world to me.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

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floralcyanide · 1 year ago

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˚₊✩‧₊◜kinktober 2023! ―

― day twelve ⛧ threesome

Billy Loomis x Stu Macher x GN!Reader

After you, Billy, and Stu's grand plan goes as expected, a little celebration ensues.

warnings: smut, threesome, gender neutral reader, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, rough oral sex (m receiving) cum eating

word count: 643

author's note: hello hello so sorry this is like, a week late lol life has been beating the fuck out of me lately and I've been busy and exhausted and stressed. lots of stuff to get caught up on like classwork, but also kinktober!! stay tuned!! thanks for any feedback (:

kinktober masterpost | kinktober taglist form | main masterlist | main taglist form

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

It was a good plan, a great plan, even. And it worked out in the end without a hitch.

You, Billy, and Stu successfully fulfilled your plan to get your revenge against Sidney Prescott, and now you’re celebrating in Stu’s bedroom. The three of you were covered in blood and downing pounds and pounds of liquor, and one of you (you can’t recall who anymore) got the bright idea to play truth or dare. Might as well air out your dirty laundry now that the three of you are all connected by blood. The game turned frisky quickly when you dared Billy to kiss Stu. After Billy had yet to pull away, you decided to get in on the action by attacking Stu’s neck with your teeth. And it sort of snowballed from there. Now, you’re sitting on Stu’s lap on the edge of his bed, his cock buried deep inside you, while Billy’s standing in front of you, his cock pounding the back of your throat. Being so full never felt so right. The adrenaline from the earlier murders mixed with the alcohol is doing wonders for your brain, as well as the untapped pleasure you’re experiencing from both ends of your body.

“Taking my cock like such a good little slut,” Billy praises as he fucks your face, his hands gripping the sides of your head for leverage.

Stu bucks his hips into your ass, his tip brushing your cervix with every movement he makes. He doesn’t pull all the way out and slam back in, instead, he keeps you seated and still until he wishes to fuck into you. And when he does, it’s hard and sudden. Stu decides to change his mind and begins to lift you by your hips so you pull off his cock almost all the way before he guides you back down. Your ass slaps against his thighs as he gains a rhythm for you, your body limp and allowing Stu and Billy to do whatever they want to it.

“You’re so tight, Jesus,” Stu curses as your hole clenches around him.

Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Stu then starts bobbing your head back and forth along Billy’s cock. Billy lets go of your head and smirks as he watches Stu shove your face forward until you gag. You open your mouth as far as your jaw will allow, letting Stu force you to gag on Billy, his length mercilessly fucking your throat rapidly. You moan around him, gagging and drooling pitifully.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Billy grits his teeth, his cock twitching as he watches Stu fuck in and out of your tight entrance flawlessly.

“Can you swallow my cum for me, sweetheart? Be a good little slut? Hmm?” Billy grabs your jaw, pressing his fingers into it as he stares directly into your eyes.

You nod the best you can as he snaps his hips into your face, chasing his orgasm. Stu watches as Billy comes undone in your throat and on your tongue, the tip of his cock hitting that sensitive spot inside you and sending him to his own release. Swallowing Billy’s cum, your release follows soon after, the sensation of being filled with cum and cock sending you over the edge. You continue to bounce on Stu and suck off Billy, milking them of everything they have to offer as you ride out your high.

They both pull out of you, and you whimper at the loss of fullness. Stu gently drags you onto the bed to lie down with him, and Billy crawls next to you under the sheets. There’s just enough room for all three of you in Stu’s full-size bed. There, you spend the rest of the night giggling about what you just did and planning the next person or people to torment in your Ghostface costumes.

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writer-freak · 2 months ago

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Where hate meets heat | Gojo x gn reader

Kinktober week 2 - hate fucking, fighting as foreplay and sixty nine

Words : 2.6k

Warning: NSFW, reader is gn, no genital description, unprotected sex, use of lube, fingering/prep, english isn't my first language

A/n: I struggled a bit with this especially because I tried my best keeping it gender neutral and in the end I wrote quite a lot. And thank you bestie for the title idea <3.

Thank you for reading and Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and really motivate me to write more <3

The tension between you and Gojo had always been palpable. Every conversation ended in an argument, every glance was seen as a challenge. And today was no different.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” you snapped, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

Gojo smirked, his signature grin flashing across his face. “I’m insufferable? That’s rich coming from you,” he shot back, his voice laced with mock amusement.

You felt your frustration rise, heat filling your chest. “You believe you’re so great, don’t you? Just because you think you're the strongest?”

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “I don’t think I’m the strongest. I know I am.”

“You’re so full of yourself, Gojo,” you said in frustration, your eyes narrowing as your fists clenched at your sides.

He smirked, leaning lazily against the training room wall, his cocky grin spreading wider. “And you’re so cute when you’re angry. Wanna keep going? You’re just upset you can’t win.”

Familiar frustration started boiling up. “Shut up and fight me, let's settle this once and for all” you growled, stepping closer, your body tense with barely restrained energy.

“Oh, you want to fight?” His voice dropped, something dark and amused creeping in, eyes full of anticipation behind his glasses. “I thought we were just playing, but if you insist…”

Without warning, you lunged. The moment your fist met his palm, adrenaline shot through the both of you. It wasn’t just anger anymore—something else crackled between you two. Each strike and counter was filled with a different kind of tension, a back-and-forth exchange of raw, pulsing energy that burned hotter the longer it went on.

Gojo grinned at every dodge, every frustrated growl escaping your lips, his own breathing quickening, but not from exertion, but instead from something else entirely.

“You’re getting slow, I expected more from you” he taunted, eyes shining as he sidestepped another attack, moving fluidly, his breath hot against your neck as he appeared just behind you. “You sure you can handle this?”

“Shut up,” you growled your elbow shot backward, aiming for his smug face, but he caught it, spinning you around and pressing you into the wall. Your chests collided, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The heavy breathing, the heat radiating from his body—Gojo was so close, too close.

“Fuck you,” you spat, but your voice wavered with something more than fury. Your heart was beating out of your chest, every nerve alight as his hand slowly trailed down your arm, his grip on you firm yet teasing.

He chuckled, voice low. “Is that what you want? Because I could make that happen.”

Your heart pounded as you pushed back against him, your bodies straining against each other as you tried twisting out of his grip. “You’re infuriating,” you hissed, but your voice lacked its usual bite. There was something else now—an edge of desperation that you couldn’t quite ignore.

“Am I?” Gojo’s voice was low, almost a purr as he pushed even closer, behind his glasses his eyes were dark sending a shiver down your spine. “Or are you just frustrated because you can’t beat me?”

Your breath was caught in your throat as he reached out, his fingers brushing against your neck, his touch light but leaving an unbearable heat behind. You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But he just smirked, his hand trailing down until it was resting against your hip.

“You know,” he murmured, leaning in close, his lips almost brushing against yours. “There are other ways to work out that frustration.”

You hated the way a shiver ran down your spine at his words, hated the way your body reacted to the heat of his touch. But more than that, you hated the way his gaze seemed to burn right through you, seeing everything you tried so hard to hide.

“Shut up,” you whispered, before a gasp escaped you as his knee nudged between your legs, the friction barely there but enough to set your skin aflame. Your voice shook as you grabbed the front of his shirt "Just… shut up.”

But instead of pushing him away, you pulled him in for a searing kiss.

The kiss was hard and angry, teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance. Pouring every ounce of hidden desire into it while continuing the battle from before. He reacted just as heated his hands having a bruising grip on your hips as he pushed you against the wall.

Each push and pull, and the sharp gasps exchanged between kisses, all deepened the tension. You took this opportunity and spun out of his grip kicking his legs from under him, straddling him on the floor in a quick, fluid motion. His smirk didn’t falter for a second, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him.

“Getting cocky now?” he murmured, eyes alight with lust and challenge.

“I’m just getting started,” you shot back, grinding down on him for emphasis. His breath hitched, his cock twitching against you through the fabric of your clothes.

Gojo’s response was immediate. In one swift motion, he reversed the position, pinning you beneath him on the training room floor, a flash of victory in his eyes. “So eager, aren’t you?” His voice was dripping with smug satisfaction as his lips brushed your ear. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

The next thing you knew, you were both in his dorm room, clothes hastily discarded, the fight continuing with every tug, nip, and bite. Neither of you were willing to fully give in, both fighting for control and dominance, even now.

“Still wanna challenge me?” Gojo whispered, his voice husky as he hovered over you, his gaze dark with desire.

Instead of answering, you shoved him back, hard. He let out a breathless laugh as you scrambled over him, hands pinning his wrists to the bed. “Always.” You leaned in capturing his lips in a bruising kiss.

“How about we make this more interesting?” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and teasing. “A little competition, maybe?”

You raised an eyebrow, your own competitiveness flaring up at the challenge in his tone. “What kind of competition?”

His smile was wicked as he shifted freeing his hands from your grip, then he let them wander down your body until they reached your pants. “Let’s see who can hold out the longest,” he suggested his voice husky with anticipation. “Think you can handle it?”

You bit your lip, your heart racing as you met his gaze, the challenge clear in his eyes. “You’re on,” you breathed, your own voice shaking slightly before with a swift, deliberate movement, you slid down his body.

Kissing and biting your way down his chest before changing your position so that your sex was above his face. Gojo’s eyes lit up with anticipation, his hands instinctively gripping your thighs as you straddled his face, his cock standing stiff in front of you.

“Sixty-nine, huh?” His voice was muffled against your skin as he kissed the inside of your thigh, breath hot and teasing. “Bold move.”

You didn’t respond with words, simply running your tongue along his length, savoring the groan that escaped his lips as you took him into your mouth. "Simply thought that this was the fairest way."

But Gojo wasn’t one to be outdone. The moment you started, he retaliated with his own brand of intensity, his mouth latching onto your heat, tongue, and lips working in tandem to bring you to the edge.

The dual sensations were overwhelming. His cock twitched on your tongue with every moan you dragged out of him, and your legs shook as his tongue pushed you further toward your own release. The rhythm between you was relentless, each of you determined to break the other first.

He sucked at your sweet spot, his hand joining the assault, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. But you refused to let him have the upper hand, hollowing your cheeks and sucking harder on him, your hands gripping his thighs as you bobbed your head.

The pleasure built quickly—too quickly—and you could feel Gojo trembling beneath you as well, both of you on the brink of release.

“Not… giving in,” he gasped, his voice strained but full of competitive edge.

“Neither… am I,” you managed to choke out between breaths.

But in the end, it didn’t matter. You both lost at the same time, your bodies giving in to the intense pleasure that ripped through you simultaneously. The wave of euphoria washed over you both, your body trembling, muscles twitching as you collapsed beside him, breathless.

You both lay there for a moment, panting and sweaty, but the competition was still not over.

“You came first,” Gojo muttered between ragged breaths, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. His hand lazily traced circles on your thigh, his fingers grazing the skin just enough to send a lingering spark up your spine.

You scoffed, rolling over to face him, eyes narrowing. “Like hell I did. I felt you twitching first.”

Gojo’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Sure you did,” he taunted, voice dripping with mock amusement. “It’s cute that you think you won, though.”

Your blood boiled, not just from the challenge in his words, but from the way his gaze raked over your body. “You’re full of shit,” you snapped, pushing yourself up. “You lost.”

He moved faster than you could react, pinning you back to the mattress with ease, his body caging yours beneath him. His breath was hot on your ear as he growled, “Say that again.”

Your pulse spiked as the familiar anger swelled, and you pushed against his chest, but he didn’t budge. “I said,” you hissed, locking your gaze with his, “You. Lost.”

The smirk vanished from his face, replaced by a darker, hungrier expression. “You really wanna push me right now?” His voice was low, vibrating with barely contained frustration, but beneath it, you could feel the raw, primal desire coming up again.

Your lips curled into a defiant smile. “Do your worst.”

That was all it took. Gojo’s grip tightened on your wrists as he slammed his mouth onto yours in a bruising, desperate kiss. There was no more teasing, no more playing—this was pure heat, raw and unrestrained. His tongue battled with yours, teeth clashing as your bodies tangled together, a continuation of your earlier fight, only now it was fueled by lust.

“Always so fucking stubborn,” he growled against your lips, his voice rough with desire. He pressed his hips hard against yours, making you gasp at the delicious friction, already reigniting the fire low in your belly.

“Shut up and fuck me,” you shot back, your voice dripping with the same venom and need.

His eyes flashed with challenge, but instead of rushing, he smirked again. “I’m not done with you yet.” He opened his bedside drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube. The sight sent a fresh wave of heat through you as Gojo squeezed some onto his fingers, the cold slickness a sharp contrast to the burning tension between you.

“You think you can handle this?” he asked, voice low and teasing as his fingers slid against your entrance. He moved slowly at first, watching your reaction with that insufferable grin still plastered on his face.

You bit back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how badly you wanted him. “Is that all you’ve got?” you shot back, trying to keep your voice steady despite the growing heat curling through you.

Gojo chuckled darkly. “You’re gonna eat those words.” He pressed his fingers deeper, the slick slide of lube making the stretch more intense, but he didn’t let up. His touch was rough, and purposeful, as if reminding you who was in control. Every pump of his fingers sent sparks through your body, but you forced yourself to stay quiet, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg.

“Always such a tough one, huh?” he muttered, voice laced with challenge. “Let’s see how long that lasts.” He added another finger, curling them inside you, drawing out a sharp gasp you couldn’t hold back.

Your body jerked, your hands fisting the sheets beneath you. You wanted to curse him, wanted to tell him to fuck off—but instead, you bit your lip, your body betraying you as you pushed back against his hand.

“Admit it,” he growled, his fingers thrusting deeper, his other hand gripping your waist to keep you in place. “You’re already falling apart for me.”

“Fuck… off,” you managed to gasp out, even as your body trembled under his touch, right on the edge. He pulled his fingers out with a slow, deliberate slide, leaving you feeling empty, the loss of contact almost unbearable.

“Guess I’ll just have to make you beg then,” he muttered.

In one swift motion, he flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up with a roughness that made your breath hitch. The weight of his body pressed into yours, firm and relentless as he positioned himself behind you.

“Gonna fuck that attitude right out of you,” Gojo muttered, his breath hot against the back of your neck as he lined himself up and pushed in, slowly, making sure you felt every inch. The stretch was sharp, intense, but the slick lube made the slide almost too easy.

Your hands fisted the sheets again, a groan slipping out despite your best efforts to stay quiet. “You... talk too much,” you spat, pushing back against him, refusing to let him have the upper hand.

Gojo’s laugh was dark, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he picked up the pace. “We’ll see how much you’re talking when I’m done with you,” he growled, his hips slamming into yours in a hard, punishing rhythm. It wasn’t gentle, it was rough, fast, and exactly what you needed.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, mingled with your shared gasps and groans, filled the room, both of you fighting for control even now. “Is that all you’ve got?” you managed to gasp out, voice defiant despite the fire building in your core.

“Fuck... you,” he growled through gritted teeth, his hips driving into you harder, faster. “You’re... so fucking stubborn.”

“You... love it,” you shot back between panting breaths, the heat in your voice mirrored by the burning heat of his body moving against yours.

The bed creaked under the intensity, your bodies colliding with each thrust, the tension between you becoming tighter and tighter with each second. His hands gripped your waist harder, fingers digging into your skin as he slammed into you with bruising force, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

“Not... gonna let you win,” Gojo muttered, voice strained as he fought to keep control.

“Too... late,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper as you felt yourself teetering on the edge. But you weren’t giving in without a fight, rolling your hips back to match his pace, determined to push him just as far.

And then, with one final, brutal thrust, you both shattered. The pleasure ripped through you in waves, your body trembling beneath him as you came hard, every nerve alight with a raw, overpowering sensation. Gojo followed, his grip on your hips tightening as he came, his body shaking with the force of his release.

For a few moments, neither of you moved, both of you gasping for air as the aftershocks of your release slowly faded.

You collapsed onto the bed, both of you breathless and shaking, Gojo's weight pressing down on you. For a few moments, the room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing.

Gojo was the first to speak, his voice a bit raspy but carrying that familiar smugness. “Guess I win.”

You rolled your eyes, too exhausted to argue. “In your dreams.”

But there was no real bite to your words this time.

Divider by: @cafekitsune

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cece693 · 2 months ago

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Enemy (Edward Cullen x Werewolf GN! Reader)

Summary: Imprinting was supposed to be a good thing, not for you though. Fate seemed to be mocking you by having your imprint be a leech—Edward Cullen, to be more specific.

tags: gender-neutral reader, reader is a werewolf, post-Eclipse, Edward is your imprint, mentions of wanting to be dead, no established relationship

You were on enemy land, yet you didn’t care. Let them come. Let them do their worst. Maybe it’d be a mercy, a reprieve from the torment you’d been living. The trees around you stretched endlessly, their branches clawing at the sky like the fingers of ghosts, haunting you with every step you took into Cullen's territory.

Imprinting on a vampire—it should’ve been your death sentence. An abomination, they called it. The whispers, the disgusted glares, the sneers from your packmates. Your family wouldn’t even look you in the eye. So, why not wander where you weren't wanted? Why not provoke those you should be avoiding?

A snap of a twig echoed through the forest, and you halted, every muscle tensing. You knew he was there. You always knew. It was a curse, this damn imprinting, a cruel joke from the universe to force you to feel everything for the last person you should.

“Edward,” you spat, the bitterness in your voice impossible to hide. “I know you’re watching me. You may as well come out.” Silence stretched and then he emerged—graceful, quiet, like a shadow having been given a form. His golden eyes were fixed on you with such an intensity, it made your blood boil.

“You shouldn’t be here.” he said, his voice irritatingly soft, like he actually cared about your wellbeing.

A laugh escaped you, the sound harsh and bitter in the stillness. “And where should I be, huh? With my pack? My family?” You took a step toward him, your fists clenching at your sides. “Because let’s be honest, they’d prefer me dead. I imprinted on a vampire, Edward. That makes me as good as a traitor to them.” You forced yourself to meet his gaze, defiance burning in your eyes. “And you—you hate me, too. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

Edward’s expression tightened, but he didn’t break eye contact. That infuriating calm, as if nothing could shake him. It only fueled your anger. “I don’t hate you.” he whispered.

“Oh, don’t lie,” you snapped, shaking your head. “I know you do. How could you not? I broke up your happy little life with Bella, didn’t I? You were supposed to be with her, not be tied to…” You gestured toward yourself with a bitter laugh, “…whatever this is.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—pain, perhaps regret—but it was quickly replaced by his usual composure. “Bella and I were never meant to last,” he said with great honesty in his voice, catching you off guard. “We loved each other, but things changed. We changed. It was my choice to let her go.”

“Your choice?” You scoffed, narrowing your eyes. “Then why are you even here, Edward? Why bother with me? I’m just a mess—your sworn enemy, for crying out loud. If you hate this as much as I do, then do us both a favor and end it.”

He moved so quickly that you barely registered the motion. One second, he was standing a few feet away, the next he was in front of you, his hand gripping your arm with a surprising gentleness that left you frozen. His eyes bored into yours, a fire burning in their depths. “I told you, I don’t hate you,” he repeated, his voice edged with a hint of frustration. “And you’re not a mess, not to me.”

“You’re…” He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. “You’re my imprint. I didn’t ask for this, nor did you, but here we are. And I…I can’t stand to see you like this. I won’t lie and say it’s easy,” he admitted.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong. We can’t change what happened, but we can try to make something of it. Maybe we start with being friends?"

You barked a laugh, though it was devoid of humor. “Friends,” you echoed, tasting the word like it was foreign. “You think we can be friends?”

“It’s a start,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “And maybe, in time, it can be more. If we both want it to be.”

The vulnerability in his words caught you off guard. You expected pity, maybe even indifference, but not this—this honest hope that things could be different. You let out a shaky breath, feeling some tension drain from your shoulders. “Alright,” you murmured, the fight leaving you. “Friends…We can try.”

A small, tentative smile crept onto Edward’s lips, and for a moment, warmth spread through your chest, easing some of the ache that had settled there. It wasn’t a solution, not by far, but it was a beginning.

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brittscafe · 27 days ago

Text

Pairing: Sukuna Ryomen x gn! reader

Summary: Sukuna saves his s/o from danger and comforts them and it turns into something a little more...

Request: Heyo came across your account and you’re a really great writer! Saw that you’re accepting requests. Was wondering if you could do a Sukuna nsfw with a gender neutral reader? The reader is like his opposite: someone who sees the best in people, very soft hearted, etc. And Sukuna will do anything to protect his lover. Maybe slightly angsty where the s/o is in danger and Sukuna protects them. He mad af at whoever tried to hurt them, but his lovers begs him not to hurt the enemy. Sukuna shows mercy for once in his life and then takes his s/o away and takes care of them. Then later after the s/o is ok, Sukuna scolds them for being so trusting. They apologize profusely, feeling bad for making him worry. Then he tells them to be careful, implying he was just worried about them without really saying it cause he’s emotionally constipated. Then things get a bit…heated I guess you could say 😂 before they progress, Sukuna asks his partner if they want to go further to which they smile, giving their full consent. Maybe they’re a virgin and for once Sukuna is gentle in his life? So like fluffy nsfw, but Sukuna still teases them lovingly and such? Sorry for the long post lmaooo there’s no rush! Thank you

A/N: Heyyy! Thank you so much, glad you like my page <3 I hope I wrote the gn! reader part ok for the nsfw, i don't really write gn! for nsfw, but I hope you enjoy, much love!! <3

There is practically smoke pouring out of Sukuna's ears as he stomps on the ground. You're sitting on your knees in the dirt, heart ramming against your chest as Sukuna storms up to the person who was trying to hurt you.

The man crumbles in fear as Sukuna wraps a hand around their throat

"Wait!" your voice rings out and Sukuna pauses, holding his breath for a moment. He glances back at you, his expression softing as he gazes at you.

"What, y/n? Can't you wait until after I kill this idiot?" he snarls out, muscles throbbing. You shakily inhale and sit up on your knees.

"Wait, don't kill him. Please," you beg Sukuna. He glances back at the person who's struggling to breath due to his hand squeezing his throat so tightly, then back at you.

You're teary eyed and a frown is resting on your face. Sukuna sighs deeply and releases the man, who crumbles to the ground in defeat.

Sukuna rapidly spins around and marches over to you. His fists are clenched and he wears a panned expression on his face. You gulp, but a sudden gasp leaves your lips as Sukuna sweeps you up into his arms, taking off.

You rest your head against his chest, feeling so vulnerable in his strong arms as he whisks you away from the site. His arms are tight around you, making sure not to let go until you're back home.

"How could you be so trusting, y/n? It was some random man who turned out to harm you," Sukuna scolds you, hands gentle running over your body and checking for bruises or cuts.

You're sinking into the bed, Sukuna sitting beside you.

"I'm really sorry. I am so sorry. I really didn't mean to make you worry," your voice is wobbly as you rush through your words. Sukuna's eyes soften for a second and he reaches his hand out.

He cups your hand with his jaw, thumb brushing over your skin. "Just be careful, it would be really stupid of you to die," his voice is strict, but also gentle at the same time.

His words aren't the softest, but deep down you know they have a gentle meaning. In Sukuna's way, he's saying he cannot lose you.

"I just can't lose you, y/n. You're too important," Sukuna comments and your facial expression relaxes. He brings your face closer to his, thumb gripping onto your bottom lip and pulling it down.

You gaze into his eyes and Sukuna eagerly presses his lips against yours. You moan because of the suddenness as Sukuna pulls you into him.

Your lips collide together, desperate and needy. Sukuna presses you down into the mattress and climbs on top of you. He pins you into the bed and his hand explores your body.

His hand touches your most sensitive part and your body jolts. He pulls his hand away and breaks away from your warm lips.

"You're so jumpy," he chuckles out with a deep voice.

"Shut up," you groan out, tearing your eyes away from him. Your face is getting hot and you can feel a buzzing in between your legs.

"Do you want to keep going?" Sukuna whispers, lips hovering above yours. You breath wobbles and you smile, nodding your head. A grin spreads across his face and he smashes his lips against yours.

His hands waste no time slipping underneath your shirt and feeling your warm flesh. You press your body into his, gripping onto his shoulders tightly.

Sukuna pulls away from your lips and starts attacking your neck in a pile of wet kisses. He grabs onto your shirt and tears it off of you. His eyes gaze down at your bare top half and licks his lips.

"Stop staring..." you mumble out, bringing your hands up and covering yourself. He scoffs and pulls your hands away slowly and gently.

He sits up and takes off his shirt. Your mouth waters staring at his abs and muscular body. You squeeze your legs shut, trying to stop the buzzing feeling.

Sukuna reaches his hand down to his pants, taking them off. Your heart pounds against your chest and Sukuna's hand travels down in between your legs.

You gasp and arch your back, wanting more of him. He chuckles, hovering above you.

"You're so sensitive," he teases you, voice sending a shiver down your spine. Sukuna carefully takes off your pants and undergarments, along with his.

Your eyes lock onto his hard cock and your lips part open. He inches in between your legs, spreading them and making you feel vulnerable as ever.

"Now, stay still, ok? It might hurt a bit," Sukuna comforts you and you nod your head.

A tiny gasp leaves your mouth and Sukuna chuckles, settling inside of you. A smirk forms along his face as your jaw stays dropped opened, feeling him inside of you in your most sensitive place.

"Easy, y/n. I haven't even started yet and you're about to roll your eyes into the back of your head," he teases you, running his hand down your side and gripping your torso.

You chuckle nervously, stomach churning. "Shut up. I'm nervous," you admit. Sukuna cocks his head to the side and smiles warmly at you.

"I bet you are. So jumpy and nervous, can't wait to get enough of me, huh?" he teases you, slowly starting to move his hips back and forth.

You moan and gasp as he moves, you're so sensitive down there and he's so huge. Sukuna hangs his head low, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"God, you feel so good. You're already moaning so loud for me," Sukuna groans out, hips smacking in the room. Your moans grow louder and fill the lustful room.

Sukuna's cock throbs inside of you, ready to fill you up with his cum any moment now, but...he's got to hold on. He wants you to feel pleasure before he does, you deserve it.

"Sukuna...," you gasp out, eyes rolling into the back of his head. His cock makes you feel so good and the tears are filling up your eyes. It feels too good.

Your stomach starts to twist into tight knots and your body tenses up. Sukuna feels it and cups your cheek. You glance up at him, panting heavily.

"Just relax, ok? Be good for me, y/n. Let it feel good," he whispers into your ear, pounding into you. The way his skin slaps against yours makes you moan ever so loudly.

Your thighs start to shake as the stomach in your knots come undone. You gasp, letting out a series of moan as you cum hard. It rattles your body as Sukuna continues to thrust in and out of you.

"That's it. How did that feel?" he asks, voice shaky and grunty. You pant heavily and your chest thuds.

"Very good."

"Good. Oh...I'm about to..." Sukuna groans out, unable to finish his sentence.

Sukuna releases his seed in you with a deep throaty grunt, sinking down a bit, his chest almost pressed against yours. It's warm and oozing out of you.

Your fists are clenched around the bedsheets as Sukuna slowly slides out from you. He's panting heavily, collapsing beside you on the bed.

Sukuna wraps his arms around you, holding you close. Your body is still coming down from it's high, sweat gleaming on your forehead.

You rest your head on Sukuna's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. He cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your warm flesh.

He loves the feeling of your hot laying against his, soaking in the moments after a very joyful one.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

#jjk #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #jjk smut #sukuna smut #jujustsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #jjk ryomen

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the83rdgenius · 4 months ago

Text

| After Hours |

Pairing: Dottore x GN!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Gender Neutral Reader, No Pronouns for Reader, He/Him for Dottore, Blowjob, Face Fucking, Humiliation, Non-con, Reader has hair, Hair Pulling, Abuse, Cum Swallowing, Angst, Dottore has a short temper, Mention of biting off Dottore’s dick at one point but it doesn’t happen, 1.4k words.

A/n: Teehee I finally finished it. I hope you guys enjoy this. If there are any tags I missed please let me know! Also just a reminder to please read the tags and read this at your own risk!!!

Summary: Dottore punishes you after you so rudely interrupt his work.

Tags: @auphelia

Just a little bit more..

Dottore held the scalpel in his hands with precision as he reached his hand out to carefully make the final adjustment. He was close, so incredibly close. He needed only to remain steady and focused. Everything was going according to plan. He was just about to make one last adjustment when your voice echoed through the halls of the lab. In an instant his near perfect experiment had become a failure in a matter of seconds.

“Dottie! Dottie! I figured it out. I finally cracked this stupid thing wide open.” You sprinted towards his hunched over figure

He clenched his fist and tossed the scalpel onto the floor not caring where it landed. He dug his hands into his scalp and pulled harshly on his hair. Letting out a great big sigh he turned around to face you. You, who looked at him with a face of dwindling excitement.

“Dottie? Is something-” You asked, hands trembling as you slowly backed into the table behind you.

He grabbed your wrist and grit through his teeth. “What did I say about interrupting me while I’m working?”

“I-” You started to speak but were quickly dragged away.

Your heart pounded in your chest and tears began to well up in your eyes. Never in your entire relationship with Dottore had you seen this side of him. Sure, you heard rumors about his behavior, but surely he would never act rashly with you. Right?

Truthfully, you knew better than to interrupt him while he was working. Which is why it hurt all the more when Dottore showed his true colors.

Reaching the privacy of his room he tossed you onto the floor with a loud thud. The realization of what was about to happen had begun to seep in. You looked up at him broken hearted with a frightened look in your eyes, and he glared at you like you were the bane of his existence. In that moment you could practically feel yourself shrink in size. The man that you loved was no more, only a monster remained.

“I-I’m sorry, Dottie. I didn’t mean to-” You tried to reason with him, blinking away the tears that fell from your pleading eyes. You apologized as best as you could, but before you could try again, Dottore yanked you up by your hair.

“Quiet.” He demanded as he pushed your face against his crotch and rubbed your cheek against his hard on.

You whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut. The smell of his arousal stung your nose as you tried pushing him away. Sadly, Dottore was stronger than you and forced your face back against the area, again.

“This’ll only be harder the more you fight it, my love.” He said.

In your mind it was all a bad dream that you’d eventually wake up from. Yes, you reassured yourself, there was no way that what was happening could truly be real, but no matter how nightmarish everything seemed it was without a doubt real.

Before you could shed another tear Dottore had undone the button of his pants and with one hand still woven tightly in your hair, he used the other to release his cock from its confines. He rubbed his tip leaking with pre-cum against your wet cheek. You attempted to back away, push yourself off of his legs before he quickly yanked you back.

He smiled. “Open your mouth.”

The worst part of all was the way you listened to him, immediately doing as he told. You wished you had resisted a little at least, because in one swift motion he had his cock thrust into your mouth and poking the back of your throat. Tears frantically fell from your eyes as he began fucking your mouth at a fast pace, not bothering to consider whether you were okay or not.

Your voice muffled against the throbbing muscle, and your eyes looked up at him with a panicked expression. He almost felt bad for what he was doing. Almost.

You squirmed as you struggled to breathe. Looking around frantically for a way out of your unfortunate situation you started to feel your chest heave up and down.

“If you keep this up I’m gonna cum early.” Your eyes widened in horror. “And we wouldn’t want that now would we?”

You wanted to shake your head in agreement, but Dottore had other plans. Still gripping his hand in your hair he used his other one to hold your head into place, fucking your mouth with a hunger that rivaled those that starved. He didn’t say anything, only grunted and groaned as your mouth sucked him in such a pleasant way. You’d never seen him so blissed out before, so excited. It terrified you.

A part of you wanted to bite down until you were severed from his flesh, but you knew exactly how that would end. As horrible and disgusting as the situation was for you, you couldn’t bring yourself to bring any harm to Dottore. It was sad, really. You still protected and admired a man that was merely a figment of your imagination. He could never love you in the way you needed to be loved. Not now, not ever.

Dottore picked up the speed of his thrusts. Taking both hands and putting one on each side of your face he pistoned himself in and out of your mouth. He forced his way inside of your mouth, using your throat like a flesh light. You felt like you would both throw up and cough at any given second, but you forced the feeling down. More than anything you just needed to get through it in one piece, as long as you were alive it would suffice. You promised yourself you’d find a way out of Dottore's grasp the moment it was all over. The thought may have been naive but it was the one thing that truly comforted you in that moment.

Feeling spit spill from your mouth you could feel your heartbeat in your throat, or maybe it was his. It was hard and heavy, thumping inside your throat like a beat of a drum. As you felt Dottore get rougher with you your nails dug crescents into his thigh, leaving marks even when his skin was still covered by the cloth of his pants. You tried focusing on anything but the heavy feeling of his cock hammering in and out of your mouth, but he was relentless. He never gave up no matter how hard you cried or pushed him away.

Thankfully, he was close, really close. He was so close you could practically taste it. The scent of his lust was so thick it burned. You squeezed your eyes shut and whined as you felt Dottore’s cock hit the back of your throat with one hard push, and then he held it there as he released himself inside your mouth.

“Look at me. I want to look you in the eyes when you swallow.” He demanded, yanking on a clump of your hair to get your attention.

Sadly, you had no choice but to peer up with red, tear-filled eyes as Dottore smiled down at you with the most loving expression. That alone was enough to kill you. Oh, fuck if only he hadn’t looked at you like that, like you were the sweetest thing he’d ever laid eyes on. It was that instant that you swallowed his cum without a second thought. You didn’t care anymore about escaping or all the horrible things he’d done to you. For some reason you just wanted to feel his soft skin against yours. .

“You did so good.” He praised you with a smile, gingerly caressing your cheek once he slowly slid out of your mouth.

You smiled back, betraying your mind and body which begged you to run, fight, anything. Instead of giving in however, you rested your head against the palm of Dottore’s hand and thanked the archon’s for showing you mercy on that day.

You expected Dottore to ask for more after the frightening event that had happened, but instead he grabbed a nearby rag and reached for your face gently. “Allow me.” He spoke quietly and full of care.

As he carefully wiped the fluids off your face you could see a hint of the Dottore you knew in his eyes. Something swirled and glittered within the red irises of his that caused you to almost purr with satisfaction. With a look like that it was almost too easy to forget what he had just done to you, but you were very quick to shoo away those thoughts to make room for the sickeningly sweet ruminations instead. Maybe, you thought to yourself, you could learn to forgive him in time. Until then you would simply learn to forget.

#dottore x reader #dottore x you #dottore x y/n #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n

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sdr2lovemail · 1 year ago

Note

Daki with a gender neutral reader that's like a parent or older sibling to her. The reader is willing to help daki despite knowing she's a demon. and if you could add platonic cuddles that would be nice

Comfort in the Kyogoku House (GN Reader)

Synopsis: In the blood-soaked world that is her life, Daki finds comfort in the Reader's presence.

Notes: Slowly but surely getting back into writing. I have a few wips I hope I can finish! :)

Requests are open!

The shoji door slams open with great force. Your needle and thread nearly fall at the sound. Warabihime stands in the doorway, a nasty glare on her delicate features. She wordlessly stomps through the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Warabihime, good evening.” You greet her with a small smile.

She takes the kimono from your hands, tossing it to the side without a care. The oiran takes the fabric's place, practically throwing herself in your lap and hiding her face in your kimono.

You sigh while gently removing her ornate hairpins. “I’m supposed to be fixing that garment, Warabihime.”

There’s a sharp growl before she starts to whine. “So what?! That kimono is hideous! I’m more important than some disgusting colored fabric.” There’s a moment of silence as she rests her head against your thighs. Her voice is softer, more childlike. “Call me Daki, now.”

Unlike the other members of the Kyogoku House, you knew that Warabihime was a demon named Daki, along with knowledge of her brother. Originally, Daki planned on taking you away with her obi. As one of the nicer-looking members, she wanted to eat you herself.

She should’ve killed you a long time ago. You didn’t act like everyone else around the house. No, you spoke against her, chastised her for picking on the younger girls, never just obeying her like everyone else did. But you also weren’t mean to her. Acting so friendly towards her and wanting nothing back in return. In a way, you reminded her of Gyutaro. Always wanting what is best for her.

When you talked to her, it was stern but never harsh. It made Daki feel weird. She never gave anything to you but snide remarks and mean glares, so why did you look at her with such kind eyes? The entertainment district wasn’t a place of goodwill. People were only nice when they wanted something. Patrons pretending to be friendly to get a piece of the girls, house members trying to kiss up for better treatment.

You treated her like what she is not; a human. It was a new feeling that Daki didn’t want to snuff out yet.

Once you’ve finished taking out her hairpins, her hair starts to fall out of the usual intricate style. Your fingers rake through the dark locks, feeling her cold scalp against your skin. “Is everything okay, Daki? You seemed upset when you walked in.”

Daki’s brow furrows as her body tensed. Her nails dig into the fabric of your kimono, tearing small holes into it. Sitting up from her resting spot, she starts to go off.

“A slayer came by today! He was hideous. Another annoying brat who thought they could beat me. That stupid worm got his nasty blood all over my kimono!” She whined, beating her fists on the floor. “I’m Upper Moon Six! I’m stronger than any of them!”

There’s that feeling again. When your hand touched her clenched fist, Daki felt that gross feeling of warmth.

“I’ll wash your kimono with the next load of laundry. It’ll wash right out.” It wasn’t your first time washing out bloodstains. You've convinced the sibling demons to let you clean the rooms after obtaining their meals.

Daki puffed up like a happy kitty, returning back to her place, curled up at your side. She took your hand and placed it atop her head, wanting you to keep playing with her hair. Letting out a happy sigh, she pressed her cheek into your clothes. “You always do everything for me. That’s why I like having you around. Someone who treats me the way I deserve.”

Those weren’t her exact feelings. When Daki is around you, she feels a way she never has. Like it was a hundred years ago and she was a little girl again. But unlike then, she felt… secure with you, something she only tended to feel with her brother.

There was the sound of cracking bones and ripping flesh. From her back, Gyutaro separates himself from his sister. He starts to poke at Daki’s forehead, his face still holding that same apathetic expression.

“Mnnn, you can’t just come crawling to them when you’re inconvenienced. You act like such a baby when they’re around.” He groans as Daki swipes her nails at him. His skin breaks and heals just as fast.

“I do not! Unlike you, I can show my appreciation for them and their unwavering loyalty. Now shut up, you’re ruining my peace!” The younger demon moves so her head is resting on your thighs, her face almost pressing against your stomach.

Gyutaro growls at her snide remarks and reaches over to flick her before rethinking. He rests his hand at his side while looking over to you.

With that warm, kind smile, you wordlessly offer the other side of your body for him to rest. Sucking his teeth, Gyutaro turns away from you, resting against the wall instead.

For a while, the room is silent. While demons didn’t need to sleep, Daki enjoyed it. The quiet nothingness was relaxing. At some point, you had shut your eyes as well. Thinking you were asleep, a matted mop of hair rests against your shoulder. Cold skin grazing against your neck.

They’ll be gone once you wake up. But for now, you could enjoy this strangely domestic moment.

#daki x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer #kny daki #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #x reader #gyutaro x reader #but he only shows up at the end

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stadiumbleachers · 2 years ago

Text

Attitude Adjustment

Izogie x black!fem!reader x Shuri

Summary: while training as an Agojie, you have trouble grasping the concept of obedience, Shuri and Izogie help you adjust your attitude

Content Warnings: mean!Shuri, nice!Izogie, degredation, spanking, fingering, strapslinger!shuri, strapslinger!izogie

Word Count: 2.7k

“Use your core! Your movements are too flimsy!” Izogie’s voice bellowed across the training ground, her annoyance clear as day. She was getting under your skin and you were certainly getting under hers.

You stepped back from the mannequin and repeated the steps.

Lunge

Duck

Kick

Strike

The straw filled head of the mannequin cut clean off and landed on the dirt then rolled over to her feet

“Better…” Izogie looked you up and down, pinning you to your spot with her gaze,”But not good enough”

You sucked your teeth and grumbled, “Nothing is good enough for you”, but she was unphased by your defiance. She crossed her arms over the chest, biceps bulging under her glowing brown skin.

“You’re very mouthy for someone who has a lot to learn”

“Are you gonna teach me or keep talking?” you snapped at her. She clenched her jaw but her expression remained neutral.

“Drop your weapon and come over here”

The sword landed with a dull thud but you stayed put

“Come.Here.” she repeated, her voice dangerously low

The corner of your mouth twitched, itching to say something smart, but your feet moved on their own. It was as if your body wanted to obey her - needed it. But you were too stubborn for your own good.

Standing before her, you mirrored her stance with your hands on your hips

“We’ll practice some hand to hand. Keep your feet light and ready to move but keep your strikes strong”

Izogie bent her knees and you circled each other. She threw the first hit, a fist swiping quickly to your right shoulder which you dodge smoothly. You threw a kick of your own, your foot colliding with her toned thigh, barely budging her. She grabbed your foot before you could pull it back and pulled, throwing off your balance. You landed on your back, red dirt kicking up on the impact.

“Your strike is strong but it needs to be faster” she held out a hand to help you up and you took it. You sprung to your feet and dusted yourself off

“I’m tired, I need a break”

“It’s barely been an hour. Do you think the mighty Agojie stop fighting simply because they are tired? Do they endanger the kingdom of Dahomey for a few minutes' rest?”

“No, they don’t” you mumbled

“And what’s the most important rule?” she asked you

“Always listen to Izogie”

“That’s right, and you will listen to me”

The words jumped out of you before you could stop them,“Make me”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” a voice asked behind you and you whipped your head around to discover Princess Shuri of Wakanda in your presence. You bowed in greeting, the scowl quickly wiped from your face

“Princess Shuri, I-I’m sorry you had to hear that , I swear I was-” Shuri held up a hand to silence you and your promptly shut your mouth

The princess ignored you and walked right past you to greet Izogie. White hot embarrassment ran up your back but you kept your eyes glued to your feet and your hands tightly clasped behind your back

“Zo, my friend, it’s been too long” you heard her say

“Far too long, I hear stories of your engineering genius more than I hear from you” Izogie laughed, and you didn’t need to see her to know her brilliant white teeth were on display

“We’ll have to make more time to visit, won’t we, great warrior” Shuri teased her, then cleared her throat. Your skin pricked as you felt two sets of eyes staring at your back

“So, this is the one you told me about” the dirt shifted under her steps as she made her way over to where you were standing, “She seems to still be keeping you on your toes”

“Unfortunately yes, I’m one smart word away from throwing her out into the streets” Izogie joined Shuri in appraising you up close, like predators inspecting their prey.

You felt hot all over, petrified at how turned on you were at being spoken about like you weren’t even there

Shuri stepped in front of you, her hand grazing the hem of your training gear, and you chanced a look into her eyes but quickly averted them when you saw the fire that burned inside them

“Keep your eyes on the ground”

You felt Izogie press her hand into your back from where she stood behind you, to test your balance, but you tensed your abs and stood firm against the warm pressure of her hand

“Hmmm” Shuri hummed,”Maybe she needs some reinforcement”

“What did you have in mind?”

.......... ..........

The inside of the talon fighter was beautifully decked out with the latest wakadan technology, but you could hardly enjoy your surroundings with the sight before you. The warrior and the princess sat in respective chairs, wearing identical stern expressions. Your eyes flicked back and forth between the two, your mind overwhelmed by their beautiful faces. Izogie’s voice interrupted your blatant ogling and brought you down to earth.

“Do you understand what we ask of you?”

You nodded

“Ah ah, use your words” Shuri instructed you

“Yes, I do” you answered immediately

“So”Izogie continued, shifting in her seat to spread her powerful legs, “what do you say?”

“I want it” you said, your voice just above a whisper

“Good”, they said it at the same time and somehow that one word made you weak in the knees as your stood before them awaiting instructions

“I think you owe Izogie an apology, why don’t you get on your knees and show her just how sorry you are” Shuri gestured to the floor and you slowly went down. The carpet of the talon fighter cushioning you as you crawled over to where Izogie sat, looking quite bored.

You leaned in and pecked the inside of one knee, then the other. Gently, you kissed and licked the soft skin of her inner thighs, alternating between them. You paused with your face before her clothed core, and looked up at her as if to ask permission.

“Go on, we don’t have all day” Izogie regarded you with one thick brow raised

You reached a shaky hand forward and pushed her undergarment to the side. To your absolute delight, you saw her inner labia peeking out and glistening wet. Your mouth watered, desperate for a taste, desperate to prove you were worthy of such an honor.

You closed your eyes and placed a chaste kiss on each lip, as if you weren’t burning with the desire to consume the most intimate parts of the warrior. You nippled at the sensitive skin and her legs quivered on either side of your head.

Above you, Shuri and Izogie started talking about trade agreements and war strategies, your presence reduced to a mere object for their pleasure. This only spurred you on and you dove in, lapping at her like you were starving. Your tongue worked into her, gathering up the sweet slick of her arousal which you swallowed down greedily. Using your nose to stimulate her sensitive bundle of nerves, you moved your head side to side, your tongue rigid inside her smooth walls.

You could tell she was close from the way she clenched and relaxed in rhythm around your tongue. The heady taste of her left you brainless, fueled only by the desire to please, and they both knew it.

“Look at you, so desperate to please, this is who you really are, huh?” Izogie’s voice was raspy as she finally addressed you

You moaned into her dripping sex and latched your lips around her clit, sucking on it with reckless abandon. Two of your nimble fingers pushed easily into her, and you curled them, twisting this way and that.

Her abs tensed, her thighs shook and her hips rolled faster, chasing the climax you were determined to give her

“Bring her over the edge, show her what a good little slut you are, yeah?” Shuri instructed you from her seat beside Izogie

The words shot right through you and you felt your own arousal running down your thigh, your hole clenched pathetically around nothing. The pads of your fingers brushed up against the bumpy spot inside her and you pounded them into her, and hit it with every thrust. Your arm ached and your jaw burned, but you couldn’t stop, not when she was so close.

You bit down gently on her clit then pulled back to blow cold breath onto the abused little bud

“Oh yesss, you dirty fucking whore” Izogie’s voice sounded foreign as she tipped over the edge, climax forcing her body forward. The trimmed curls of her sex tickled your nose and her thighs clamped down on your head, keeping you in place. You hung your tongue out of your mouth and panted, allowing her to use you as she rocked her hips steadily and came down from her high.

When she was sufficiently recovered, she grabbed your hair in one hand and pulled you away from her. You took your first breaths of air that weren’t overpowered with Izogie’s arousal. You sucked off the remainder of her slick from your fingers, moaning around them while you licked them clean.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Shuri was summoning you, with the crook of a slim finger. You crawled over to her and sat on your feet, waiting for her instructions

“What do you think Izogie, is she really sorry?”

Izogie put her hand to her chin and pretended to consider it,”Hmmm, not quite but she’s getting there. How about you put her across your lap? Maybe then she’ll be sorry”

The two women laughed together, mocking you. You throbbed between your legs, and a bead of sweat ran down your back, though the room was chilly from the A/C.

“Strip. Then come lay across my lap”

You quickly disrobed then clumsily climbed across the princess’ lap. Your round ass was turned up to her and your breasts were pressed uncomfortably into the armrest

“How many spanks for this greedy little thing?” Shuri kneaded her hands into your ass, pulling them apart to expose your wet, pulsating cunt.

“Ten will suffice” Izogie’s voice floated to your ears, but you were already high off the thought of what Shuri was going to do to you

“You must count each one and then thank me for teaching you to be a good girl. Understood?”

Your mind scrambled for the word you were trying to say, “Ungh..Yes”

As soon as the words left your mouth, her hand came down on one cheek. The sting was gone as quickly as it came and garbled out, “One. Thank you”

The next slap was harder, your ass bounced from the impact. “Two, thank you” She continued to rain down her abuse on your ass, until tears ran down your brown cheeks and dripped onto the once immaculately clean carpet. The tenth slap she spread your cheeks with one hand and brought down the other with punishing strength on your pussy.

The skin reddened and tingled with the current of a thousand nerve endings set on fire. You wailed loudly, thrashing around on her lap until she grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled. You stilled in her lap, gasping quietly as the tears continued to fall

“What do you say, slut?” Izogie asked you on Shuri’s behalf

“T-ten, thank you princess”

“Good girl. Now lie on your back on the floor”

You stood on shaky legs and lowered yourself to the floor once more, gritting your teeth at the sensation of your sore ass rubbing on the carpet. You watched as Shuri stood up and got something from a drawer. It was a dildo, black with glowing blue throughout. Shuri took out a harness and secured it on herself, then handed an identical strap-on to Izogie who did the same.

“Why is it glowing?” you asked them

“It’s made from vibranium, which means it feeds the sensation of inside you to us, so we can feel it” Shuri explained easily, as if it wasn’t a feat of engineering genius

She knelt before you and Izogie did the same, both sets of eyes assessing you from head to toe. Izogie licked her lips, her eyes trained on your breasts where your nipple were hard from being stimulated on the arm chair

“You’re so beautiful,” she told you reverently, “but so very bad”

Shuri took hold of your knees and spread them, the chilly air doing nothing to cool the heat from your wet cunt, “Now that she's apologized so well, do you think we should show her what good girls get?” she was talking to Izogie but her eyes were piercing into yours

Izogie grinned “You fill her mouth so she’s nice and quiet and I’ll fill her right here” she trailed a digit from your knee to your pussy and ran it up and down your slit. You hissed, already worked up.

Shuri moved to kneel behind your head and tapped the strap lightly on your cheeks, rubbing it onto your plump lips. You took it in and sucked sloppily at the head, saliva running from the side of your mouth. Shuri groaned as your warm tongue work languidly to please her

Izogie worked one digit into you, then quickly added another, then another. Your pussy ached delightfully as she stretched you to take her.

Suddenly Shuri pulled out of your mouth and held your jaw in her skillful hand. Your forced yourself to focus on her words, even though you were being pumped full of fingers

“Repeat after me. I will listen to Izogie” she told you

You could hardly get the words out

“I will listen to Izogie” tears pricked at your eyes as you were overwhelmed by the attention of both women

Izogie leaned down to your ear and whispered “You will be a good little slut for me, won’t you?”

“I’ll be a good little slut for-”

You barely finished the sentence and Izogie stuffed your pussy full of her cock, drawing out mewls from your mouth, but the sounds were quickly silenced by Shuri.

Your head bobbed up and down in time with each expert stroke of Izogie’s hips. The louder your garbled moans, the harder Izogie fucked into you. You screwed your eyes shut as Shuri forced the strap deeper into your throat. You relaxed it and allowed her to fuck your face.

Both women’s strokes became faster, more sporadic and you could tell they were close. You clenched you walls around Izogie and reached a hand up to rub at Shuri’s clit below the strap

“Oh fuck yes, gag on it, whore” Shuri’s hips stuttered and your mouth filled with the slick of her climax that being fed into your mouth from the vibranium strap. It choked you.

She pulled out and allowed you to catch your breath but it was quickly knocked back out of you when Izogie built up a punishing pace. Both of her hands grabbed hold of your breasts, slapping them and pinching and rolling your nipples until you writhed beneath her. With one last tug on your clit and her hip angled up to hit your g-spot, you toppled over the edge.

White light burst behind your still closed eyelids and you screamed, squirming desperately while Izogie reached her own high. You felt her hips stutter and you grabbed handfuls of her ass and pulled her deeper into you

“Come inside me, please” you begged her

She obliged, your cunt leaking with the combination of both of your juices.

Eventually, she pulled out and lay on her back alongside Shuri, showing you for the first time that she was pleased with you. Your heart swelled with pride.

The room was silent, except for the quiet gasps of all three of you catching your breath

Shuri spoke up from where she lay on the floor, “Just to review, who’s a good girl?”

Your voice sounded positively destroyed as you answered, “Me”

“That’s fucking right” they said it at the same time, and somehow your fucked out hole still quivered miserably.

“Now let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

You could only nod and allow yourself to be lifted off the ground by the two women who had just wrecked you and fucked out every fibre of defiance from your body

…

#shuri x reader #izogie x reader #reader is a brat

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novaursa · 2 months ago

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Maybe a story with reader being the bastard son of the mad king aerys? Idk what fem characters you write for got, any of them would work :)) (maybe lyanna or elia) like aerys betroths them out of spite or as punishment(?)

Love ur work btw <3

The Bastard Prince

- Summary: Your father bethrodes you to Lyanna Stark out of spite, and sends you North.

- Paring: male!reader/Lyanna Stark

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @literaturedog

The towering doors of the throne room loom before you, their weighty presence nearly suffocating under the shadow of the Iron Throne. Two kingsguard flank you, their white cloaks brushing against the stone floor as they lead you forward. It’s rare for the king to summon you so formally, and your gut churns with unease as you step inside.

The hall is filled with lords and courtiers, their eyes turning to you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. They know who you are—Aerys’s bastard son, Y/N Waters, a living reminder of the king’s indiscretions. You can feel the judgment in their stares, each gaze piercing through the thin armor of indifference you wear.

King Aerys sits high on the Iron Throne, his fingers drumming against the jagged steel as you approach. His eyes, sharp and blazing with a manic energy, settle on you. There’s a cruel smile playing at the corners of his mouth, and you sense something dreadful lurking behind it.

“Ah, here he is,” Aerys declares, his voice booming through the chamber. “My own flesh and blood, though born on the wrong side of the sheets.” Laughter echoes from the gathered lords and ladies, a sycophantic chorus that grates against your ears.

You bow stiffly, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. “Your Grace.”

The king rises, a rustle of fabric and metal, his gaze now shifting toward the northern delegation standing at the base of the throne. Lord Rickard Stark stands at the forefront, his face a stoic mask, but his eyes watchful. Beside him, his son Brandon, tall and proud, and then there’s her.

Lyanna Stark.

The girl is a storm wrapped in furs, her eyes dark and defiant as they meet yours. Her hair, a wild cascade of brown, frames a face flushed with either anger or unease—you can’t tell. She’s beautiful, even more so than the songs suggest, but there’s a fire in her that promises no easy submission.

Aerys gestures toward you with a grand sweep of his hand, his grin widening as he looks back at the Starks. “Lord Rickard, it is with great pleasure that I present to you my son. A gift, you might say, to seal our new alliance.”

You glance at Lord Stark, his jaw tight but giving nothing away. He inclines his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment or resignation—you’re not sure which. Brandon’s fists are clenched at his sides, his face thunderous, but he remains silent.

“And as promised,” Aerys continues, his voice dripping with mock benevolence, “your daughter, the lovely Lyanna, will be wed to Y/N. A union that will bind the North and the Crown in unbreakable bonds.”

The words crash over you like a wave, leaving you momentarily stunned. He’s promised her to you? An alliance, yes, but you can see it in the king’s eyes—this is a convenient way to rid himself of you, to send you far from King’s Landing. The North is the furthest he can exile you while still keeping you under his thumb.

Lyanna’s face is a mask of outrage, her lips parting as if to speak, but her father’s hand on her arm stops her. There’s a beat of silence, heavy and tense, and then Lord Stark nods once more, his voice steady but strained. “The honor is ours, Your Grace.”

You force yourself to breathe, your heart hammering in your chest. This is what you are to him, a piece to be moved, a pawn in his dangerous games. And now, it seems, Lyanna Stark is caught in that same trap.

“Of course, I couldn’t deprive the North of such a strong, loyal companion,” Aerys says, his gaze flicking back to you. “I’ve heard tales of your valor, Y/N. You’ll do well up there, won’t you?”

There’s a twisted delight in his words, a promise of torment to come. You know better than to challenge him here, in front of all these eyes, so you simply bow your head. “I will serve as best I can, Your Grace.”

Aerys laughs, a high, grating sound that echoes through the hall. “See that you do. Now, join your new family. You’ll have plenty of time to become acquainted before you depart.”

He waves his hand dismissively, and you’re left standing there, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room. With measured steps, you move toward the Starks. Brandon’s eyes blaze with fury, and Lord Rickard’s face is as impenetrable as ever. But it’s Lyanna who holds your attention, her stare unwavering, challenging.

“Lady Lyanna,” you murmur, bowing slightly. It’s all you can manage, unsure of what else to say in the face of such hostility.

She doesn’t lower her gaze, doesn’t flinch. “Ser,” she replies, her voice steady but cold. “I suppose I should congratulate you.”

The bitterness in her tone is unmistakable, and it cuts deeper than you expect. “I didn’t ask for this,” you say quietly, though the words feel inadequate, hollow.

Her eyes flash with something unreadable, and she lifts her chin. “Neither did I.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Lord Stark speaks, his voice low and firm. “We will discuss this in private. There’s no need to make a spectacle here.”

He guides Lyanna away, Brandon following with a dark look cast your way. You watch them go, feeling the weight of the king’s laughter still ringing in your ears.

As the doors close behind them, you’re left standing in the center of the hall, alone and exposed. Aerys’s gaze is still on you, his smile lingering like a poison in the air. He’s won today, sending you far from his court, from the city that’s never felt like home.

The cold wind bites at your skin as you ride north, the chill creeping through the thick layers of your cloak and settling deep in your bones. The southern sun seems like a distant memory now, replaced by the overcast skies and vast, snow-covered landscape of the North. The journey is a long one, and the company keeps mostly to themselves. The Starks are quiet, speaking in low voices among themselves, the anomasity between them and you palpable.

You steal a glance to your side where Lyanna rides, her expression as fierce and guarded as the first time you met her in the throne room. She’s wrapped in heavy furs, her hair whipping behind her in the icy breeze, and though she doesn’t look at you, you can feel her presence like a beacon in the cold, vast emptiness.

For days, your conversations are limited to polite greetings and the occasional exchange of necessities—a stark contrast to the easy camaraderie you’ve known among your companions in King’s Landing. But the North is not the South, and these people are not your friends.

One evening, camp is set near the banks of a frozen river. The northern men build fires and huddle close for warmth, the cold seeping in as night falls. You sit alone, apart from the Starks, staring into the flames, the crackling wood a welcome distraction from the silence that has settled over the camp.

A rustling sound draws your attention, and you look up to see Lyanna approaching. She hesitates for a moment, then lowers herself onto a log across from you, her eyes steady and searching. There’s something different about her tonight—less guarded, though still wary.

“You look like you could use something stronger than water,” she says, her voice soft but carrying the hint of an edge.

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at the flask in her hand. “I’d welcome it, my lady.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips, and she tosses the flask to you. The burn of the Northern spirit as it goes down is harsh but welcome, and you hand it back with a nod of gratitude.

“You’ve been quiet,” she says, watching you carefully. “One might think you’re not looking forward to your new home.”

“I’m not sure what to look forward to,” you admit, meeting her gaze. “Winterfell is a world away from everything I’ve known.”

She studies you for a moment, the firelight dancing in her eyes. “Why did you agree to this? The marriage, I mean.”

You look at her, surprised by the question. “Did I have a choice?”

She huffs, a sound halfway between amusement and frustration. “There’s always a choice. Even if it’s a poor one.”

You think about her words, the weight they carry. “And what choice did I have? Refuse and be cast aside by my father, or agree and be sent away to a place where I’ll never belong. Neither seems particularly appealing.”

Her eyes soften slightly, her gaze turning inward. “I know what it’s like, to feel like you don’t belong.” She pauses, her fingers tightening around the flask. “I’m not like my brothers. I don’t want to be just some man’s wife, to sit and sew and bear children while the world passes me by.”

The honesty in her voice surprises you, and you find yourself leaning forward, wanting to understand her better. “What do you want, then?”

“I want freedom,” she says fiercely, her eyes meeting yours with a burning intensity. “I want to ride and fight and live my life as I choose, not as some king or lord decides for me.”

You feel a pang of guilt then, knowing you’re a part of the cage she’s railing against. “I’m sorry, Lyanna,” you say quietly. “I never wanted to be the one to take that away from you.”

She’s silent for a long moment, then lets out a breath. “I know it’s not your fault, not entirely. You’re as much a tool in this as I am.” She takes a sip from the flask, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not angry. Or that I’ll make this easy for you.”

You can’t help but smile at that, a genuine one that catches you by surprise. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

She studies you, and for the first time, you feel like she’s truly seeing you, not just the bastard son of a mad king forced into her life. “You’re different than I expected,” she says finally.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Maybe.” She tilts her head, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “You don’t seem as... desperate to prove yourself as the other knights and lords I’ve met.”

You shrug, the weight of her words settling over you. “What’s there to prove? I am who I am. No amount of posturing or pretending will change that.”

She nods, as if she understands that better than most. “It’s rare to find someone who thinks like that, especially in court.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence then, the fire crackling between you. The cold seems less biting now, the company warmer than you could have hoped. You talk late into the night, sharing stories—hers of the North, the wild, untamed lands and the fierce people who call it home, and yours of King’s Landing, the treacherous courts and the fleeting moments of beauty hidden within its walls.

You learn that she loves to ride, that she dreams of seeing the world beyond Winterfell’s walls. She tells you about her brothers—Brandon’s wild temper, Ned’s quiet strength, Benjen’s mischievous spirit. And you tell her about your life as a bastard in the Red Keep, the half-smiles and whispered slights, the shadow you’ve always lived under as the king’s unwanted son.

When the fire finally burns low, and the first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, you feel something shift between you. An understanding, perhaps, or at least the beginning of one. You’re still strangers, bound together by forces beyond your control, but you’re no longer enemies. Not entirely.

As you rise to return to your tent, she stands too, holding your gaze for a long moment. “Goodnight, Y/N,” she says softly, her voice carrying the promise of something more.

“Goodnight, Lyanna.”

The next day, and the days that follow, she rides beside you more often. You talk, sometimes for hours, other times sharing only a few words. The others notice, Brandon especially, his eyes narrowing whenever he sees you together. But Lyanna seems unconcerned, her defiance burning as bright as ever.

You know you’re still an outsider, a southerner in a land that will never truly accept you. But for now, that doesn’t seem to matter as much. You have this, whatever it is, with her. And for the first time since the king’s decree, you feel a flicker of hope.

Maybe this marriage doesn’t have to be a cage for either of you. Maybe, just maybe, it can be something more.

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #asoiaf x reader #asoif/got #game of thrones #got x you #got x reader #got x y/n #lyanna stark #lyanna x reader #lyanna x you #lyanna x y/n #lyanna x male reader

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legendary-69420 · 16 days ago

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Chapter 20: Between Fame and Feelings (Part 1) Underneath the Spotlight

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 2) Part 1 : Underneath the Spotlight Song : "Espresso - Sabrina Carpenter"

The air was electric as fans filled the venue, their excited chatter echoing off the walls. Charles stood at the entrance, his heart pounding—not from anticipation for the concert but from the simmering tension within him. Over the past few weeks, rumors had spread like wildfire, and Charles found himself caught in a storm of jealousy and confusion. Mark, his best friend, the guy he couldn't stop thinking about, had been seen everywhere with Sabrina Carpenter. Cafes, parks, and now a concert—an image burned into Charles’s mind.

He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the frustration bubbling inside. Why does this bother me so much? He should have been happy for Mark, but the sight of them together twisted something deep within him. He had not voiced his feelings, choosing instead to keep his thoughts bottled up.

“Hey, Charles! You okay?” Lorenzo's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yeah, just… thinking,” Charles muttered, glancing at his friends. Arthur stood nearby, scrolling through his phone, oblivious to the turmoil swirling in Charles's mind.

As the concert started, excitement filled the air, yet Charles felt isolated, as if there was an invisible barrier between him and the festivities. Mark had invited him and the rest of their group, but the absence of his friend was palpable. Where is he?

The opening act blared through the speakers, and the crowd cheered, but Charles’s heart wasn’t in it. His eyes scanned the stage, searching for a glimpse of Mark. Finally, as the beat dropped and the lights shifted, the moment Charles had been waiting for arrived.

“ESPRESSO!” Sabrina's voice rang through the venue, and with it, Mark appeared, looking effortlessly stunning. He was dressed in a sleek costume that hugged his body, revealing his toned abs and muscles. The way he moved on stage was mesmerizing; he and Sabrina danced with a chemistry that sent a jolt of jealousy through Charles. They were close, practically entwined, every move perfectly choreographed, yet it felt too intimate for Charles's comfort.

As the song progressed, Mark glanced over at Charles, and their eyes locked. Mark winked at him, a playful gesture that sent a thrill down Charles's spine. Charles's heart raced, but the flutter of excitement was quickly overshadowed by a surge of frustration. Why was he with her?

When the concert ended and the crowd began to disperse, Charles lingered, anxiously waiting for Mark. He felt an overwhelming urge to confront him about everything—the rumors, the dancing, the closeness. But when Mark finally made his way through the throngs of fans, he wore a bright smile that only deepened Charles’s inner conflict.

“Hey! Did you enjoy the show?” Mark beamed, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

“Yeah, it was great. You were amazing up there,” Charles replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Thanks! I had a lot of fun,” Mark said, oblivious to the tension in the air. “Want to drop me off? I could use a ride home.”

“Sure,” Charles muttered, feeling the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between them as they walked to the car.

The drive home was filled with an uncomfortable silence. Charles focused on the road, but his mind was racing. “So… Sabrina, huh?” he finally blurted out, unable to hold back any longer.

Mark shifted in his seat, his expression turning serious. “Yeah, we’ve been hanging out a bit. She’s really nice. We’re just friends, though.”

“Just friends?” Charles echoed, trying to keep his voice neutral despite the sting of jealousy. “It looked like more than that up on stage.”

Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not what you think, Charles. I have to do this for my career. The publicity, the exposure… It’s all part of it.”

“I get that, but it just seems like…” Charles hesitated, searching for the right words. “You’re spending a lot of time with her.”

“I know it looks bad,” Mark said softly, his tone turning serious. “But you know I care about you, right? You’re my best friend. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.” ...

(Dividers by @thecutestgrotto and @enchanthings)

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thefirstradiant · 2 months ago

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Suptober Day 8: Witch’s Brew

What’s My Flavor?

✨Wincest✨ Rating Explicit. Written for #suptober24 prompt: Witch’s Brew and kinktober kinks: choking, dubcon (but not really, just under the influence of magic), and tied up.

Words: 2.5k

Sam needs to willingly drink the antidote. Dean knows exactly how to pull that “yes” out of his brother.

A/N: Title is from a very Wincest-coded song, Sailor Song by Gigi Perez. Also this may be my new favorite lil thing I’ve written hehe

The purple wisps of smoke continued to curl into the air and make Dean cough and splutter. Why did potion making always have to be so intense, he thought, annoyed at his own annoyance. It’s a magic potion, of course it’s gonna smell terrible and coat every bit of air in this tiny room.

That’s not the only thing Dean was annoyed at currently though. He stared at his stupid little brother. It was just supposed to be a regular witch-killing, or at least, witch-neutralizing. No need for annoying counter potions or dealing with this.. version.. of Sam.

But, of course, Sam’s sitting in a short wooden chair with ropes around his arms, legs, and chest, and a dopey smile on his face in this storm cellar of all places. He just had to take the knife, didn’t he?

“Well, boys, that’s my part done.”

Dean looked up as Rowena stepped back from the cauldron, nodding her head in satisfaction at the bubbling liquid. She had a flask poured out and set it down on the table.

“Now you need to get him to drink that. The whole thing.”

She spared a glance over at Sam, who was currently glaring at the potion, and continued.

“I don’t envy you. But, if you don’t, he’s going to be like this until he dies. Remember, he must agree to taking it. You can force him, convince him, anyway you like, but he must agree. Or else it will be useless, no matter how good a witch I am.”

Rowena took a long look at Dean like she was contemplating something, but then turned and climbed the stairs out without another word.

Dean felt the first spark of real fear cut through his annoyance. What if he couldn’t get him to drink it? They’d only reached one other victim in time, and had failed to get her to agree to the antidote.

The witch’s spell was a particularly awful one. As far as they could tell, she gave her victims a taste of genuine happiness and whatever they wanted until, inevitably, they died or killed themselves in some horrible, stupid way. None of them had wanted to turn back.

Dean sighed and looked back over at Sam, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the potion.

“We’re gonna get through this, Sammy. I don’t know how, but we will.”

Sam wriggled in his ropes and tried to sit up straighter. The glare at the potion became a glare at Dean.

“I’m never going back. I’m never drinking that potion.”

Damn. Not starting off great. Dean stood and advanced slowly toward Sam, ignoring the flask for now. The chill in the room became more and more apparent as he got closer. Was it Sam doing that? The witch? Or was it just worry trickling up and down Dean’s spine? He wasn’t sure.

He stood barely a few inches away from the chair, placed his hands around Sam’s bound arms, and leaned down to be even closer to him. He needed to make his brother see in no uncertain terms. Even through the haze of the potion, he should be able to get this. Dean made sure he was looking straight into Sam’s eyes before speaking in a slow, deliberate tone.

“Yes. You will be.”

Dean watched as Sam’s throat clenched and swallowed. He saw a shiver run through him and his face softened for just a second before glaring at him again.

Oh. Okay. Sure. If that’s how Sam wanted to play it, Dean could get behind it. He shook off the fact that it’s been years since Sam had asked for anything like this from him and the fact that he wasn’t really asking this time either.

Dean studied the man beneath him. His fists were clenched hard and he was trying to hide the heaving of his chest. So needy.

“Sammy. Look at me.”

Dean reached out a hand and forced Sam to look directly in his eyes again. He shuddered under the touch. Dean almost laughed. Sam’s been hit by a spell that gives him happiness and the desire to take whatever he’s always wanted, and this is what he responds to?

Dean lowered his voice to almost a whisper. He could feel himself already getting hard.

“Sammy, you idiot. You don’t need a potion for this.”

Sam groaned and immediately tried to pretend he hadn’t. He seemed like he was trying to look away, but couldn’t manage to tear his eyes away from Dean.

Dean could clearly see the bulge in his jeans where his legs were forced apart by the ropes. There wasn’t any denying it anymore. He’s kind of hot like this, Dean considered, surprising himself.

Sam eyes had shifted downward and locked onto Dean’s crotch, which he knew had a matching bulge. Sam began to whine. Standing over him, Dean felt very tall again, looking at a small, younger brother. So pretty, so eager.

“Shhhh, I’ll give you what you want, but you gotta drink the potion.”

Sam jerked up and stared Dean down. Apparently he wasn’t far gone enough yet.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Dean growled low in his throat. His hand came on to Sam’s chest and pressed him backward.

“I’ll fuck that yes out of you if I have to, Sammy, don’t challenge me.”

Sam, for his part, just moaned and leaned into the touch, closing his eyes. He was so responsive it was rushing to Dean’s cock everytime he made a noise.

“Fuck, you really like that don’t you?”

Good to know, he thought, filing these things away for a less dire situation.

“I’m gonna untie you now. If you leave, you get nothing. Nod so I know you understand.”

Sam looked angry, but nodded a tad too frantically anyway. He’s really desperate for it, I wonder how many years he’s kept this inside.

Dean slowly untied all Sam’s limbs and his chest and allowed him a moment to stretch out before he gave him another order.

“Now, take off your pants and get on the floor. Hands and knees.”

Dean was almost surprised at how easy this was for him. It felt.. natural, especially with the way Sam responded to everything like he wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.

Sam moaned again and unbuckled his belt with trembling hands. He looked at the wall while stepping out of his jeans and throwing them aside before kneeling down, facing away from the table that still held the potion.

Mmm. Dean stared at his brother presenting his ass up towards him with his head hanging low towards the floor. Goddamn. Dean’s own jeans were painfully tight, so he unzipped them and pulled them down slightly to give himself some freedom.

The sound of his zipper echoed around the room and he heard a small gasp from Sammy as he waited for Dean to come closer.

Fuck.

Not able to wait any longer, Dean’s eyes raked the table covered in potion ingredients. Rowena must have used something mm- ah that’ll work. Dean grabbed a bottle of some kind of basic oil and settled down on the floor behind Sam. The potion was still within reach. Good.

“Dean..” Sam sunk even lower to the floor, only keeping his ass up.

“Oh, Sam, I don’t think a pack of wild werewolves could stop me now.”

Dean ghosted his fingers over Sam’s sides, pushing his shirt up and grabbing his hips.

Sam let out a delicious moan that had Dean pulling down his boxer-briefs immediately and finally getting a good look. He groaned. Sam’s little pink hole looked much as he remembered and a rush of how it felt came back to him suddenly.

His fingers began to glide over Sam’s hole and he dribbled a small amount of the oil onto them.

Sam gasped.

“Yeah, Sam? You’re ready, aren’t you?”

Sam pushed his ass back against Dean in reply and moaned low into the floor as Dean pressed a slick finger into him. He chuckled softly.

“Son of a bitch, Dean. Come on.”

“Always so desperate for me, aren’t you?”

But Dean gave him another finger quickly and started pressing in and out as Sam moaned openly and reached down to touch himself. Damn, that was hot.

Dean added a third finger, probably before Sam was really ready, but he didn’t care, he needed to fuck Sam NOW.

“Dean!”

“Mm, .. I’m gonna fuck you so hard.”

“PLEASE!”

Sam was clearly done with the waiting and preparation. So was Dean, he could hear himself breathing heavily. Dean gave Sam a few more thrusts with his fingers, Sam moaning in response, and then pulled them out, purposefully snagging on his rim.

Sam was whining and pushing out toward Dean like he was trying to get his fingers back in him. Like he needed something in him.

“Mmm come on, Sammy, hold on. You know what’s coming.”

Dean smiled as he dragged his fingers back over Sam’s hole and he twitched delightfully. Mmm. Gorgeous.

Dean shifted back onto his knees and rested down on his legs. While Sam couldn’t see him, he grabbed the flask full of thick purple liquid and placed it behind himself. He was surprised he even had enough presence of mind to remember the potion, with Sam still stretched out on the floor in front of him, hair a complete mess and back covered in a soft pink blush.

“Turn over.” He ordered. “Now.”

Sam wasted no time at all and breathed out softly while turning to lay with his back down on the cold floor. Dean could see that the blush continued over his stomach and the part of his chest peeking out from under his shirt. There was a light dusting across Sam’s cheeks too. He was warm to the touch and Dean couldn’t help but run his hands all over Sam’s sides and hips.

“Mmm. So perfect.”

“Dean.. please.”

“I’ve got you, Sam. I got you.”

He shifted and pulled his jeans down a little more so he could get his boxers out of the way. Finally, with a deep groan, Dean pulled his cock out free. He gave it a few long strokes, the friction felt so good. And Sammy looked even better, zoned out and desperate for it. Open. Waiting. For him. Dean couldn’t hold on a second longer.

Dean grabbed Sam’s hips and lifted them over his own until he was practically in his lap. They were so close. He could feel every movement Sam made, while he tried to squirm closer to Dean’s hard cock. They were lined up perfectly.

“Alright, Sam, you ready?”

“YES. Dean, I’m ready.”

Dean took a deep breath and pulled Sam toward him, impaling him ever so slowly on his cock, until they were flush against each other and he couldn’t think anymore.

Fuck. Sammy.

Dean groaned loud against the walls of the cellar.

“Damnit Sam- Sammy. Oh god. So tight.”

Dean looked up at Sam’s face again. It was flushed red, but Sam was grinning, smiling like he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. Dean rolled his hips into him and felt a stab of pride at watching Sammy’s smile slip to an open mouthed moan of pleasure. He pulled moan after moan out of his brother’s mouth as he began rocking steadily into him. Damn his sounds are so hot.

Sam was breathing out a quiet stream of yes yes Yes YES with every thrust of Dean’s hips. Dean smiled to himself. Well, if he got a yes for that..then-

He reached behind himself to close his fingers around the now cold flask. Bending over Sam to reach his face pressed him in so deep, both of them let out a groan.

“Mm come on, it’s time.”

Sam opened eyes he had shut when Dean pressed into him and flicked his gaze to Dean, to the flask, back to Dean, and back to flask again. He looked like he was about to protest, so Dean changed the angle of his hips just slightly, where he knew Sam wouldn’t be able to resist.

Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head as Dean hit that perfect spot inside him and his hands flew out to either side. Then, very quietly, almost so Dean couldn’t hear, he replied.

“Yes, Dean.”

And Sam left his mouth hung open, waiting.

Dean was flooded with immense relief and red-hot lust at the same time. He dragged his free hand up to land on his brother’s neck and started to pour as much of the potion as he could into his mouth. Then he massaged his neck until he’d been forced to swallow all of it.

Without stopping the movement of his cock inside Sam, he kept this up until the flask was completely drained. Only a drop remained, dribbling from Sam’s lips as he tried to breathe. Dean released the flask and his hand that was holding Sam’s neck.

“There. You did it.”

But Sam looked desperately out at his brother and grabbed the hand that had been around his neck to bring it back to where it belonged. He patted Dean’s hand where he had rested it back on his throat in a silent, but blindingly clear, message.

A rush of heat went straight to Dean’s head and cock and he found his vision went a little hazy from the pressure. Damn, the things he does to me. He’s insane.

Dean closed his hand around Sam’s throat anyway, no longer trying to make him swallow, but instead trapping all his air. He brought his other hand to wrap around Sam’s throbbing cock, leaking a steady flow of precome.

Sam groaned, as much as he could while his airway was being blocked, and arched his back toward Dean. He’s so beautiful like this, Dean thought. Sam’s face wore an expression of absolute bliss and lust. Dean wondered vaguely how many times he’d ever get to see that look on his brother’s face.

“Sammy. Oh, Sammy. Come for me.”

That was all Sam needed to start shaking. His mouth opened in a silent scream or moan or gasp or something, Dean wasn’t sure, and he was coming all over Dean’s hand. It felt like he came forever, thick white stripes coating his palm, and rolling and clenching around Dean’s cock.

Would he?.. Dean wondered and decided to test his theory. He brought his filthy hand up to Sam’s face and covered his mouth with it. Dribbles of come started to mix with the remnants of the potion on Sam’s lips. He loosened the vice grip on Sam’s throat just enough so he could start gasping into his hand.

Sam’s eyes opened briefly, glanced at the hand with a flash of understanding, and closed again. Then his tongue came out and danced over Dean’s palm, licking up as much come as he could reach. No hesitation whatsoever.

Dean’s groan was so low it was almost impossible to hear.

“Fucking hell, Sam. Fuck- I’m coming.”

Dean’s hips gave one last wild thrust into Sam before he pressed in all the way and held there, head hanging down and limbs shuddering. The buildup of pressure that had begun with Sam tied to that damn chair released deep into him.

“Damn.”

That was the most intense orgasm Dean’s had in.. well probably ever had. He looked up to check in on Sam who, for what it was worth, looked much more lucid than he had in awhile.

“Hey. Sam, you back?”

Sam’s voice was breathy and raspy as he coughed and attempted to respond.

“Yeah.. yeah, Dean, I’m back.”

It worked. Thank god. Dean sighed and reached out a tired hand to pat Sam on the chest. He sat back, not wanting to pull out of Sam just yet. He didn’t want to ever be apart from Sam again.

“Good. Welcome back, little brother.”

FIN

#suptober24 #suptober 2024 #Wincest #day 8 witch’s brew #I wrote this at work thank you very much #something about Sam saying yes even thought it will take away the happiness and contentment he felt for one fleeting moment #grrr #they’re killing me #infecting my brain #spn #supernatural #spn fanfic #Wincest fanfic #sam winchester #dean Winchester #kinktober #Wincest smut #me posting

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themsource · 18 days ago

Text

7alt8 AU - Family

(Takes place three years before the comic 'Parallels')

“You’d really keep my great niece and nephew from me?” Ford asked breathlessly, his eyes wide in disbelief. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

This was to be the first summer he got to spend with his great niece and nephew, and he’d been looking forward to it for the last year. The thought of actually being able to be around family without judgment or pity had kept him up long into the night with excitement the night prior as he’d come up with all sorts of activities they could do together.

And now he was being told it might not happen.

Ford had pulled into his niece and nephew’s driveway only ten minutes ago, he hadn’t even gotten to greet the kids yet, and already everything was falling apart over bland tea… with admittedly good biscotti.

Lee and Abigail both exchanged a look before the shorter brunette took a deep breath, an awkward smile meant to comfort gracing her lips but doing nothing other than causing a flare of irritation through her uncle.

“We don’t want to, it’s just…” She paused, her eyes darting as she tried to find her words that Ford knew were going to be insensitive no matter how she used them. “I’m sorry to say this but, we don’t want them being dragged into this… obsession of yours. I mean, you missed their 13th birthday party because you felt as if you’d discovered the remains of El Dorado and thought that it was somehow run by lizardmen!”

“Aliens,” Ford corrected as he cleared his throat. “It was connected to aliens, and I said the residents were likely attacked by lizardmen at one point resulting in a war that wiped out their crops and festered disease. Not that they were—”

“That’s not the point!” Abigail cried as she waved his words away.

He winced, and had the decency to look apologetic for his bad habit of rambling. Ford had always been a man of discovery and science, so he really couldn’t help how his words got away from him sometimes.

“I apologized for that. I got them both gifts.”

“Yes… some supposed particle gun and a set of laser powered handcuffs.” Lee drawled.

Ford couldn’t help beaming with pride. “Two excellent pinnacles of technology wouldn’t you agree? My colleague and I spent the better part of a year fine tuning the blueprints and constructing them. The process was fascinating!”

Lee and Abigail stared at him.

And the longer they did so the more he deflated until he was awkwardly staring right back.

Abigail ran a hand through her hair, “Be that as it may, this is still a problem. It’s been decades Uncle Standford, and we’ve already told them that Uncle Stanley—”

“He’s not dead.” Ford cut across her, resolute and final.

His nephew and niece-in-law both exchanged a wary look.

Ford sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he should be respectful right now, even if every atom of his body protested and wanted to chide the both of them, but it was difficult.

He’d just gotten so tired of hearing how the family had given up over the years…

“Look,” He began as he adjusted his glasses and folded his hands. “I love these kids, more than anything, and their safety will be my utmost priority if you agree to entrust them to me, I promise you.”

Abigail swallowed thickly as she glanced down at her hands and began to fiddle with the acrylic on one of her long manicured nails. Lee, however, met Ford’s gaze head on, his words stern and tone icy.

“If we let you have them for the summer you are to take them to your home in Gravity Falls, and keep them there. You won’t drag our children on this wild goose chase of yours, or you’ll never see Dipper and Mabel again. I won’t agree to trust our children to some lunatic. Do you understand?”

'Wild goose chase.’

Ford’s hands clenched into fists against the table top, but he showed just how great the extent of his control was as he kept a perfectly neutral expression and nodded in understanding while he replied, “Completely.”

Lee and Abigail exchanged another concerned look before finally relenting as they smiled.

“We’ll have them get packed then.” Abigail chirped as she took a sip of her tea.

Ford forced himself to relax as he returned their grins with a hollow one of his own and popped a piece of biscotti between his teeth. For the next ten minutes he listened to Lee and Abigail’s upcoming plans for a vacation to the alps now that the kids would be preoccupied, and reassured them when they would ask questions or voice any lingering worries.

It was tedious.

But finally, they both excused themselves to go help the twins pack, leaving Ford alone in their kitchen. Alone with their phone only a few feet away, tucked into the corner of their marble counter.

He wasted no time rushing over to it.

On the third ring he got an answer, and he was quick, straight to the point and clipped.

“Fiddleford? Does your uncle still own that hanger off of I-580?”

~~~~

“Tell me, do you love your parents?”

Dipper and Mabel frowned as they looked at each other before looking back up at him.

“Yes,” they replied simultaneously.

“Good, because I love them too!” Ford exclaimed as he tossed the last of their bags in the back of his trunk before slamming the lid shut. “However, allow me to pose another question.”

He turned to face them with his fists on his hips. “Do you love obeying them?”

At that Dipper and Mabel went wide eyed and took turns shaking their heads and tilting their hands as they mumbled indifferent and uncertain ‘mehs’ and ‘sometimes’ followed by ‘not really’.

Ford felt a smirk curve his lips as he chuckled.

“An interesting answer. Now get in the car, we have a long journey ahead.”

As the twins both climbed into the car (after arguing over who got shotgun to which Mabel won over a game of rock-paper-scissors) Dipper couldn’t help groaning under his breath from the backseat, “Why do you have to live eight hours away? My legs are going to be numb by the time we get there.

Ford didn’t say anything as he waited for them to both finish buckling in before turning on the ignition and pulling out of the driveway.

“Yes, eight hours can be a moderately taxing drive.” he chuckled, before adding, “which is why we shall be flying.”

Dipper and Mabel both perked up at that, Dipper raising a confused brow as Mabel tilted her head to ask, “Flying?”

Ford glanced at her from the corner of his eye and grinned.

“We’re not going to Gravity Falls. Not right now at least. I have found something interesting that I wish to investigate. Next stop: Europe! Dublin specifically.”

“...does this have anything to do with great uncle Stanley?” Dipper asked, perturbed.

Ford fell silent as he stared ahead at the open road.

The quiet awkwardly filled the car as Mabel glanced back at her brother via the rearview mirror, the both of them making a face of worry. After an extended and tense moment, Mabel perked up, her chest puffing out as she threw a thumb at the center of it.

“Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’ve always wanted to see a leprechaun!”

The tension instantly vanished as Ford chuckled again and Dipper rolled his eyes.

“Leprechauns aren’t real,” her brother sighed.

Mabel instantly went into a pout.

“You don’t know that! I bet they are, and that their gold is really those chocolate coins that the stores sell on halloween! Oh, oh! And! They bleed sprinkles and sneeze rainbows!”

“What? You can’t be serious Mabel.” Dipper groused at his sister’s whimsy.

As they both started to go back and forth, Ford felt his heart skip a beat as elation warmed his chest from the inside out. The kids may have been a bit apprehensive, but now that they were warming up to the idea of traveling abroad he couldn’t help thinking how lucky he was.

Dipper and Mabel were not going to hinder his search after all by forcing him to be in one place for an extended period of time (wasting precious minutes—minutes that could be life or death for Stanley wherever he was), and were sure to be a great asset to him with Dipper’s logic and Mabel’s ability to think outside the box. In time at least, once they’d gotten used to everything and he’d had time to explain the theory of weirdness to them.

Clearly, he’d have to work on Dipper’s logic and how it could be applied to the abnormal, because leprechauns were indeed real, and were ALWAYS cranky. And also work with Mabel on how to convey her creative ideas in a proper way, as sometimes they bordered on nonsensical.

But those were just small, trivial details that could be handled another day.

First things first, was making sure they were both comfortable during this trip. He wanted them to enjoy it and get a taste for adventuring just as he had, and to want to do this when the opportunity came to visit him. He wanted them to not regret taking a risk by trusting him like they just had and going along with it when he mentioned the change of plans.

Ford may have misled their parents on what he and the kids would be doing, but he had been truthful about how much they both meant to him and the care that he felt towards their wellbeing.

He glanced over again as the dappled light from passing trees danced across the interior of the car, his gaze raking over both the twins as they dissolved into giggles and laughter over something concerning dorito chips and hot sauce. How they got on that topic he hadn’t a clue but he couldn’t help laughing along as Mabel listed off how hot sauce was a better dip than nacho cheese.

….he was certain that Stanley would have adored them, just as he did.

He focused on driving again and took a turn towards the private airport he’d booked with Fiddleford right after his conversation with Lee and Abigail.

The sight of the plane already waiting on the runway gradually greeted him like a beacon of light through darkness as he slowly crested the rolling hill of freshly dewed grass and graveled dirt towards the tarmac.

Everything would be fine, Ford reassured himself.

He just hoped Dipper and Mabel were able to keep a secret.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #7alt8 #stanford pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #and they kept that secret for three whole years #with a lot of close calls #because mabel insists on buying souvenirs #46'/ stan would be proud and disappointed at the same time LOL jk #fanfiction #my writing

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