#cw peer abuse

[tijuanabiblestudies]

2, 5, 9, 15?

What does your issues with communication look like?

OKAY SO: two characters i hugely identify with on this front are Wesley Wyndam-Price and Eric "Cat" Chant, because both of them Have Trouble Telling People Things, even when the Things in question are very important and/or easily expressed in very few words. shit is just hard a lot of the time. although, i will say it gets easier when i'm hypomanic, but also, i tend to go in the opposite direction in such circumstances and overwhelm people with Too Many Words, or worry that i am doing so (anxiety is omnipresent and constant. i really should start taking the new med for the fully allowed thrice a day and see how that grabs me.)

What is your safe food if any?

not to be a super basic tmnt-loving '90s kid, but: pizza. especially if i am particularly in a bad way and feeling picky (i am actually a super adventurous eater in general), a regular-ass plain-cheese pizza just really hits the spot now and then. (just call me kevin mcallister--actually, do not even get me started on Buzz and his feigned puking and general demeanor, or i will fully trigger myself and die.)

also chicken tendies and fries. just recently found out there's a Raising Cain's near me, and i really wanna go.

What is your story of how you got diagnosed?

oh christ on a stick, this could get REALLY long and genuinely triggering if i'm not careful. ok deep breath here we go

my mother tried to diagnose me (with ASD/"""aspergers""" [welcome to ass burger, home of the ass burger, can i take your order] and also other stuff) throughout my late childhood and adolescence and early adulthood (she was an elementary school teacher, so....that's a whole fuckin Thing.) mind you, she did not go as far as to try and get me an official diagnosis or an IEP or anything like that. actual, concrete Help? for her "gifted" d**ghter? perish the thought.

and then, too--and i remember this vividly--my first introduction to the very concept of autism was the book Kristy and the Secret of Susan by Ann M. Martin. i went through Babysitter's Club books like popcorn for a big chunk of my childhood (in a very Hello Fellow Girls, I Would Like To Relate And Connect With You sort of way) and i have long since forgotten most of them, but two have stuck in my memory. one is a Jesse book i wished i remembered the title of--i remember the plot was a "don't bully teachers" aesop overall, but also it was really funny? like, i have to wonder if the ghostwriter had a comedic background, because it genuinely made me lol at multiple points when i was 11 (jesse's age) and in retrospect it feels very Saved by the Bell. (there was a lot of "Dolly One" and "Dolly Two," the teachers who both looked exactly like Dolly Parton. i didn't even know who Dolly Parton was at that age, and that shit was still funny.) (note to self: BSC reread podcast, at some point, maybe?)

and then Secret of Susan stuck with me in the absolute opposite direction. it painted The Autism as something huge and mysterious and frighting--not wholly inaccurate, but also very similar in tone to that fucking Autism $peaks commercial i still haven't forgiven Alfonso Cuarón for (even though Y tu mamá también and his A Little Princess movie remain formative favorites). there was also a standalone Ann M. Martin book i've also forgotten the title of, which was about a boy with an autistic younger brother, also taking much of that same tone. i recall it resonating with me on the topic of anxiety, but in retrospect....ew ew ew ew ew. (there was much talk of the younger brother "embarrassing" the older one by like, trying to eat gravel and wetting himself and such. fuck you for that one, Ann.)

so that was my first exposure. while i did catch occasional flashes of knowledge after that (e.g. a milquetoste both-sidesy article about A$ in a to-be-recycled newspaper that caught my eye, so i read the whole thing real fast on the screened-in porch like an underpaid and underfed fast food worker pounding a gogurt in the walk-in fridge which has no security cameras) (tell me you're hyperlexic without telling me you're hyperlexic), the time for self-diagnosis did not roll around until i was in my early twenties and had just successfully dumped the Shitty Ex. funny how self-discovery tends to follow such things. anyway.

at this point i must give a direct tip of the hat to @exteenpopstar a.k.a. Meda. i had a mutual, Raya, who was somewhat further along in the self-diagnosis process--i remember seeing a post from her (them? him? none of the above? i have no idea anymore, sadly) that was like, "if stimming and putting One Direction in your ears is what it takes to get this assignment done, you have full permission to do so," and being like "ooh i love that word 'stimming'; i wonder what it means."

'twas Raya who put me in touch with Meda, who at that point was a mutual-in-law whom i was aware of via their Star Trek fandom activity (literally my first Tumblr fandom, all the way back in 2010-ish when i migrated over from Livejournal). 'twas Meda who gave me the valuable advice (paraphrased) "learn about autism from autistic people, not the Medical Literature" and linked me to a great selection of helpful blog posts--some Mel Baggs, some Julia Bascom, and also the Loud Hands Project video, which both introduced me to "King of Everything" (fucking great song) and also kickstarted me on the Road to Autistic Joy in a very real way. my copy of the Loud Hands Anthology (to which Meda wrote the afterword; i hope i'm not revealing too much by saying that) (meda, just say the word if anything here bothers you and i will take it out) sits upon my bookshelf to this day. (not the only bookshelf in the apartment, but the one that is Mine.)

so yeah. i did get an official dx eventually, which was a whole fuckin pain-in-the-ass Thing, but i cannot stress enough how much of an afterthought it was in the grand scheme of things. the self-diagnosis was the important part, and...you know what, i normally don't say this sort of thing, but i'm really feeling like the dynamite five-foot-six autistic jewish bitch i am, so why not: if you, person reading this, are "anti self-dx"--if you think it takes an expensive-ass piece of paper to be considered """valid""" as an Autistic person--unfollow me, block me, and go fuck yourself at your earliest convience, please and thank you.

(there's loads more i could say about the self-dx process, but this is too long already.)

ok last question here we go

How did your development look like growing up? Did you have developmental delays?

What would you like as if you were your favorite animal? i apologize; i don't mean to be a dick about language (another tip of the hat to Mel Baggs, may hir memory be a blessing, for the infinitely useful phrase "language dickery") but Homestar Runner Dot Com is very much a part of my DNA at this point, and delayed echolalia is a helluva drug. ("🎶walkin round the mall with a Sterrance costume / that you made for your kiiiiiid / thinkofallthetimeandhardworkyouputintothat Sterrance costume / and they don't really know what it iiiiiiiis / andyourkiddoesn'tcareonewayortheotherrrrrr / because they're OOOOOOONNNNNNNE!!!!!🎶")

sorrynotsorry for Gettin Sillay, and i feel the need to inform y'all that i typed that whole thing from memory. anyways.

a factor which complicated my situation is that i pretty much taught myself to read starting in very early toddlerhood. my mom loves to tell the story of how she was reading me Dr. Seuss's ABC when i was maybe a year and change old (my conscious memories kicked in when i was 2, and i don't remember this, so it was probably before that) and i pointed to the P page and exclaimed "PEE!" completely unprompted. hilarious in hindsight, tbh.

from there, it was the fast track to hyperlexia city. i started out basically memorizing very repetitive books--i remember one about a yellow dog and a yellow ball or some shit, and then Have You Seen My Cat? by Eric Carle (the Very Hungry Caterpillar guy) which i remember annoying a whole carful of people with by "reading" it over and over. (basically it goes "have you seen my cat? this is not my cat" with various pictues of cats for like twenty pages, until the narrator finds their cat. a simple storyline, but evocative nonetheless).

and from there it was stacks of easy reader books that i went through like a wood chipper, and by the time i got to kindergarten i was like "why the fuck can't y'all read yet?" i have historically been super bad at being patient with peers (and older people) who know less than i do, and that applied to the very foundations of literacy ("do you HAVE to read that book out loud?" "yes" "can't you just, like, read it silently inside your head?" "no"). i have worked hard at being better about that as an adult, because it's a whole MTG deck's worth of dick moves, and fuck knows i don't know everything.

which brings me to what i feel is the area of my main developmental delay: socialization. it's hard to tell how much of this is l'autism and how much is trauma (ain't that just the way), but--okay, i'm switching to bullet points, because i really need to take my time and some deep breaths (and a cuppertea, and a feeding of the cats, and a bathroom break, as it turns out) as i finally, finally come to the end of this post:

my family was not "strict" in any traditional sense

however, there were a lot of unspoken rules which i got yelled at for breaking

and also an unspoken but (in retrospect) very clear hierarchy with me at the bottom, maybe under out geriatric calico cat even

(Echo. i miss her. she was the first cat who taught me how to cat, and i never appreciated her enough as a smart-dumb kid, and her very name is Significant to me now for autism reasons)

and then there was the whole thing of me being my brother's favorite punching bag and my parents utterly failing to intervene WHICH I AM NOT GETTING INTO RIGHT NOW, we are tiptoeing AROUND the triggers, thank you

and my mom ran a daycare out of our house prior to working at a legit daycare before going back to college for her teaching certificate when i was like 10

(i freaked out and cried when she told me, because i had major separation anxiety, and i was under the impression that going back to college meant she had to move away from home and go live in a dorm)

and so there was ostensibly no shortage of kids my age for me to play with, but also they were frequently assholes and bitches to me

("assholism" and "bitchcraft" being two separate-but-overlapping and largely gender-neutral categories of behavior in my mental framework, but that's a whole 'nother post)

one particular memory stands out:

my mom frequently whipped up large amounts of kraft mac n cheese as any easy lunch for all the children, as one does

and i just straight-up Could Not Stand the smell of the stuff

(i hated spaghetti-o's too. entirely too sweet for my palate, even when i was babby)

and being Very Young, i was incapable of keeping this to myself

and so. just for shits and giggles. the other kids.

decided to crowd me into a corner

and breathe

their

kraftmacncheese-scented breath

directly

into my face

and i am infinitely less of a picky eater than i was then

but i still

cannot stand

the smell of literally any kind of boxed mac and cheese

(yes, even that kind. even that one, too. even your favorite which you swear up and down is your favorite. cook that shit far away from me)

(and do not even think about trying to feed any of it to me, unless you want it redirected to YOUR face in projectile fashion)

the end

ok, one last memory to end on, just because this one is actually funny to me:

daycare kids are playing tee-ball (baby baseball for babies). Baby Wheeler is like, "y'all have fun, imma sit here on the steps and read."

Some Bitch™️: "but you must PRACTICE the tee-ball!!!!"

Baby Wheeler: "for why?"

Some Bitch™️: "for the Start of the all-important Season!!!"

Baby Wheeler: "i do not intend to participate"

Some Bitch™️: "but thou must!!!!!!"

Baby Wheeler: "no???????"

Some Bitch™️: "no srsly you gotta. they're gonna make you"

Baby Wheeler: ........

Baby Wheeler: *bursts into tears*

Baby Wheeler: *runs inside house*

Baby Wheeler: "MOOOOMMMMM😭😭😭"

Baby Wheeler's Mother: "...?"

Baby Wheeler: "you're not 😭 gonna make me 😭 play TEE-BALL 😭😭😭, are you???? 😭"

Baby Wheeler's Mother: "...........no????"

Baby Wheeler: ".....oh! okay ☺️"

Baby Wheeler: *cheerfully returns to his book*

so you can see, my mother was not completely terrible on all fronts. she was controlling in other ways (and also i viewed her as the Safe Parent whilst my dad was a Big Scary Dog of a guy, so that's a whole thing) but at least she never tried to force me to play sports or have kids.

additionally, it's a very good "i've always been a sissy boy" story, while also being my very first act of resistance to the pervasive and deeply toxic de facto religion that is Sports in America, and i've been this way every since. OKAY POST OVER 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

[porcalinecunt]

I'm OBSESSED with sharing is caring 😍😍😍 it's like you were peering directly in my brain while writing it. Can I request part 2 when you have the time? I neeeeed to see what happens next 👀👀 ty!

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 (𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋) 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 !

🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩 it’s bad enough jason fucked you full on call with your boyfriend dick, yet you don’t even know the half of what’s in store when dick comes through the window . . . ♡︎

⋆˚࿔ FEATURING . . 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ JASON TODD & DICK GRAYSON X MALE! READER

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . cw — ftm!reader, threesome, breeding, rough sex, lots of cum, spitroasting, cucking, masterbation, overstimulation, feminization(?), dumbification, dick is a jealous boyfie and jason is fucking gross :<

[・:。author’s note ! 「 ✉️ 」・𓂃 ࣪˖ nghhh i wish i was reader so badly </3 if you haven’t read the first part, here!

face down, ass up, pussy fuckin’ filled to the brim already.

that’s what greeted dick grayson the moment he climbed through the window of your shared apartment, rock hard and rightfully so, pissed.

what didn’t help was seeing jason, the unwelcomed guest, sitting at the edge of the bed where your body laid. one hand caressing the bruised and reddened skin on your ass from all his spanking and the other palming himself through his boxers where it was explicitly clear that he was hard again.

“glad you made it back in time dick, otherwise i would’ve gave him a fuckin’ baby..”

jason laughs while dick fumes, his kevlar suit feeling more tighter down there thanks to his post patrol boner. he approaches your shaking figure, swatting jay’s hand away and pressing his palm onto your lower back. a sigh of relief left your hoarse throat.

“oh no, don’t think you’re done yet..we’re just getting started.”

before you could question anything, dick pushed you onto your back once again, exposing the trail his brother left imprinted into your skin. bite marks littered your neck and shoulders with hickies coloring your collerbones in an ugly mash of red and purple. jason was a greedy fuck, not leaving a blank space for dick. what an animal.

dick quickly shot jay a glare, which he only received a smug grin in return. not breaking eye contact for another second, he placed his hands on the back of your knees and pushed your sore legs back until they touched your chest. you gasped as dick pressed his leaking tip against your cunt, rubbing against your abused clit while you whined weakly. a shallow “dickkkkk…” leaked through your teeth, earning you two fingers down your throat.

“don’t you fucking ‘dick’ me, not after the shit you pulled tonight..”

the frustration and jealousy finally got the better of him as he pushed his cock all the way in your stuffed pussy. dick didn’t waste another second in practically mounting your smaller figure and snapping his hips against yours until they bruised.

harsh, furious and needy thrusts. poor dick lashed it all out on your used up cunt, not caring about the gobs of cum that jason stuffed into you earlier. obscene noises filled the walls with the rhythmic thwop! thwop! thwop! sounds being the only thing you could hear besides your boyfriend’s groans and strange fapping noises from right next to you.

your eyes landed on jason, whom was sitting right next to the bed, cock in his hand and frantically pumping away at the view of his bitch being fucked into oblivion.

“jason!—“

a large hand flew up and grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks together until your lips were puckered.

“don’t look at him. he’s not gonna help ya..” dick sneered before letting out a breathy moan between his words. “look at me, only me princess..”

his tone soft, before pressing a quick kiss onto your drooling lips. your gaze shifted once again, this time, peering at the view of your cunt being stuffed by dick’s length. a mess of his, jay’s and your own cum spread onto your thighs and staining the sheets. something straight out of pornography.

the headboard violently banged against the wall behind you, your body rocked upwards until it bobbed back and forth as if you were a lifeless ragdoll, a breeding mount for your exhausted vigilante of a boyfriend use after a long and aggravating night. he was having none of it, and it still aroused you even after jason cummed in you.

“dickie..m’ so close..”

you whined, soft and breathy with a smile belonging to an innocent. it worked like a charm with dick’s cock twitching against your bruised cervix. only fueled when you hear a small plop!

“help me out here doll, can’t do it all myself y’know?” jason. that shameless son of a bitch, nudging his leaking tip against your pouted lips. spiteful and irritated enough from his antics, dick pulled your hips against his in a sloppy and needy attempt to rip an orgasm out of you. all the while, the red hood vigilante shoved his meat into your jaw, not caring about the gagging noises that ripped from your throat.

the overwhelming harmony if skin slapping, groans and slurred cursing from the men and your own noises of struggle yet pleasure made you dizzy. your brain melted with a burning desire remaining, one to be fucked full and stained with their cum. you were so lost infact, you were caught off guard once a sharp wave of pleasure jolted your body to a halt.

“Fuuuckk..yeah, atta boy..look how much you’re takin’ from both of us..” Jason chuckled, watching as ropes of cum drenched your fucked out face.

Dick, on the other hand, pressed his lower half against your stomach as he breeds your used up pussy, not pulling away even for a moment. he secretly hoped he fucked out all of jason’s cum.

wiping your lips clean of jay’s seed, your boyfriend kept you occupied through a surprisingly gentle kiss while he shooed his brother away.

“damn, not even a thank?—“

“get the fuck out.” dick sloppily shot back, not wanting to pull away from you in case jay tried to shimmy his way into your mouth again. he never wants to share, not with him, ever again.

© porcalinecunt 🪽ᯓᡣ𐭩ྀི do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

[quitefawnish]

the prize of prey

knight!au, simon riley x reader, kyle garrick x reader, johnny mactavish x reader, brief soap x gaz, mentioned john price x reader

cw: noncon/dubcon, abuse of power

word count: 3.6k

synopsis: this is inspired by one of my classes actually, where we discussed how knights in the middle ages only had to court noble women, whereas any peasant woman was open to their desires, and they were in fact encouraged to do so. while this is disgusting as a concept, i am also disgusting, so ofc i wrote this..

Everyone in the kingdom knew to stay out of the way of the knights. It was a common sight to see a vendor being heckled by a group of knights while many people walked by without sparing a glance. So you were well aware of how fucked you were when a group of them approached you at the market.

They were in their casual wear but the scabbards at their hips spoke to their knight status. The first one that started the conversation had tanned skin and a crooked grin that caused the edges of his stark blue eyes to crinkle.

His brown hair was styled in a mohawk, with the hair on the sides of his head crudely shaven away, and by the nicks that were spread across his scalp, you guessed he did it himself.

“Well, hello there, bonnie,” he practically whispered in your ear.

His hands gripped your waist as he pulled himself to stand closer to you with his chest against your back.

You stiffened, turning your head slightly backwards to peer at him. You had seen the group of them wandering the market earlier and you had hoped that’s the last you would see of them. You were not so lucky.

The second one, to your relief, pulled Mohawk off of you.

“Don’t crowd her, ye git” He gave you a grin, acting as if his friend hadn’t just groped you a second ago, but you had to admit, he was so pretty, it almost worked.

He had brown skin and tight curls that were close-cropped to his head. His facial hair was neatly trimmed, and his brown eyes sparkled with a mirth you didn’t share.

“I’m Gaz” he said, then he pointed to Mohawk, “he’s Soap.”

“But ye can call me Johnny, if ye like,” Soap interrupted, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

Gaz just shot him a glare and then pointed to the last man who had just been observing this whole interaction, “and this is Ghost.”

Ghost was a hulking creature of man, and if he wasn’t intimidating enough, he had on a skull-painted balaclava. Through the gap in the fabric you could see just his pale skin and soulless dark brown eyes that were boring into your soul.

You introduced yourself as they all stared at you expectantly.

“‘s a pretty name fer a pretty lass” Soap practically cooed at you.

This made you tuck further in yourself, wishing you could just disappear on the spot, “I.. don’t think this is appropriate.”

Gaz cocked his head slightly, “And why is that?”

You swallowed thickly, “B-because I don’t think my husband would approve.”

It was a complete gamble, maybe these knights would leave you alone if they thought you had a man to protect you. Problem is, you were decidedly not married, and all you could do was hope they wouldn’t see through your bluff.

“Husband?” Soap made a show of looking around, “if ye’re married, then where is he?”

“A man shouldn’t leave his woman to fend for herself in such a dangerous place, especially not one as beautiful as you, someone might try to take advantage,” Gaz said in a worried tone, but it was ruined by the slight grin on his face.

“He.. he went home already, I told him I needed to get one last thing, and I would be right home,” your lie was falling apart as soon as it left your mouth.

“He should have waited, no sense in making your woman walk home alone,” Soap grumbled.

By now, they had almost backed you into a corner, both literally and figuratively, as they advanced forward, forcing you to inch back towards the fruit stand behind you.

“He-he knows the people in the community, they would never do anything to me,” you managed to stammer out.

“If this husband o’ yours is real, where’s your ring?” You were startled as Ghost finally spoke up, his voice deep and rumbling as he glared at you with accusing eyes.

You put your right hand up and looked at it, faking bewilderment, “Oh! I must have left it at home this morning.”

“Ah, right, sorry for pestering you, then,” Gaz said, bowing slightly for emphasis, the other two following suit.

You gave them a small, nervous curtsy in response and smiled awkwardly at the three of them, “It’s quite alright. If you’ll excuse me, I think I should head home now.”

You started to walk away when Soap put out an arm to stop you, “Aye, but it wouldnae be right of us to let a woman walk home by herself.”

Your heart plummeted to your feet and your eyes involuntarily widened with horror.

“I should be okay walking by myself, thank you for the offer, sirs,” you said as you attempted to shoulder past Soap.

He just moved closer to you, “It wouldnae be right,” he said in a darker tone, implying this wasn’t up for debate.

You looked between Gaz and Ghost, who had blocked your other exits, and it didn’t seem like they were willing to budge on this either. You swallowed nervously, “R-right, let’s go, then.”

When you made it to your house, you had half-hoped for them to bid you a good night and go on their way.

They, of course, insisted on meeting your so-called husband and giving him a good talk about respecting his wife. You were fairly certain that at this point it was like a game for them.

It was obvious from the start that they never believed you and they knew you knew that, but that didn’t stop them from continuing this ruse, they were having too much fun.

You opened the door to an empty and dark house, it being abundantly clear that no one had been in the place since you left that morning.

“O-oh, I don’t know where he went, he must have gone looking for me since I took so long,” you lied, but winced at your wavering tone.

“Lass, we would have run into him on the way,” Soap said, making you turn around to face the three of them.

“He knows some different paths, maybe he took one of those,” you continued lying, knowing that it was never going to convince them, but you needed to keep talking or you were going to cry.

Noticing the devastated look on your face, Gaz walked forward and took your face in his hands, “It’s alright, luv, we’re not going to hurt you.”

You were shaking so bad that your teeth were practically rattling out of your skull, “You’re not? You’re.. going to leave me alone?”

Soap just shook his head, tutting at you, “We didnae say that, just that we aren’t gonna hurt ye, in fact, you’ll probably like it.”

The grin on his face made your stomach churn, and you stepped back from Gaz’s hands, backing up until you hit your bed frame. It startled you as you stumbled back into the wood, and you looked back to see what you had run into before trying to steady yourself.

When you turned back around, Gaz and Soap were practically face-to-face with you, Ghost choosing to settle in a dark corner of the room, settling into a chair as it let out a big creak of stress under his weight.

You turned your gaze back to the two knights in front of you who both have matching looks in their eyes, a mix of lust and excitement, as they eye you up and down.

“P-please don’t” you managed to stutter out.

Soap just pressed a finger to your lips, “Shhh, you’re okay. We’re going to take good care of you.”

You tried to lean out of the way as Gaz’s lips came towards yours, squeezing your eyes shut as if you could pretend all of this wasn’t happening.

Rough hands gripped your head, pulling your face towards Gaz, who captured your lips in his. As your eyes flew open, you saw that it was both Gaz and Soap’s hands that were holding you steady. Gaz’s other hand settled on your waist, gripping at the soft flesh underneath the fabric of your dress.

He leaned into the kiss, being somewhat gentle, as if he didn’t want to scare you off just so soon. You gasped softly into his lips as you felt Soap’s tongue on your neck, licking a stripe from your neck up to your face, ending it with a wet kiss to the apple of your check.

Gaz pulled away, staring blatantly down at your body before he began to undo the strings at the back of your bodice.

You tried to pull away, muttering out a soft “no” in protest, but Gaz worked efficiently enough that he was able to pull the piece over your head before you could do much else. Soap grinned down at your body, the top half of your thin chemise having been revealed.

Your hardened nipples poked through the sheer clothing, your body having betrayed you in response to Gaz’s kiss. Soap seemed transfixed as he palmed at your breast through the material, cupping both hands underneath your nipples.

“So bonnie, and just for us to see, aye?” he asked.

You couldn’t even move your mouth to answer and you just remained rooted to the spot no matter how much you wished you could move, fight them off, anything.

Soap didn’t seem to mind your lack of response, carrying on fondling your tits. While Soap was transfixed, Gaz slipped off your skirts, leaving you now with one practically translucent layer, which he was now starting to pull off as well.

That was when you got the courage to move, attempting to cover your body while also trying to keep your chemise on. Instead of grabbing your arms like you thought they would, Soap simply pushed you backwards so you landed with an ‘oof’ on your bed.

You tried to scramble away, slipping over your sheets in your desperation but Soap yanked you back towards them, “Behave.”

You swallowed nervously and stopped trying to struggle away, actually finding yourself nodding to his command.

He grinned, “Good girl.”

His words sent shivers down your body, ending with a fluttering in your cunt.

“Told you we were gonna make you feel good, yeah?” Gaz said, positioning himself in the space between your legs, gripping your thighs open with an ease that betrayed just how strong he was compared to you.

“I don’t want this,” you surprised yourself when you said this, having been frozen in fear just moments before.

Soap, who was now positioned in the space above your head, smiled down at you, brushing your hair back against your scalp, “Dinnae say that just yet, think ye’ll like this next part.”

Knowing that your protests would fall on deaf, uncaring ears, you shut your mouth and looked back down at Gaz who had now pulled the bottom part of your chemise up to reveal your pussy to the night air. Once again, you tried desperately to have some remaining decency and pulled your dress back down, only for Soap to grab your hands and pull them back to your chest.

He held them in an X formation with one hand gripping around both of your wrists, “Och, dinnae be naughty, lass. Wouldnae want for Ghost to have to punish ye.”

Your eyes flicked over to the man who was sitting in the corner who was staring over at the three of you, and you noticed him lazily palming at a bulge in his pants. You swallowed nervously and shook your head, looking back at Soap, “I’ll be good, I promise.”

He seemed satisfied and nodded to Gaz, who had flipped the bottom half of your chemise up once again. He pressed gentle kisses to your inner thighs, trailing up until he reached your entrance. It was horrible because even though you wanted them to stop, you needed for Gaz to hurry up and put his mouth on your aching bud.

As if sensing your thoughts, he put his lips to your clit and sucked. You couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped from your lips as he did this, your face flushing at the realization of the obscene noise that you had made.

It only egged Gaz on more as he began to practically make out with your pussy, wet smacking sounds echoing around the room.

Soap, meanwhile, had shifted your hands to pin them above your head, therefore giving him unobstructed access to your tits. He latched his mouth to your right nipple, sucking through the fabric.

He used his free hand to grope at your other breast, practically kneading it like a cat. All you could do was whimper softly, your arms and legs both being restrained. It wasn’t long before you could feel a pressure building between your legs, feeling the pleasure crescendo until it hit its peak and your body started shaking uncontrollably.

You could dimly hear Soap praising you with his mouth still on your nipple with your ears ringing slightly.

As the wave overtook you, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes back into your head. Gaz unsucked with a loud popping noise, and as your sight returned to normal, you saw him grinning triumphantly between your legs.

Soap had already unlatched from your tit, the sheer fabric that covered it being almost translucent from the saliva. Now that you had finally relaxed, or rather, was too tired to move or try to struggle, Soap let go of your arms. You left them where they were hanging above your head as you tried to catch your breath.

At that moment, Ghost stood up from the chair, startling you, as you had almost forgotten he was there.

“My turn,” he said gruffly, which made both Gaz and Soap complain loudly.

“Och, but I’m achin’ LT,” Soap complained, almost whining as he gestured to his dick which was straining against his pants.

“‘ave Kyle take care o’ you” he said matter-of-factly.

Although you weren’t sure of their ranks within the knight’s guard, it was clear that these two readily deferred to him as Soap reluctantly slipped off the bed.

Ghost walked towards you, looking you up and down with almost calculating eyes. All you could do was whimper softly as he approached you, half paralyzed from fear.

His eyes softened slightly as he looked down at you, and although you flinched as he outstretched a hand, he simply stroked your cheek with a softness you didn’t know he was capable of.

“Poor thing, probably scared out o’ your mind.”

You nodded meekly, hoping maybe he would take mercy on you and leave you alone.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good, yeah?”

He then undressed his lower half which was littered in scars and which also freed his erect cock, one that looked like it could split you in half, precum glistening at the tip.

Your eyes widened at the sight of it, “I.. I don’t think it’s going to fit.”

He shook his head, “It’s gonna fit, don’t worry, ‘sides, my boys warmed you up for me, didn’t they?”

You looked over at Gaz and Soap, the former helping Soap out by stroking along his cock with spit-slicked hands, making Soap moan out words in a language you didn’t understand. You stopped looking when Ghost’s hands found your jaw and turned your face back to him.

“Asked you a question, love.”

You nodded, but your lower lip wobbled slightly.

That just seemed to egg him on more, and his eyes crinkled through the gap in his mask. He repositioned you so you were facedown on the bed, legs dangling off the side so your ass was level with his pelvis.

He pulled up your chemise, and once again, your pussy was exposed to the night air. He sucked in a breath at the sight of it, dragging one finger up through the folds and dipping it into your hole. You inhaled sharply at the intrusion, clenching slightly on his finger in shock.

He just laughed, “Careful you don’t squeeze like that while I’m inside, yeah? ‘fraid I’d never pull out.” You took the message and forced yourself to relax, knowing that it was happening either way and it was best just to make things easier on yourself.

You tried not to jump again when he dragged his tip down your pussy, gathering the come that had collected in between your folds. Then he pressed into your hole, it traitorously sucking him in with ease.

He was able to get it in a good amount of inches before your insides started to ache. Sure, maybe you’d had a couple of fingers in there before but nothing like this, certainly not this length or girth.

You whimpered softly as he pressed in further and he soothingly pet your hair as he paused for a moment.

“You’re okay, I know, I know” he said, soothingly, “Just a bit more, okay?” You nodded weakly, knowing that it wasn’t an option to back out now.

“Good girl” he murmured softly as he pressed inch by inch into you.

You whined pitifully as his pelvis pressed against your ass, his cock now fully inside you.

It hurt, but what was worse to you was that this hurt felt.. good. You hardly had a second to take all of him before he slowly pulled out again, and stupidly, you began to hope he was done.

Those dreams were dashed the second he slammed back into you, making you cry out in surprise. He continued this, rocking back and forth into you, his cock dragging in and out of your hole as you gripped the sheets beneath you for stability.

Then, he lowered himself on top of you, bending over at his hips to press himself against your back. All you could hear were his grunts and the sound of his balls slapping against your pussy as he pounded into you.

Even though tears were building up in your eyes, you could also feel pleasure building between your legs at the continuous thrusting. Your body tensed up as you felt another wave overtake you, the sensations making your legs shake uncontrollably underneath Ghost’s.

Your breathy moans earned an even faster pace, causing a slight staccato in your breathing.

Now that your orgasm had ended, the pleasure bordered on painful and with the increased thrusts, you whimpered softly, “It hurts.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of your head and through his panting he said, “I know, I know, just a little longer. ‘m almost there.”

You felt another wave building, this time it felt too intense, too painful, but you couldn’t stop it from overtaking you just as Ghost slowed above you, grunting in your ear as he finished inside you. You couldn’t breathe for a terrifying moment, your lungs drawing in no air as your vision darkened. The ringing in your ears grew louder as you lost sensation, and eventually, lost consciousness.

When you woke up what you assumed to be a few seconds later, Ghost had pulled out of you and you were laying on your back on the bed. You could feel his and your come dripping out of your pussy which was still fluttering around nothing.

He had pulled his pants up and redone his belt, now fully dressed again.

He looked over at you, “Lost you there for a second, that good, am I?”

You didn’t really know what to say in response, sure, he was good, but he also forced his way into your home and your body. You weren’t about to praise the man that violated you. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind your lack of response, looking over to Soap and Gaz who had both finished, seeming both literally and figuratively.

Soap gave you a lopsided grin, “Put on quite a show, lass. Told ye we’d take care of ye.”

“Will you leave me be, now?” you asked bluntly. Now that they had all had their fair share, all you wanted was for them to leave so you could tend to yourself and lick your wounds.

Gaz raised an eyebrow, “Rid of you? Who said anything about that?”

Your heart sank, “I.. I just assumed that once you got what you wanted, you’d leave.”

Ghost shook his head as if you had said something egregiously stupid, “Don’t you get it? You are what we wanted, and we’re not letting you go that easily. From the moment we laid eyes on you, we had to have you.”

You looked between the three of them, this hadn’t been a spur of the moment thing, they had planned this. You knew all along that they knew you weren’t married, but you didn’t think they had planned this, all for them to take you like some unruly spoil of war at the end.

“You can’t do this, someone will wonder where I am,” you mustered the energy to sit up in bed, glaring at the three of them.

“Really? From the looks of it, you live alone, no one knows who you are, and we’re knights. It’s our duty to take things like you home, protect you, take care of you” Gaz said, taking on a more serious tone.

“Y-you can’t do this” you helplessly repeated.

“Oh, lass, we can, and we will. Dinnae worry your pretty little head about it. King John already said he would be very interested in meeting you, doubt he would be too happy if you refused,” Soap’s grin seemed almost malicious now in this lighting.

“It’s time to go home,” Ghost said, scooping you up from the bed.

You were unable to do anything but cry weakly into his shoulder as they brought you to their horses, knowing this would be the rest of your life and there was nothing you could do about it.

a/n: ah ok! first fic on this acct and actually, my first fic writing smut 🫣 so lmk what you guys think, maybe i can write a part two if you’re interested??

sword divider by @/sister-lucifer

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Yes, Konig

👑Pairing(s)👑→Yandere Konig x male reader ⚠CW (DEAD DOVE WARNING INCLUDED)⚠→ gay, gay-sex, yandere Konig, possessive behavior, possessive Konig, obsessed Konig, stalking, NONCON smut, dubious content, top Konig, bottom male reader, dildo play, fingering, kidnapping, size kink, bondage, handcuffs, Konig forces you to ride a dildo, and he jerks off to it. He is really fucked up in this.  👑Rating👑→ Explicit 👑Requested👑→ Yes

👑Word count👑→ 4.1k

👑Summary👑→ Konig has had feelings for you since you were both children. His crush turned dark after you stopped communicating with him. After he retired from the military, he was ready to bring you home with him. He wasn’t going to tolerate your disobedience.

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING! DEAD DOVE IS INCLUDING! NONCON AND DUBIOUS CONTENT IS IN THIS!

This fic may not represent how Konig is in the game or follow the in-game timeline! The English-German dialogue is trash. 

Konig loves you, he does. He would do anything for you, protect you from the ravages of the world and care for you. However, something changed in him, something you never expected from the man you considered to be your best friend. 

xxx

You were Konig's foundation, a rock on which he could lean and a safe haven. You were the only one who understood him, gave him emotional support when no one else did and protected him from others. Truly an amazing person.

Konig remembered that day perfectly. If little people in his brain controlled his emotions and collected memories, like from that one movie, then you were a core memory. You had your own island completely devoted to you and everything about you. 

He was being bullied. The other kids were poking fun at him and humiliating him, teasing him for something he couldn’t control. Konig could only cry and hold himself as he endured their abuse. But that all stopped when a prominent voice ranged through the heckling. 

“Leave him alone! I’ll get the teacher!” you said as you approached the group of boys, pushing them away from the whimpering body. The boys ran off, fearing they would be tattled to the teacher. Konig could hear the footsteps leaving and another pair approaching him. He looked up and saw you peering down on him, your face forever engraved in his memory. Then your voice spoke to him, soft and angelic, causing him to calm down. 

“Are you okay? Here,” you said, reaching your hand out to Konig, gesturing for Konig to grab on. When Konig’s hand made contact with yours, he felt electricity surging through him. His eyes widened with something he couldn’t explain as he looked into yours. Konig was in a daze as he lost himself in your eyes, enamoured by you until your voice snapped him out of his trance. 

“My name is Y/n! What’s yours?” 

xxx

You and Konig became the best of friends. After you saved him that day, he began following you around and talking only with you. You would invite him over for sleepovers or to play games. Konig felt complete; you were the missing piece. Whenever he needed emotional support, he would go to you in a heartbeat. He would do everything with you. 

Being a child, Konig didn’t understand the feelings he had towards you. It was only when he turned the ripe age of fourteen that he realized two things: he’s gay and he loves you. He didn’t know if you were gay either, but you told him a couple of days later. Konig was ecstatic! Now he knows you would accept him if he were to confess his feelings! Yet, the fear of rejection prevailed and Konig hid his true feelings. 

Konig was a teenager when he realized his feelings, but his growth spurt happened. He grew taller and gained muscle mass, outgrowing you by a long shot. His hormones were also out of control. He would find himself jerking off to thoughts of you, wishing he could touch you and hold you in his arms. Konig wanted to do so much with you, but you were oblivious. 

You were also oblivious to other suitors. Konig would find himself staring or glaring at anyone who spoke with you. He often used intimidation tactics, and given how he was much bigger than everyone else, it often worked. He didn’t want you to have other friends! Only he can be your friend! Only he was worthy of you and everything to do with you!

Things changed when he turned seventeen. Konig wanted to join the military, hoping you would follow in his path, but that wasn’t the case. You wanted a career in [insert random career] and already got accepted into your dream university. When Konig heard those words, he felt his world shatter. The large man hid his emotions, but on the inside he was in turmoil. His heart was racing and his mind was flooded with reasons why you were straying away from him. You two were meant to be together! Together through everything! You gave him that promise. 

“Y/n... I was thinking we could go to the military together! Du musst nicht auf diese Universität gehen… (You don't have to go to that university…)” Konig begged as he tried to convince you to join him. He didn’t want to be separated from you. Why couldn’t you see that? You remained firm in your decision and struck down any attempts Konig made trying to convince you otherwise. 

“For the last time, I really wanna be [insert random career]!” You said, getting up and looking directly into Konig’s eyes. An awkward silence fell over you two, tension that was unseen ever since you both met. The only sounds were Konig’s annoyed breathing and your sniffling. After a couple of minutes, Konig left without a word. You watched as his larger frame disappeared into the distance. 

This was the first real argument Konig has had with you. He left as he didn’t want to harm you or make himself look bad in front of you. Once he returned home, the large man slammed the door to his room and began yelling, even punching a hole in the wall. He only saw red as he released his anger and frustration before calming down. Konig was breathing heavily, collapsing onto the ground as he cried. 

He rambled on that he didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be away from you. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. His parents were gone for the day and wouldn’t be back for a while. Konig assumes it's you at the door. He made himself look proper, not wanting you to know he had an outburst. The large man opened the door to see you standing before him, his eyes softened as he admired you. 

“Hey… sorry about what happened. I promise I’ll always stay in contact with you,” you said, smiling at Konig. You planned on sending him letters every week while the large man was deployed. Konig felt his heart melt and flutter. It was a good compromise. “Versprechen Sie das? Sie werden in Kontakt bleiben?” you nodded, giving Konig your word. 

As long as you stayed in contact, it’ll all be fine.

xxx

You broke your promise. 

Konig thought you forgot, not bad, he’ll wait until next week. But the next week turned to another week, then another week. Weeks turned to months, then a year. Konig was livid. Did you forget he existed? Maybe something happened? Not possible, he would’ve found out some way if something were to happen to you. Once he realized you cut contact with him, he became more aggressive with recruits and messages. He became more bloodthirsty, something his comrades thought wasn’t possible. After everything you and Konig have been through, did you discard him like trash? No, that can’t be. 

He did make new friends while being in the military, but none of them were at your level. You are very special to him and more than a friend. They could never understand what he was feeling. Konig came to terms with it after a year, but you’ll always be in his mind. 

You sent Konig messages a week after he left and continued for the next five years. However, life got rough and you found yourself consumed by work. You forgot to send Konig letters due to the workload of the university and your side job. You hoped Konig wasn’t crashing out… you’ll message Konig after things calmed down. 

xxx

For the past few months, you have felt uneasy. It feels like someone is watching or stalking you. As time goes on, a sick feeling forms in your stomach. You find your things missing, only to find them a few days later with a thick white substance on them. Some objects in your house have also been moved, and a distinct cologne smell wafts through the air; a strong and familiar smell. 

The last straw was when you awoke in the middle of the night. Your eyes were distorted, and as you adjusted your sight, your peripheral vision picked up something: a large male figure, shrouded in darkness. He was wearing a military uniform and a hood. Your body was frozen as you stared at the figure, but suddenly it dashed towards you. 

Whoever the intruder was, he was fast and strong. You didn’t have a chance before you were put into a hold and a rag placed on your nose. The chloroform flooded your senses as it slowly put you to sleep. After a couple of minutes, you were knocked out. 

Konig smiled devilishly as he looked at your body, puny in his grasp—all the more reason to protect you and bring you home with him. After twenty years of military service, he could finally touch and hold you. His thumb rubbed your lips. You looked older but still the same as when he left. 

He forgives you for cutting contact with him and forgetting him! After returning home, Konig used some military connections to find your exact location. Modern technology is truly a blessing. He found out you were experiencing a rou

gh time—more reasons for you to be with him! He can use his military salary to satisfy all your needs and desires, and of course, you won’t have to work anymore. 

He stalked all your social media accounts, watching everything that was going on in your life. He even hacked into your private messages with other people. In his absence, he saw that you had some suitors. Using some good ol’ intimidation tactics and other methods, he scared them away. 

When the time came for him to bring you home, he didn’t anticipate that you would wake up so suddenly. Thankfully he carried a rag and chloroform with him. He still had to wait five minutes before you succumbed. It was either that or giving a direct blow to the head, and Konig didn’t want to hurt you.

„Mein Liebling... ich bin hier. Hier, um dich zu beschützen und zu lieben.“ ("My darling... I'm here. Here to protect and love you.") Konig mumbles as he lovingly strokes your head. He pulls his hood a little and presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

It was going to be smooth sailing from there! Surely you were gonna accept this.

xxx

It wasn’t smooth

When you awoke, you found one of your hands chained to a bedpost. You were still disoriented from last night, but now you know it wasn’t a dream. Your eyes dashed across the unfamiliar room as your breathing quickened from panicking. The clanking and rattling of the chains bounced off the walls as you desperately tried to free yourself, but the metal dug into your skin. 

“W-what’s the meaning of this? Why am I here?” you spoke to yourself as you tried figuring who would do something like this to you. Your answer came when the door opened and a familiar face walked through. 

Konig leaned down and walked through the doorway. He was wearing a mask and civilian clothing. You could see the large man was smiling underneath his mask. “K-Konig…? Is that really you?” you said with hope in your voice. You start to control your breathing, thinking the man was here to save you. 

Your friend looked different, but you still recognized him. You thought he was already large and muscular, but you guess being in the military heightened that. Konig was double your size and height, truly a beast of a man.

“Yes, mein Schatz.” You didn’t waste a moment and began begging him to save you. “Konig! Somebody kidnapped me–” you were cut off. “Shhh, Liebling. I didn't kidnap you! I'm just... protecting you!” Konig said, trying to convince you he was doing a favor. To him, this wasn’t kidnapping, it was protection and love. He didn’t want evil people to put their grubby hands on you or for anyone to taint you! No, he was protecting from the ravages of the world and corrupt people! 

Yet Konig was the corrupt person he was talking about. He intended to corrupt you and make you his submissive little house husband. However, the Austrian man didn’t see it like that. 

You looked at Konig confused and shocked. The way he was looking at you, a crazed look. It's something you've never seen in him. This wasn’t the Konig you knew! Was he always like this? Why didn’t you notice this before? Your mind was flooded with possibilities until the large man's voice cut through your thoughts. 

“I'm sorry about the chains, darling. Just a... precaution... if you're a good boy, I'll let you roam freely,” Konig said with his thick German accent. You need to escape. Yet, you have to consider how Konig might react… 

Six months later.

That’s how long it's been. You wondered if your loved ones were looking for you, but Konig quickly crushed that. Using some connections he made during his time in the military, your workplace mysteriously suffered a catastrophe. Tons of casualties, you were one of them, your body wasn’t recovered. 

While Konig was sleeping beside you, his large muscular body was pressing against you as he nuzzled into your neck. You could feel him inhaling your scent, it was stomach twisting. You softly cried to yourself, you were considered dead to your loved ones. There’s no one you could turn to. Konig was the only one…

You obeyed Konig like the good husband you are– you say husband because the Austrian man forced you to sign marriage documents, legally making you his husband. Konig was good… he spoiled you rotten, but if he sees any signs of disobedience, he lashes out. Sometimes punishing you with ass slaps, no food for a day, or forcing himself on you. 

It was hell. 

Konig freed you from your bondage, thinking you learned to behave and learned your lesson. While freed and able to walk around the house, you looked for ways to escape. The man had this place fortified: secured locked windows, security cameras, and movement detection systems. You were going to find a way out. 

xxx

„Liebling! I've returned from the market!” Konig's thick voice echoed through the empty spaces as he walked into the kitchen and dropped off the groceries. He waited for you to come down the stairs, but nothing. He didn’t hear shuffling, suspicious. The Austrian man walked upstairs, his loud footsteps sending quakes across the wood as he approached a door. 

Kicking the door open, breaking the wooden door off its hinges, Konig examined the room, his breathing and anger starting to rise. He threw everything onto the floor, trashing the room until it looked unrecognizable. “That little… Hure!” (Whore!) Konig roared as he raced out of the bedroom. 

“No… NO! This can’t be happening!” Konig yelled as his breathing hitched and cracked. „Warum solltest du mich verlassen? I thought you were finally warming up to me." Konig's voice got louder as he punched the wall repeatedly, his knuckles bloody before turning and wrecking the living room. He rampaged for a few minutes before collapsing. 

"I can't lose you darling… einsam... Ich will nicht allein sein!” (Lonely... I don't wanna be alone!)” Konig said as his voice broke. The pain of being alone when he was a child was resurfacing. He had his parents, but he wanted someone else. You just so happened to come along and gave Konig what he wanted. His sadness and grief were replaced by determination to get you back, and anger for leaving him. His younger self disappeared. 

„Nein... er gehört zu mir! ("No... he belongs to me!) Only me! He can't leave me... I'll drag him back! Show him who he belongs to!" Konig says as he gets up, pulling a tracking device from his pocket. He had the bright idea of putting a chip in all your clothing– just in case you got the idea of escaping. 

Bingo��� he found your exact location. 

He was gonna teach you a lesson. 

Your lungs were burning as adrenaline coursed through your body. Every ragged breath felt like it was burning you from the inside. Your feet were burning with pain and agony– every part of your lower body was on fire. Your body and clothing were dirty from being scratched and falling over rocks in the forest. None of that deterred you– not when he was coming. 

The taste of freedom was sweet, but it was short-lived. 

The sounds of your ragged breathing and footsteps became overshadowed by heavier footsteps swiftly closing in on your location. A booming voice that cut through the empty forest. “Liebling… why must you run from me?” His voice sent shivers down your spine as your body went into overdrive. Your heartbeat hammered in your ears, attempting to drown out any other noise except his pursuit. You didn’t look back and kept running forward, but didn’t pay attention to the uneven terrain. 

You slipped and fell, your head slamming against the ground. Your vision was becoming disoriented as you tried getting back up. Pain surged through your body as you looked to see your leg bent in the wrong way. You screamed in agony and cried in pain as you still attempted to get up. 

A large shadow overshadowed yours. Your eyes widen, turning around to be met with the disapproving look on Konig’s face. Pulling whatever strength you had, you dug your fingers into the dirt trying to pull your body away. Konig scoffed at the pathetic sight and took a few steps, his large hand grabbing and snatching your head. 

“Poor little schlampe… (bitch…)” Konig mumbled with fake sympathy. He coos teasingly as he soothed you. He was mocking you. You soon found your body being lifted into his strong arms as he carried you back to hell. All the adrenaline and rebellion in your body dissipated as your soft cries filled the air. 

xxx (THE NONCON SMUT STARTS HERE!)

You were in a daze, staring at the wall as Konig’s large rough hands cleaned your body. Patching all your wounds and cuts, even dealing with your bent leg. The soft sound of the running water filled the quiet room before the Austrian man cut it off. Your body remained tense and on high alert– something was off. 

Konig dries you off, but doesn’t give you clothing and takes you to the bedroom. Suddenly, your hands were forced behind your back. You could hear the sound of handcuffs being pulled out of Konig’s pocket, then the piece of metal locked around both of your wrists. You tried to struggle, but the Austrian man controlled your movement. 

When the door opened, the bedroom was still trashed, but there was a large thick dildo standing up right. Your eyes widened with fear as Konig pushed you forward. “On the bed.” his voice rippled with authority as he stared down at you. Not wanting to defy him, you followed his command. 

Your naked body pressed against the soft sheets, but you didn’t bask in the feeling. The dildo stood intimidatingly, you can guess what Konig is gonna make you do. You looked at the man with fear as he sat on the chair.

“Smart Junge (boy). You already know what to do. Go ahead, unless you need some motivation.” Konig said with a grunt. He leans back, pulling a knife out and dancing it around his hand. His blue eyes staring into yours with a dark glint and a hint of arousal swimming around in them. The Austrian man dared you to disobey him. 

You gulped as you nervously grabbed the dildo; it felt heavy in your palms. You can tell that this was an exact replica of Konig’s dick. Holding it in place as you positioned yourself over it, the feeling of the silicon touching your bare skin sent shivers through your body. Soft sounds of whimpers and whines escaped your mouth as you tried to get it inside, but you were failing. 

Konig watched and sighed with annoyance as he got up from his seat. “Is it that hard”, Konig thought to himself as he grabbed your trembling body, laying you down on the bed. You started panicking as the strong Austrian man held you down. “N-no! I-I can do it! Stop!” you cried and begged, but Konig didn’t care. 

„Warum musst du mich auf die Probe stellen, kleiner Junge?“ ("Why must you test me, baby boy?") Konig said as he frowned under his hood. Why must you be resilient? He’s only teaching you a lesson! Why can’t you see that? No matter, he’ll just keep doing this until you learn to love! He’s gotta break any type of rebellious thoughts. 

After some struggling, the Austrian man shoved the large, thick dildo inside. Your screams filled the room as your hole was stretched to its limits. The searing pain coursed through your body as your nerves were lit on fire. Tears rolled down your face as you tried moving away from Konig, which led to the man slapping your thighs until they turned red. 

“See? Wasn’t that hard.” Konig said sickly as he grinned manically under his mask. He began thrusting the dildo without letting you adjust. You began crying and begging for the Austrian man to stop. The silicon rubbing and burning your anal walls, the cockhead ramming into your guts. No matter how loud you screamed, nobody was coming to your aid. 

Konig could feel his cock hardening in his pants. Your voice– cries of agony– were music to his ears. His free hand rubbed his bulge as he released a deep groan. „Verdammte Scheiße... du bist so heiß, Liebling.“ ("Fucking hell... you're so hot darling.") the Austrian man mumbled as he unzipped his pants, whipping out his large, thick cock. He stroked it to full length as he watched you cry underneath him. 

“P-please! I’m sorry… I’m sorry! Please stop!” you begged, gripping the bed sheets. The pain slowly transitioned to pleasure as the dildo’s cockhead rammed into your prostate. The bundle of nerves being repeatedly abused caused your brain to send blood to your cock. You felt ashamed that you were getting hard from this. 

Konig didn’t listen to your pleas, stroking his cock faster and thrusting the dildo faster. The sounds of your cries and screams died down as your vocal cords were sore. Fapping and the balls of the dildo slapping against your cheeks replaced that sound. Konig groans as he fucked his hand faster, his heavy balls slapping against his hand as he could feel his orgasm approaching.

You look up at Konig with eyes lidded, red with tear stains running down your face. You couldn’t believe this was the same man you’ve been friends with since childhood. Your mind was flooded with what happened, and why did this happen? That dark corner in your mind spoke, suggesting that you were a catalyst. Maybe you were the catalyst, maybe not.

The Austrian man's breath hitched as he gave a final thrust. Thick ropes of pearly white cum spurted out his cockhead slit, painting your face and hair with his load. Konig gave a deep grunt, looking down at your disheveled body. He looked at your body with satisfaction as he pulled the large dildo out. Konig grinned wickedly as he looked at some droplets of blood staining the silicon toy. 

“Have you learned your lesson, Liebling?” Konig says as he forces you to look at him. Wiping away his cum as he waited for your answer. Maybe he broke you enough so you would no longer disobey him. You gave your final answer with a broken and raspy voice. 

“Yes… Konig.”

THE END

A/N: Wow… this was a lot. I do NOT endorse this type of behavior! Well, this is my first time writing noncon smut.  TAGLIST: @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation @ghostking4m @sluttyhusband @wolf-knights @your-cow-boy @mack-thedork @geminiflanagan69 @starboye @boypied Very special thanks to my proofreader; @sagethegaywitch Join my taglist!

[unknownsvoid]

THAT GIRL IS POISON!!!

♬⋆.˚ | now playing: posion - Bell Biv DeVoe

✮⋆˙ | summary: as a succubus, you find this boy with pent-up energy and decide to take it upon yourself to make him your next victim - turns out he's a lot stronger than you anticipated.

✮⋆˙ | featuring: ticci toby/toby rogers.

✮⋆˙ | cw: smut content. succubus reader. reader has red skin, wings, a tail, horns and powers. switch reader and toby. somnophilia content. mentions of blood, scratching, spanking, breeding, aphrodisiacs aka drugging, rapists, incels, abusers, (not reader nor toby). loads of degrading, praise, etc. reader gets called whore, slut, etc. nipple play for toby's part. oral (giving).

✮⋆˙ | author's note: i love writing and sometimes it's good, but today, this is NAWT good. dear lord. word count: 2.5k+

divider cred: @cafekitsune

Toby. That was his name. Your next victim.

You have had your eye on him for ages. He piqued your interest when you were wandering one night in a forest after having fed on some insignificant man. He didn't last long and was, honestly, quite useless, coming undone all too quickly.

You didn't want to kill anyone that day, but it was either that, or ending up powerless and lazy. So, you consumed his blood, allowing the excess to trickle down your pretty, pink lips. Carelessly, you left his carcass there to decompose in the near future. Apparently, this forest had its dangerous perks, so you doubted any human would venture around anytime soon, unless they were down-right stupid.

You were about to leave when you sensed something. Interested, you decided to investigate the cause – perhaps even identify a culprit. That's when you saw him, Toby, leaning against a tree with hatchets in hand. You concealed yourself behind a nearby tree, careful not to get too close and risk him seeing you. His aura was powerful, causing your legs tremble.

Sheesh. just how pent-up was this human? Sexual energy emanated from him intensely, enough to make one's head spin. Could he be a virgin? No, virgins don't typically exude such energy. Unless he was an unusually pent-up one? Your eyes dipped down to look at his hatchets, dried blood coating them. Animal blood? Is he a hunter? No, the scent was too close to human blood. This human couldn't potentially be a murderer could he? Not that you cared of course. You've encounter many disgusting humans, rapists, abusers, incels, etc. Of course, you were happy enough to kill them if it meant they weren't going to hurt anymore people. He just didn't seem quite the type to... murder someone, not even a bug quite frankly.

Then again, you necessarily can't judge a book by it's cover now, can you? You snap out of your thoughts when he suddenly twitches, repeatedly. You assumed it was due to the cold air. It was a chilly night anyway. Then he twitched again and let out a quick curse. Tourettes? Perhaps. It was rather cute to witness. He let out another sharp curse accompanied by a shaky head movement. You couldn't help but snicker at the slight gesture, which caused him to jolt his head up and stop leaning against the tree. His grip tightened on his hatchets as he glanced around to locate the source of the noise. You immediately jump into action and teleport away from the scene to avoid being caught. You didn't from stop there. His aura had you captivated, obsessed even. After months of research, you discovered that he belonged to a bizarre group of deranged individuals, monsters, or whatever were. He was a procey? prokey? Something along those lines. It turned out your inference was correct; he was a murderer. It was his job. A strange job, but then again, who were you to judge? You fuck people to survive. And another inference of yours was correct, he is a virgin. Perfect, right? And blah, blah, blah. Now you are here. Outside his window, peering in at his sleeping face. He look charming right now. His messy, chestnut-coloured hair in all different positions on his pillow. His lips slightly dry and open to certain degree, letting out soft snores here and there, drool dripping from his mouth because of the gash. His chest heaving.

You use your powers to unlock the window from the inside. Once you hear the click, you push the window open and sneak inside, being as silent as humanly possible (pun intended). You stroll up to his bed and take in his sleeping features once more before letting your powers ensure he remains in a deep sleep. You climb up onto his bed and straddle his hips. You cup his cheek and lean down to crash your lips against his sleeping ones. He tasted so sweet and then aroma of his sexual energy made you feel dizzy already. Your tongue explores his mouth, trying to slip as much saliva into his mouth as possible. You knew how much of an affect it had on people. Your saliva is a exactly like an aphrodisiac, pulling out as much arousal form your victims as much as possible. You pull your lips away from his, watching as your mixed saliva drips from his lips. You look down, a smirk etching onto your lips as you notice that a bulge was forming in his boxers, pushing up against your thong from under your skirt. One kiss and he was already hard? Cute. You feel your arousal also picking up after his so you slowly rocking your hips against his bulge, feeling it pulse and throb against you. Moans slip from your lips. You can practically feel the slick pooling in your panties. You don't stop, instead picking up your speed, rocking your hips against his clothed dick. Your eyes follow back up to look at Toby. His eyebrows crinkled and mouth opened wider than before. Moans leaving his lips as well. You could tell he was close so you stop your ministrations, chuckling softly when a whine slips from him in his sleep.

You shift your position lower until your mouth was right over his clothed dick. You hook your fingers on the band of his boxers and push them down. You gasp at his size of his cock. You were expecting it to be a little smaller. He was girthy and long, very long actually. Seven inches - bare minimum. Your shock swiftly turns into lust and greed. You lift your hand to push the uncircumcised skin covering his tip down. You peel it down until his pretty, bubble gum-tinted tip was in show. A fat blob of pre-cum drips from it, but you don't let it go to waste. Using your finger to scoop up the fluid and then moving it to your lips, sucking it off of your finger. Salty. You move your head down to sink your wet mouth onto his sensitive cock, looking up at him, observing him as he twitches and emits more groans and moans. You sink your mouth down onto him further, letting your jaw rest when his tip comes in contact with the back your throat. Your lips stretched around the girth of his cock before you tighten your lips and bop your head up and down briskly, swirling your tongue around his tip, letting more of his pre-cum drip onto your smooth tongue. You hear his breaths quicken, along with his heart rate. Your tail wags, enjoying the taste of him. After a couple more bops of your head, you peel your mouth off of him to wrap your hand around his sensitive dick. You give his cock slow pumps while flicking your tongue against his tip. You begin to move your tongue a little lower to tease the underside of his tip, pausing when he jolts a tad in his sleep. "Sensitive there, hm?" You say, a rhetorical question he wouldn't be able to answer anyway. You wrap lips back around his tip and keep abusing that g-spot of his. You notice the way his hands lazily grip onto the sheets. Close, aren't you? My mouth feel that good....

You think to yourself before speeding up your hand and tongue, watching his breath hitch and teeth clench slightly before unclenching again and his jaw goes limp. Soon enough, thick ropes of cum bursts into your mouth. You waste no time to lap it all up, swallowing it in multiple gulps, before popping your mouth off his tip and pulling your hand away from the base of his cock. "Still hard? You don't give up do ya', huh, Toby?"

You don't mind honestly, sucking his cock made you soaked. Some of your pussy juices dripping out of your flimsy thong and onto your thighs. You lift yourself up to hover over his cock. The heat coming from your pussy causing his cock pulsate in response. You slip you slip the wet fabric of your thong to the side and you push your pussy down on his cock. A moan comes out of your mouth as you start to glide your cunt up and down his cock, you and Toby sharing a shiver every time your swollen clit comes in contact with his sensitive tip. You lubricate his cock with your juices, slipping your hand down to grip onto his cock to make it easier as you push your hole down onto Toby's cock. A shaky breath falls out falls from your lips when your cunt sucks his tip in ever so easily and then you go down ever further, giving yourself a break when you make it halfway. He gives a nice stretch, you'll give him that, and you haven't even got all of him in yet. You changed that in an instant and give yourself a final push until your pussy slams down onto his cock, taking his cock in its full glory. Your thighs tremble and you adjust to the stretch - drawing your hips up nice and slow before slamming yourself back onto his cock. Pathetic whines leaving Toby's mouth, but you swallow them up with your mouth. Your aphrodisiac-like spit dripping into his mouth. You keep going, but then something peculiar happens. Something that never happened before. You halt your movements and your heart drops to see that his eyes are beginning to flutter open. His eyes stop fluttering and gape open. "Wuh-what the fuck?!" He says, glaring up at you before groaning. He looks down and his face churns in confusion, "Who are you?!" He looks you up and down, drinking up the sight of you. You were pretty, red skin glistering in sweat, horns pointy, wings complimenting your body, and your tail, with a heart at the tip of it, wagging. He gulps down his own spit to deal with his dry throat, a tint of yours still in it, causing his head to go all loopy. You smile nervously down at him and he speaks up again, "What are you?"

"Um... a succubus?" He paused at your answer, looking down again to stare at your pussy gripping onto his cock for dear life. He shrugged, if his virginity was going to be taken by you, a succubus (whatever the fuck that is). He may as well make it worth his time, right? He glared at you once more, clearly not trusting you quite yet, "continue then... slut."

A smirk formed back onto your lips and you oblige, bouncing up and down his cock without warning. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he winces from the sudden pleasure. His mouth falling agape and letting out series of pleasured noises. His tics trigger a bit from the pleasure he was receiving, which makes him to thrust upwards a couple of times, causing his tip to slam up against you. You grip onto chest, running your hands upwards until you reach up to his nipples. You tug and tease at them, while sliding up and down his cock which makes him whimper from the sudden attention. He was close and you could tell. You could feel his sexual energy growing stronger. You move your hands down to scrape your nails across his chest. But then Toby decides to throw you off guard while you weren't paying attention. You didn't even notice when his hands gripped onto your hips. He flips you over so you're both in the missionary position. He wastes no time to fuck his cock in out of your sopping pussy, a white ring forming around the base. His pace was slow, annoyingly so. You wanted him - no need him to go faster. You need his cum; his cum; you need him.

"H-hah... you can- fuck - go faster than that. D-don't be - shit - so shy!" You say with smug grin. His face perked in surprise at your words but he let out a snigger. He clasped down onto your hips, having firm hold on them, "Such a whore."

He sneers once more, "You like that, slut? Being called a whore?"

He takes note to your words and hastens his past, beginning to drive his cock in and out of your cunt. Your sloppy arousal acting as an lube as his hefty cock slams in and out of you, leaving you stunned. His thrusts were extraordinarily hard for a virgin. Speaking of that, how the fuck is this guy a virgin?!

His movements were unexpectedly accurate for a virgin, almost like he isn't a virgin at all. Your arms wrap around him as his menacing cock tormenting your pitiful pussy. His tip was no better, abusing your unfortunate pussy. You weren't thinking straight. Your eyes whirl to the back of your head. God, you were close already. That's a first.

The more his hips move, the more your orgasm reaches closer. You didn't notice he was muttering, probably something about you or him. Your eyes spin back to look up at him, sweat from his forehead dribbles from his forehead and onto your tits, leaving musty droplets on your skin. Brown eyes enjoying the sight of his cock drilling in and out of your sweet, sweet pussy.

"F-fuck! fuh-feel... so guh-good." He manged to get out with many stutters and bemoans. Wails, sighs, grumbles and whimpers of pleasure shared from the both of you fill the room. You were both completely drunk from each other's pleasure. You feel the similar feeling like always when you were about to cum. The tense feel of how how your stomach squeezes. He cries out in pleasure when he feels your pussy compresses around him like a fastened rope.

His flow began to falter and his grip on you was wobbly, delving his nails into your skin, or it feels like that at least. You know that's gonna leave a gnarly bruise on your hips, but totally worth it. The more he moves the more you got closer, but he was leaving you teetering on the edge. You whine and grasp onto his hands that was clenching onto your hip, pulling it away with ease. You guide it towards your clit, guiding his inexperienced fingers to draw slow circles on your clit, "ya close, slu-slut? Each plunge of his hips and soft tweaks against your hardened nub causes you to orgasm. He follows you as well, cumming with you. The intense feeling of your orgasm making your brain go numb and your nails into his back, raking downwards. That's bound to make him bleed. He wasn't paying attention - his head rolled up so you can see his adam's apple. His cock spurting his thick, ward seed deep into your gummy walls. As you both gradually come down from your high, he drags his cock out of your pussy with a pop!

He was about to say something but weakly collapsed onto you - tired. Probably from the energy you drained from him. "Cute..." Was the only thing you could reply with. You could stay for an extra thirty minutes. He deserves it after all. Plus, you could use this as an advantage. Apparently there's more people like him in this shitty mansion...

part two? -> here ya go!

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 13

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, pregnancy, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i have realized i dont link the polls to the fics. here's what won last time!! bask in your decisions <3 once again, the high valyrian might be wrong so roll with it and leave comments/reblogs ok!!! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching @myllovellybones

Caraxes was never fond of being holed up in the pit, and yet, as King's Landing became apparent on the horizon, the dragon found himself beating his wings faster than normal. When the stench of the pit the creature's nostrils, he knew then, he was home.

Perhaps it was still because he was in his armor, but for Daemon, it was not until Viserys looked upon him, first warily then happily, and embraced him that he felt the realness of it all.

As the entirety of court watched the brothers' affectionate exchange, most thought the display touching... then there were the Hightowers. The only reason Alicent was here in the throne room to greet him was because she was queen and it was expected of her. And Otto did not want to look upon the dastardly prince's face, but he had to see what state he was in for the sake of his eldest daughter.

"My brother has returned!" the king announces, enticing cheers from the onlookers. Lord Hand promptly leaves after this, intent on going to you.

Otto asks the first servant he sees where you are, and is immediately directed to the garden. He is unsurprised to see that not one, but two of your wards are there, evidently on high alert. The moment they spot him, they freeze to greet him in unison, "Lord Hand."

"Does she know?"

The twins share a quick glance, and again, in unison, "everyone knows."

Otto releases a sigh. You know of your husband's return and yet you chose to remain in the gardens. He was about to ask the twins to step aside, but then he hears the sound of giggles. He peers past the two, finding you laughing with your nephew in your arms. He rubs his forehead and clenches his jaw, "what did she say?"

Erryk and Arryk stare at Otto's distressed face. The former speaks, " 'he did not wish that I see him off, I should not see to his return'. "

Otto sighs deeply and wipes his face, "Seven save us."

Arryk almost pities your father for how worried he looked... but almost is not enough; he'll never forget the tears you shed because of him. No one in your family seemed to grant you grace.

"As it is," Lord Hightower raises his hands, "the prince is in good spirits, and I am sure he will not so soon look for her as he would the cups of wine he wishes to share with the king. Do not impose upon the prince if he does come around," Otto raises a finger, "but do not let his entitlement get into his head."

The Cargll twins nod in sync, "my lord."

With that, Otto walks off.

Once he is gone, Erryk turns to his brother, "I would sooner fall on my sword than have her husband ruin the happiness she's so delicately built for herself."

Arryk gives him a look, "do not forget yourself."

"I do not," he snaps, "but perhaps you do."

Arryk does not take kindly to his accusatory tone.

"I cannot forget even if I wanted," Erryk looks off, "it my shift when she miscarried," he grits his teeth, "mine, when she tried to fling herself off the eastern tower."

"And it was mine when she locked herself in her bath," Arryk quips, "and when she threw herself at Caraxes, only to have the beast take her under his wing. Do not feel self-righteous in your suffering, for it is not yours," he points, "it's hers."

Erryk clenches his jaw so hard it's a wonder his teeth do not break. He spare his brother a glance.

Arryk turns forward and sighs deeply before repeating, "do not forget yourself."

"Do not forget yourself," he counters.

All three of them are wrong, Arryk, Erryk, and Otto. Otto was wrong to think that Daemon would not look for you before anything else. The prince notices your absence the very moment he notices your sister. He asks Viserys, "where is my wife?"

Viserys looks over to Alicent, who clutches her belly and finally approaches, "ah... she's probably with her boy."

Daemon pulls his head back.

"My prince," Alicent smiles half-heartedly to her good-brother, "I trust your travels home were smooth."

He completely ignores her, "her boy?"

Viserys thinks nothing of Daemon's words as he takes his wife's hand, "where is your sister, dearest?"

Dearest? Daemon's expression curls.

Alicent turns to the king, rubbing her swollen belly, "last I saw her, she was in the gardens with Aegon."

Aegon? Daemon's eyes narrow.

"Oh!" Viserys smiles, turning to Daemon, "you should go to the gardens and fetch them then. Your wife has brought forth new life to the Keep. I encouraged her to write about it to you, but she did not think you would find care to learn it through letters."

Daemon's face falls. New life? You brought forth new life? Without a word, he sprints off to the gardens.

Viserys is momentarily taken aback by this. Alicent is agitated by it, especially because she catches on to the ambiguity of his words. She squeezes his arm, "do you think this is a good idea?"

"What?" he pulls his head back, "that he see his wife and nephew?"

"He might not take kindly to Aegon. You called him her boy."

Viserys chuckles, "but he is. She loves him so dearly."

"I know, but you made it sound like my sister had a babe."

The king pulls his head back and chuckles. When he realizes Alicent's worry was apparent on her features, he thinks about what he said and shakes his head, "I was talking about the flowers she planted in the garden."

"I know," Alicent repeats, "but does Daemon?"

"Don't be silly, Alicent," Viserys squeezes her hand, "Daemon is not that slow-witted. Besides, does your sister not write to him everyday?"

She clenches her jaw, "yes."

"So," he shrugs, "why would he be so sorely mistaken?"

Except he was; Viserys is also wrong. And as Daemon makes his way toward the gardens, it becomes apparent why Arryk and Erryk too are wrong. Both of them immediately forget themselves upon seeing the approaching prince. They block his path instinctively.

Daemon stops in his tracks, "out of the way."

Erryk stares blankly at him. Arryk shifts on his leg, "allow me a moment to announce your presence to the princess."

"Why would I need to be announced? She is my wife."

"She is with Prince Aegon," Arryk raises a hand and steps forward, "it is in her best interest that I ensure you are welcome while he is present."

Daemon is flabbergasted. He clenches his fists, "why wouldn't I be welcome around my own flesh and blood?!"

"My lady has only recen-"

"Do you deny it!?" Daemon snaps.

They do not reply.

"Do you deny the boy is my flesh and blood?"

The twins know the prince is riled up. If they persist, a fight will surely break out. Though they cared little for the consequences of quarrelling with the newly returned prince, they did care greatly for your peace of mind. This was why Erryk replied, "no, ser."

"Then get out of my fucking way," he snaps.

Arryk and Erryk stare at him. Eventually, they reluctantly step aside.

Daemon, in all his rage and pettiness, makes sure to knock into them as he passes. It was good he was still in his own armor, or else the collision against their steel shoulder pads would have hurt.

"Right, shall we go back now?"

The sound of your voice makes him stop in his tracks. How was it that he was so angry to be denied going to you just now, yet he now can't seem to move from his spot.

"No, my love, we do not pick roses so carelessly."

"Flower!"

Daemon's breath hitches at the sound of the boy's voice.

"You want the rose?" your voice is soft but audible, "you want to pick the rose for mummy?"

Mummy? Daemon slowly inches foward.

"Mummy?" the small voice repeats.

Daemon witnesses the moment the babe reaches for your curls. You brown hair is completely undone, spilling all the way down to your waist. A gentle breeze makes your tresses and skirt flow. His lips part at the beauty of you.

You chuckle when Aegon tries to eat your hair and pull it away before he manages to, "silly boy. Shall we ask Ser Arryk to pick the flower for us?"

"Flower for mummy!" he bounces in your arms.

You bounce him back, making him giggle as you repeat, "flower for mummy!" You flip your hair back, "Ser Arryk, could you-"

Your mouth goes dry when you see Daemon staring back at you. His hair is short and his eyes shine. You nearly choke on your breath, feeling your knees buckle as he slowly walks over. Your hold on Aegon tightens as he reaches out.

You step back. It takes him off-guard. It feels just like when an arrow was shot to his chest. Daemon moves towards the rose bush, picking out a flower, carefully removing its thorns.

"Flower!" Aegon coos and reaches out.

Daemon turns to him, handing the blushing bloom, "rūklon, ñuha tresy." Flower, my son.

You freeze. You freeze because you understand him.

Aegon gives a gummy smile; he shows all his teeth but he only has two at the bottom. He happily groans and grins at you when he has the flower in hand, "FLAWOW!"

You turn to the boy. His shining face instantly shatters the tension and unease you feel. You huff and brush his silver hair back. You freeze again when Daemon's hand comes upon yours.

You turn to him with wide eyes. His eyes are fixed on Aegon, "Rūklon, Aegon. Kostagon vestrā rūklon syt kepa?" Flower, Aegon. Can you say flower for father?

Daemon takes Aegon's chin, making him look to him, "rūklon, Aegon. Rūk-lon."

Your initially shocked expression melts into molten anger.

Aegon looks at his uncle, "rūklon."

Daemon is surprised but immediately pleased. He lets out a rich laugh as he turns to you, "he is good."

"Daor kirimvose naejot ao." you snap, pulling Aegon away from him. No thanks to you.

He pulls his chin back. He watches in shock as you turn to move the prince away. You glare as you do so, eyes beady and pink. His forehead wrinkles.

"Eman gūrēntan Valyrio Eglie sīr bona kostan bodmagho zirȳla. Emā daorun naejot jiōragon zirȳla." I have learned High Valyrian so that I can teach him. You have nothing to offer him.

Your frosty words make him pull his head back again. "daorun?" Nothing.

"Kessa," you nod, "daorun." Yes. Nothing.

His eye twitches as he shakes his head in disbelief, "iksan se valītsos kepa." I am the boy's father.

The severity of your laugher is haunting. His eyes widen and his skin pricks with goosebumps. You throw your head back, feeling a tear run down your face. You sigh and shake your head as you turn back to him, "you are completely devoid of both heart and mind, aren't you?"

Daemon is too stunned to do anything but stare.

You turn. Daemon finally sees Aegon playing with the flower. You catch his attention by brushing his hair back, "my love," you start, "qilōni iksis aōha kepa?" who is your father?

Aegon looks up at you with little interest.

"Kepa, Aegon, kepa."

"Kepa?" he repeats.

"Kessa, skoros gaomas kepa gaomagon?" Yes, what does father do?

Aegon raises his rose, "dārys!"

King? Daemon's face falls.

You smile and bounce the child in your arms, "rōvēgrior!"

He tenses at the sound of the word. Rōvēgrior. Excellent. There was a time where you could not say that word at all. He taught that to you. And yet as you turn to him, your face destitute of any happiness that you had offered Aegon, it felt at though it was a memory he just conjured up.

"You are no more related to the boy than I am," you quip, "she is my sister's first born."

"Viserys said you brought for new life in the Keep," he mutters, as if he was afraid he heard wrong.

Your jaw feathers, but as the wind blows, you catch sight of the flowers, "he meant the roses," you turn to the said blooms. You laugh, bitterness pulling out a mocking smile from you, "how could you expect a son from me?"

Daemon shifts in his spot, ready to argue, but he quickly finds he had nothing to say to that. He thinks of all the seed he's spilled on your skin. He thinks of his persistence in leaving your womb empty. He thinks of the discipline he employed to ensure he would never finish in you. He clenches his jaw.

You turn to him; tears begin to fall from your eyes. Aegon notices and reaches for your cheeks; his flower falls to the floor, forgotten.

You and Daemon stare at each other. You feel your breath begin to shorten the longer you do.

Your expression falls when you hear Aegon begin to fuss. You immediately steel yourself away as you turn to your nephew; the boy looks like he is on the brink of tears. You sniffle and shush him, "no, no, no-"

It's too late. He begins to cry.

You push past Daemon with little regard. Your wards turn to you upon hearing Aegon's cries. You say nothing to them, your full attention on Aegon as you rock him in your arms, "the fishes swim in seas of blue, and dragons breath fire so red..."

Arryk and Erryk follow after you.

Daemon is left alone in the middle of the garden.

He has no word to describe what he felt in that moment. He was stunned, hurt, saddened, torn. He was angry. How could you do this to him? You had begged him not to go, and now that he's returned, you treat him like... like you hated him.

He laughs dryly under his breath. Was this a game? Was this your way of getting back at him? He laughs louder as he walks off. He could hate you back better.

Daemon joins the luncheon the king throws in honor of his return. He does not waste his time and makes a show of himself.

It is easy for him to fall back into his old ways once he is in his princely garbs. He openly and unabashedly flirts with all the ladies he can set his eyes upon and eagerly annoys and offers backhanded compliments to all the lords present.

It gets so bad that Viserys has to intervene. Even Alicent and Rhaenyra, who had not spoken to each other since the king's wedding, find each other's company just to momentarily agree that Daemon is being completely callous and tactless.

The king pulls him by the shoulder and Daemon manages to snag a cup of wine as he is pried away from the offensive conversation he instigated.

"I understand that you are overjoyed to be home," Viserys leads him off, "but please, control yourself."

Daemon pouts, facetious, "kessa, kepa." Yes, father.

He bristles, "iksan issare dokimare. Emagon mirri iotāptenon syt aōha ābrazȳrys." I'm being serious. Have some respect for your wife.

Daemon immediately shoves Visersys's hand off him at the mention of you. He snaps, "gaomagon daor ȳdragon naejot nyke hen bona aspo!" Do not speak to me of that bitch!

The queen and princess, along with the rest of the people present, turn to the brothers upon hearing raised voices.

"Uncle!" Rhaenyra calls him out, offended by the conversation only she and they could understand.

Daemon turns to her, chucking his drink to the side before storming off.

Viserys rolls his eyes and sigh, "Daemon."

Alicent walks over to her husband.

"Daemon!" the king snaps.

"Leave it to me, father," Rhaenyra says, following after her uncle.

Daemon is back at the gardens. He snaps over his shoulder, "fuck off!"

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes, "what has gotten you so sour?"

"HER!" Daemon whips back around, eyes red and glassy, "THAT HIGHTOWER BITCH!"

Rhaenyra recoils and pulls her head back in shock. She carefully mutters, "you can't possibly mean Alicent, can you?"

"Her and the whole lot!" Daemon throws a hand out, "they can all drop dead for all I care."

The princess watches him pace around. Her brows knit, "I would say I am comforted that you share in my offence over my father and Alicent's union, but I cannot say I do. I know you have long hated Otto, and Gwayne, as he's bested you in tourneys—"

Daemon steps forward, "have you followed me to further spur-"

"But what has -"

"Don't you fucking speak her name to me!"

Rhaenyra is taken aback by this. The two stare at each other, and as Daemon heaves. Her face hardens, "what could you possibly be angry about?"

"She did not even greet me!" Daemon points to nowhere.

Rhaenyra laughs. It goes dry when she realizes he was being serious. Her face contorts, "Daemon."

He looks away.

Her lips curl, "she just got better"

His brows furrow.

"You do know that?" she tilts her head, "right?"

Have you been sick?

"Seven hells," Rhaenyra's face falls, "you don't know."

"..."

"She writes to you everyday," she motions vaguely, "I have not been in King's Landing for many moons, but even I know this."

"War makes time for-"

"Then why are you angry?!"

"..."

Rhaenyra raises her brows at him. Daemon remains unable to respond. She rolls her eyes, "welcome home, uncle."

Daemon is left alone in the garden for a second time. He goes back to his personal quarters.

You see him from across the hall just before he enters but he does not see you. Before you can take another step, Arryk and Erryk each take hold of your arms.

"Release me."

"Why should you be the one to go to him?" Arryk asks.

You turn to him, "you know why."

"If he does not want to go to you, do not waste your grace on him," Arryk says, just as you pull away to turn to them.

"He does nothing to understand you," Erryk adds, "and he will misunderstand you so long as it suits himself."

Your eyes immediately water, "why are you turning against me?"

"We are-"

"You think I want to live like this?"

Erryk speaks your name, "he is not ready to face you."

"It's been three years!" you chuckle dryly.

"Let him come to you," Arryk adds.

You scratch your eyes and shake your head, "the bodies of my babes remain unburied, wrapped and sealed in a crypt, because I insist that they be given but one respect due to them in the tradition of their house, and you would deny me-" your voice breaks. Tears run down your cheeks as you try to compose yourself. You clear your throat, "you would deny my son and daughter this?"

The twins do not speak.

You wipe your face roughly with your hands, "well? What say you?!"

Arryk lowers his head. Erryk cannot look at you, but he cannot keep his peace either, which is why he says, "I say they would not want their mother to suffer at the hand of their father."

"Damn you, Erryk!" you shove him back.

Erryk looks at you in shock.

"You dare presume to know my children when I-" gasp, "did not-" gasp, "even-" gasp.

Your guards reach out for you when you begin to topple. They keep you upright and you find yourself too stubborn to faint. You wrangle out of their grasp and lean on your knees as you struggle to catch your breath.

When you straighten up, you look and see Erryk's teary eyes. You feel terrible. It nearly makes you lose your breath again. You groan and sink your face into your hands, "I can never win, can I?"

"Princess," Erryk mutters, "forgive me, I-"

"Enough," you raise a hand to him, "I will not have my children be the cause of conflict."

Erryk nods and keeps his head bowed. Arryk turns to him before doing the same.

You sigh, belly churning with sadness and guilt, "come," you take their hands, "my twins waited this long for their father. They can wait a little longer."

Daemon, though in his adamant refusal to read your letters, kept every single one of them, even the ones he trampled on in his anger. Three sacks of letters, there were three sacks that contained all of the letters you sent him, one for every year he was gone. He empties them out on his bed. He walks to his trunk of clothing and grabs the only one he ever read and rereads it.

He walks back to his bed and sits a the floor. He flattens out the parchment beside him, then haphazardly reaches for another one.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔡𝔞𝔶. ℑ 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔫𝔬 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰. ℑ 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶. 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔰𝔬. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔠𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢.

Daemon flattens the parchment, stacks it on the previous one, and grabs another letter.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰, 𝔶𝔢𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔭 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔏𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔏𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔙𝔢𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔪𝔢 𝔰𝔬. ℌ𝔬𝔴 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔶 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔢, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. ℌ𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔶 𝔬𝔣𝔱, 𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔡𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔰. 𝔇𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔪; ℑ 𝔯𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔰 ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔖𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶, 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

He knits his brows, flattens the parchment, stacks it on the previous one, and grabs another letter.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔏𝔢𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔳𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔯𝔤𝔲𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℌ𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔫𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫 𝔬𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰. ℌ𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔡𝔩𝔶 𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔢𝔫𝔳𝔶 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡. 𝔓𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔩𝔶.

His face falls at your sentiment. You think this? He wonders for a moment what he and Laenor argued over, but he cannot recall anything for the life of him. The next letter he opens makes him sit up straight.

ℑ'𝔪 𝔡𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔓𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢.

This letter drives him mad, because it is the only one like it. He rips open more than a dozen letters, yet all of them are like all the rest. He reads some more about Laenor, some of Gwayne and Alicent, some of Otto, some of Arryk and Erryk, some of Viserys, but most of them are about the mundane things you busy yourself with. Mundane things you do to distract yourself from him.

He does not know what to make of it.

Then, he unfolds a piece of paper with hastily written script.

𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫, 𝔦𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞 𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱ℯ𝓇 𝓎ℴ𝓊 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇ℯ 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝓊𝓈𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹, 𝓁ℯ𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒷ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈. ℐ 𝒽𝒶𝓋ℯ 𝓃ℴ𝓉 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓃 𝒶𝒷ℴ𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷ℯ𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈ℯ ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝓇𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓉ℴ, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒟𝒶ℯ𝓂ℴ𝓃, ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹. ℐ 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝒶𝓇ℯ𝓁𝓎 𝓈ℯℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝒶𝓅ℯ𝓇 𝒶𝓈 ℐ 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉ℯ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℐ 𝒻ℯ𝒶𝓇 ℐ 𝓂𝒾ℊ𝒽𝓉 𝓃ℯℯ𝒹 𝓉ℴ 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃ℊℯ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝓂ℯ𝓃𝓉 𝒶ℊ𝒶𝒾𝓃. 𝒞ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ. ℐ 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓁ℴ𝓇ℯ 𝓎ℴ𝓊, ℐ 𝒷ℯ𝓈ℯℯ𝒸𝒽 𝓎ℴ𝓊— 𝒸ℴ𝓂ℯ 𝒽ℴ𝓂ℯ.

"I was with child?" Daemon repeats to himself.

He frantically grabs a bunch of letters and skims through them, desperate to learn more of this. He goes through 5, 10, 20, 50, 100 letters, but none of them ever mention such a thing ever again.

At some point, the letters become singular.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔞𝔱. ℑ 𝔭𝔥𝔶𝔰𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔶𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔱𝔬 𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔬𝔯 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔞 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔰𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔞 𝔭𝔲𝔩𝔰𝔢. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥. 𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔱. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔪𝔟 𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

They all speak of your apparently imminent demise.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔄𝔩𝔩 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔢, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔦𝔱. 𝔉𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔰𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

It goes on for far too long.

𝔐𝔶 𝔥𝔲𝔰𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔡, ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔫𝔲𝔪𝔟. �� 𝔫𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔞 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡. ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔫𝔬 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢. 𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔰 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔡𝔦𝔢 𝔟𝔶 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢. ℑ𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰. 𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔚𝔦𝔣𝔢

Daemon's stomach rolls. He cannot bare to read any more, and yet his guilt urges him to drink up this pain, as if it would make it go away, as if it could make up for what he had done.

The moon begins to fade as the sun begins to rise. He reads hundreds of letters that speak nothing but your pain and desire for death. His face is wet with tears and bitterness linger in his mouth. He no longer is on the floor. He lies on his bed, surround by his wife's misery.

He wails. He can do nothing else as he takes in your words.

Then, for the final time, the tone changes.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯'𝔰 𝔰𝔬𝔫. ℌ𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰. ℌ𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪, 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔪𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪. ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢. ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔞 𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔦𝔰𝔢. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

... mine own son or daughter. Daemon wipes his face.

𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔄𝔢𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔯. ℑ 𝔡𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔬, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔶 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔴𝔫. ℑ𝔣 ℑ 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡, ℑ 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔰𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔧𝔬𝔶. ℑ 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔶𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡. ℑ 𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔱𝔬𝔬. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

He knits his brows and sits up. All the remaining letters are about Aegon.

𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔫, 𝔗𝔬𝔡𝔞𝔶 𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔰 𝔞 𝔶𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔪𝔶 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔄𝔢𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫. ℌ𝔢 𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔡𝔞𝔶. ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔪, 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡. ℑ𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔶 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔬. 𝔙𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔶𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔰 𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰; ℑ 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔞𝔯 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 ℜ𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔫𝔶𝔯𝔞. ℑ 𝔡𝔬 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔣𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔣 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯; 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩, 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔡𝔞𝔶 ℑ 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔤𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔪. ℑ 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔡𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫. 𝔏𝔞𝔡𝔶 ℌ𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯

You speak of nothing else save him. You do not mention your affliction, you do not mention your everyday life, you speak only of your affections for Aegon.

The sun rises.

Daemon did not realize he fell asleep until a voice of a servant wakes him. It did not feel like he slept at all; he is still exhausted.

He groans as he sits up. He sees a servant girl staring at the thousand pages scattered across the room. He comes to a stand and begins pick up the papers, "do not mind this. Prepare me a bath. I will break fast with my wife."

The servant watches the prince clean up after himself. She curtsies and does what is instructed.

Daemon had stacked the letters by date as he read them and now tiptoed around the room, gathering the papers in chronological order. He grabs his trunk and files the papers there. By the time he is finished, his trunk is stuffed and his bath water is barely warm.

Neither did the bath wake him fully, nor did it refresh him. What's worse was the scent of his soap broke forth dam of memories for it smelled like you. Resentment for his own folly began to choke him with tears.

His face scarcely resembled him. His angular features were softened with woe, namely his eyes. He cared little for the puffiness rendered him by his tears as he made his way over to your room.

Arryk and Erryk instantly spot him, both of them raising their brows and curling their lips at the look of the prince.

"Is my wife awake?" Daemon asks once he is before them, voice telling of how he had clearly been crying.

Neither of them find sympathy, only disgust and irritation. Erryk particularly despises how readily he refers to you as his wife; he was just a stranger, an evil-doer you had tragically married, "do you see that she's awake?"

Arryk's jaw tenses at his brother's response. He slowly turns to him with knit brows.

Daemon is numb to their hostility, too wrapped up in his self-loathing, "it is nearly noon. Doesn't she wake earlier than this?"

"Yes," Erryk instantly responds, "she did three years ago."

The prince stills. He now recognizes the twins' acrimony. He takes in a breath; he has no desire to start a fight, not when he's freshly just read about your affections for them and how they cared for you in his absence. Daemon wipes his face then raises a hand, "alright. Let me pass. I will wait for her to rouse."

The twins' shoulders hit each other as they block the prince's passage. Arryk tilts his head, "rest does not come easy to her. It would be best if she is not disturbed."

"I will not disturb her," Daemon quips, "I said I would wait for her to rouse."

Erryk raises a brow and motions, "of course, my prince. Feel free to wait for her out here with us."

Daemon stiffens. He grinds his teeth as he debates the truth of the sentiment. He stares at them.

They stare back.

He shakes his head and storms off.

Erryk scoffs in disgust, clutching his scabbard. Arryk scowls at the prince then his brother, "you dunce. This is what we want, for him to go to her."

"Yes," Erryk eyes Daemon hotly, willing his body be burned by his glare, "yet watch how easily he retreats. He wants only to go to her for his own sake, not because he wants to see her."

"Erryk," Arryk places a hand on his arm, "you overstep."

Erryk turns to his brother, "I step my foot exactly where it should be." He looks forward, "if he really wants to see her, he would come back."

And he was right. Daemon really wanted to see you. Why then would he waste his time and patience in quarrelling with your wards when he could simply take the hidden entrance to your chambers? He knew the passages well, after all; this was his home.

Daemon's senses are flooded as he emerges from the darkness.

Your fragrance is nearly tangible to him. He walks towards your vanity and takes a vial of your body oil. He inhales deeply, feeling warmth cascade through his body. He smears a bit on his philtrum. He missed this.

He sets the vial down and brushes his fingers over your jewelry. He takes the robe hung on your vanity chair and smells it. His eyes begin to water. He hangs it back in its place and finally, finally, he turns to you, throat uncomfortably tight.

Your brown hair is fanned out behind you. Your skins glows with invitation to be caressed.

He kneels beside you the way you did before your beloved statue of the Mother. He scratches his eyes when his tears begin to fog his vision. He strokes the back of his hand down your cheek. He fixes the blanket around you.

He watches you intently. He so badly wants to bury his face into the crook of your neck, to feel you, to smell you, to kiss you, but even he knew it was selfish; even he could admit he was undeserving.

The memory of the very first time he had ever beheld your sleeping form plays in his mind as you act it out in real life. Your lips and forehead curl; you stir slightly in your spot. He sighs when the corner of your closed eyes begin to water.

Daemon wipes your tears away, speaking the same words he spoke you then, "amīvindigon sesīr isse ēdrugon." Tormented even in sleep. He strokes your cheek and hair, "mundagon riña." Miserable girl.

He cannot help himself any longer. He shifts on his knees and moves in to press a kiss upon your temple. He leans his forehead on you, closing his eyes to savor your presence.

All is still.

All is solemn.

That is, until you begin to fuss.

You mutter incoherences and begin to moan.

He squeezes your shoulder and kisses you again, "gīda ilagon, ñuha jorrāelagon." Calm down, my love.

You moan out in response.

He pulls his head back with and opens his eyes. You moan again and it becomes clear that you were moaning a name.

"Alyrie."

A line forms between his brows.

"Alaeric."

He feels his chest tighten. What?

You moan as your arms reach out, "stay."

Daemon pulls back, eyes burning with tears. You repeat those names and a pit forms in his stomach, deep and dark. You whine as you embrace your pillow. He watches you press your lips into your pillow. He hears you mutter, "love you."

His throat constricts and he clenches his jaw. He does not like this dream.

You speak those names again and he pulls back, deciding he's had enough. He repeats it, mutters under his breath what he thinks he heard you say, "Arryk and Erryk." After all, how would he know the names Alyrie and Alaeric when you couldn't bare to even think of them, let alone mention them?

And just as he did moments ago, he wastes no time.

Daemon storms away, grabbing a pitcher of water on his way. He is upon them the moment he throws the doors open.

Before either brother can react, one has a pitcher bashed to the back of his head, and the other is kicked from behind. Shrieks pierce the air; your incoming servants witness the brutal onslaught.

All that was not enough to wake you, nothing would.

You startle awake, terrified out of your mind. Not only did you wake from a melancholic slumber, you wake to the sound of screams and battery.

Daemon would have managed to knock out the brothers had they not worn helmets. Still, the blow to the back of Arryk's head left him in a daze and Erryk, who was kicked from behind and shot off to the parallel wall, was no better.

The prince focuses on the closer twin who managed to face him. He kicks Arryk on the chest, knocking him down. He quickly climbs upon his felled body and removes his helmet before splitting his knuckles on his face. He manages to land two punches before he is throttled to the ground by the other Cargyll.

Erryk did not mean to merely subdue him, he was eager to retaliate. He crushes his knee into the prince's back, squeezing the air out of him before flipping him over, intent on breaking his nose at the very least.

Erryk underestimated the raging sense of betrayal that fuels his opponent.

Daemon manages to grab Erryk's neck and squeezes it with all his might. The latter begins to choke but he thrusts his shin-guard into the prince's side, giving him little choice but to scream and loosen his hold due to the the pain.

Erryk finds the upper hand in no time. He pries Daemon's hands off him and launches a right hook. The prince shields his head, still, the knight manages to land some nasty punches.

"ERRYK!" Arryk shouts, prying his brother off. He drags his brother away, and in that moment, you emerge from your room, running barefoot in nothing but your shift.

You notice the twins first, for they were closer to your door. You release a horrified sound at the sight of them. They look at you with hard faces as you walk over, "what is the meaning of this?!"

Erryk shrugs his brother off and points an accusing finger, "the prince attacked us from behind!"

You turn to where he points.

Blood trickles down Daemon's face as he struggles to get on his knees. His lips are busted, nose ruptured, eye swollen. Your face falls at the sight of him. He looks horrendous, even worse than what Gwayne looked like when he fell from his horse during the tourney. A dozen horrible memories begin to flood you. You clutch your chest as you feel it tighten.

Erryk continues, "we would not let him disturb your sleep, but he managed to sneak into your bedroom-"

"What?" you turn to him.

"- then he attacked Arryk with a pitcher," Erryk points to the pitcher on the floor that laid beside a puddle of water, "then he kicked me on the back."

You turn to Arryk, finding his hair, neck, and armor wet. You whimper and wipe your face. You snap at Daemon, "what is wrong with you?!"

You watch your husband come to his feet.

He clutches his side and grunts out your name.

Goosebumps shroud you.

Daemon shudders as he walks over, "gaomagon ao jorrāelagon nyke?" Do you love me?

You instinctively step back where the Cargylls step forward. Your face curls in mortification. Your lips wobble and you shake your head in disbelief. You repeat, "what the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Gaomagon..." Daemon lowers his head, "ao ēdrurys yno?" Do you dream of me?

You knit your brows tightly. You grit your teeth and clench you fists. You take a step towards him.

He lifts his gaze when you do.

A shiver runs down your spine as he speaks your name.

"Īlē mirre hen ēdrurys nyke mi—" You were alll of the dreams I ev-

You slap him before he can finish his words.

The blood from Daemon's nose sputters to the wall. The action hurts more than the act. He does not look back at you.

You are trembling, neither from your affliction or fear, but out of pure, blinding wrath. You do not tear your gaze from Daemon though you do not speak to him, "the both of you go to the maester's ward."

Arryk and Erryk nod and regard you, "princess."

"Drag him with you," you blurt, turning to your open door, "I will be there shortly after dressing."

[deliriousgrl-writes]

Riding nate in his room after a football game would be insane

YES especially if he was in a bad mood 👀

secret//nate jacobs x fem reader

cw: emotional abuse, male anatomy described, female anatomy described, secret relationship, unprotected p in v, degradation, fem reader tries to top for the first time, riding nate because he’s sad or mad or whatever’s going on in his pretty head, he’s rlly mean tbh, doesn’t matter because you’re obsessed with him and he is with you

you knew better than to try and open your mouth right now. nate was silent as he drove down the dark streets of your town, his jaw clenched and his big hand gripping the steering wheel hard.

you were nate’s secret, you knew that, and it hurt more than ever tonight. you had been watching him in the bleachers during his game, the stands crowded and loud. your eyes were on him the whole time, number eighteen and his tall form a force on the manicured green grass. everything was going well, nate was one of the greatest assets on the high school football team, usually being the one who won the games. but tonight had turned out different, nate had seemed distracted before the game, though you weren’t able to speak with him before the game had started to try and find out why. you had saw something different in his brown eyes, his usual pride and confidence missing as he set foot on the field.

east highland was winning, and you were smiling and happy, cheering with the rest of your peers and everyone on the bleachers. everything was going as great as it always did when you watched nate play football, the scoreboard letting everyone know that the team was going to remain undefeated. your eyes focused on nate, watching as one of his teammates threw him the ball, but instead of running, nate’s tall form stayed put. you weren’t sure what was going on with him, or where his dark eyes were looking, but he froze. it happened so fast from where you were seated in real time, but as you sat, wondering why nate wasn’t running to go ahead and win the game, time seemed slower. your heart began to beat faster, your brows pinched together, and before you knew it someone on the other team was knocking nate’s tall body backwards on the field. your eyes widened, standing up on the metal bleachers, worry ringing through you. you wished more than anything that you could run over to him, wanting to be beside him but were forced to watch as his teammates, coach, referee, and medic crowded around him on the bright grass of the field. you couldn’t be with him, because nate wouldn’t want it, he wished to keep you far away in his day to day life. out of sight from everyone. his secret.

you were still stinging with worry as he finally got up, his coach and the ref holding his tall body up, nate’s face looking down at the ground like he didn’t want anyone to see him. they pulled him off the field, away from your view while you were forced to watch the rest of the game. his team won, but you didn’t care, just yearning to be wherever he was.

nate usually spent time with you after games, after he was paraded around with his teammates, accepting cheers and smiles. you knew where you needed to wait after games, somewhere in the dark and away from any prying eyes, where nate’s silver truck would pull up and you’d have to struggle to jump in. so you waited, watching as vehicles drove out of the parking lot, people leaving and the bright lights of the field shutting off. you wrapped your arms around yourself, wondering how long it would take him to finally show up, wondering if he was in pain or was being taken to the hospital or something.

but he finally showed up, and that’s why you found yourself in the uncomfortable silence as he drove you to his house. you wanted to say something, all the words on the tip of your tongue, but if you said them you figured nate would only get angry, taking all his frustration out on you instead of himself. he would probably accuse you of thinking he was weak or something, a retaliation due to his own insecurities. he’d been seeing you in secret for about seven months at that point and you’d learned enough about him to know how seriously he took himself, how much he beat himself up for being any less than the man he wanted himself to be. who he pretended to be. it was his ego and more than ever, watching his tense body drive in the dark, his ego was bruised.

once nate finally pulled up to his large family home, you jumped when he got out, him slamming the drivers side door of his big truck with force. you winced slightly, your body on high alert when instead of opening your door for you and helping you get out like he usually did, he quickly jogged up to his front door. when you finally worked up the courage to make it out of his truck and into his house, you slowly walked up the staircase, your eyes scanning around the jacob’s family portraits, younger versions of nate making your stomach twist. his bedroom door was closed and you slowly turned the knob, walking into his tidy space, the smell of his room a small comfort to you. the sound of the shower running could be heard from behind his bathroom door, and you went to sit down on his bed, your heart racing as you wondered what kind of mood he would be in once he was in your presence again.

you’d seen how angry nate could be, how much his face would change and how his deep voice sounded when he screamed. he had scared you more than once during the past seven months but you cared too much to walk away. finding yourself clinging to him no matter how fucked up the situation he put you in was. it felt as if you were helpless without him, nate made sure of it, making sure that you had no one close in your life but him. even your relationship with your family was strained now, spending any ounce of free time you had with nate, one of his main rules for you. and you did what he said everytime, everything he wished. after all, you just wanted him. only him.

your eyes darted to the bathroom door once he walked out, seeing his tall, lean muscular body in only some tight black boxers, watching as he moved around his dimly lit room. a lump was in your throat, his hands pulling out some clothes out of his wardrobe, his broad shoulders tense. you shifted nervously on his bed, his soft duvet under the exposed skin of your legs under your dress. nate liked when you wore feminine things like dresses and skirts, and you quickly changed your preferences to meet his, always wanting him to enjoy the way you looked even if you were uncomfortable.

he finally sat on the edge of the bed and your eyes stayed on him from where you sat near his pillows. you could hear his deep breathing, his slightly tanned, muscular upper body on display. the clothes he’d just dragged out of his wardrobe were piled beside him at the end of the bed but he made no move to put them on. your heart started to race as he put his head in his hands, him not making a sound but obviously showing signs of distress. “nate?” you whispered, anxiety in your limbs.

you could see him take a breath before he spoke, his deep voice low. “what?”

his reply was a bit muffled in his large hands still covering his face and you found yourself feeling bad for him. you knew that he was beating himself up because of the mishap at his game and you wished that he wouldn’t, your heart clenching in your chest. you let out a soft breath before moving on the bed behind him, your fingers a little shaky as you hesitantly placed them on his broad shoulders. his muscles tensed beneath your fingers and he pulled his hands down from his face, his elbows still resting on his thighs as he turned his head a little to look at you before you spoke. “are you-”

he cut you off before you could finish your sentence, his brows furrowing a little. “don’t even start,” he interrupted, his jaw clenching as he narrowed his dark eyes at you. it was as if he didn’t want you to try and comfort him at all, to just ignore how he was feeling and what had happened during his game. it made you upset, though you would never say so, not wanting to make him angry. you bit your lip as he turned away from you again, your hands still placed on his shoulders. you knew he didn’t wish to talk about how he felt but you also wanted to do anything you could to make him feel better. to ease his stress and try to turn him back into the nate you usually knew, the one who kept you hidden from his world but would also be the kindest, most doting boy you’d ever met. the boy who’d secretly left sweet notes in your locker, the boy who would pull you into dark corners in the high school you both attended to flirt with you and make you blush uncontrollably. of course nate could be rough during sex with you, but you didn’t mind, you liked it, one of the things nate made you realize about yourself. no matter how hard he would push you, no matter how rough, he would wrap you in his arms afterwards and praise you. kiss you all over and make you believe that he really saw you as all the good things he said he did. that you really were so good for him. so you decided to make him feel better the only way he would allow you to, taking the lead for the first time since he’d been sneaking around with you.

you closed your eyes for a second before you started, still feeling the lump in your throat and anticipating a bad reaction as you started to press your lips to his shoulders from behind. you did it over and over, gentle and soft, feeling his hot, freshly showered skin beneath your lips and smelling the delicious smell of his body wash in your nostrils. you rubbed your hands down his toned back, still pressing kisses to his skin. you finally felt him start to relax though he didn’t turn to look at you just yet, making you still feel weary as you continued. you were nervous to even be doing this, nate was always the one who initiated, always the one who kissed or touched you first, but you kept going, starting to feel yourself ache for him as you ran your hands over the muscles of his back.

you were on your knees behind him now, sitting up a bit as you leaned your head over beside his own, pressing your lips to his neck. you closed your eyes, your small fingers climbing up his back to his shoulders before traveling down to his collar bones. you were enjoying how warm and strong he felt beneath your fingertips, how heavenly he smelled as you slowly kissed the side of his neck all over. your eyes widened when he suddenly got up, making you fall back a little on his mattress, meeting his dark gaze as he peered down at you. you felt scared for a moment, wondering if his mood still hadn’t shifted from feeling your lips on his skin, but it quickly dissipated some as he leaned down and crawled over you. his strong arms were on either side of your head as he hovered over you smaller body, his face only inches from your own and you felt his hot minty breath over your skin. you didn’t wait for him to speak or move, you wanted to be the one who made him feel good, you wanted to make him feel all the things he was always making you feel. so you reach your hands up and cupped both his cheeks beneath your palms, pulling his head down a little as you finally crashed your lips onto his. nate reciprocated the kiss, thankfully for you, and you pulled him down lower, wrapping your arms around his neck to get closer. he pressed his body against you, his body heat making your stomach swirl and you could already feel how hard he was in his tight boxers, his tip poking into your leg. nate’s breathing was getting faster as you moved your lips over his, your fingers going to tangle in his damp, short hair.

nate was always making you feel high off him, the way his hands touched you or his lips tasted making your brain go fuzzy and your heart pound. you moaned into his mouth when he pressed his hardness into you, making him bring his hands down and grip your hips, pushing you hard against his bed. a fire was building inside of you as he dug his fingers through the soft material of your dress and into your hips, his mouth beginning to move a little more hungrily over your own.

you wanted him to forget about how the game went, forget about all the stress he was under, forget about anything but the way you felt in his hands and how your body craved his own. and it seemed to be working. he wrapped his strong arms around your waist and lifted your body up a bit, forcing you to sit in his lap, your thighs on either side of his hips. you could feel his cock pushing through his boxers against you, your dress concealing it but his hardness was pressed against your panties. it made your stomach burn and your body ache, knowing that he wanted you. you were still kissing him, your hands still in his hair as his own large hands ran up and down your sides. he pulled away, though his teeth caught your bottom lip, tugging it a bit before releasing it, making your breathing hitch. “what do you want?” he mumbled, his voice low and a bit breathless.

your face was already contorted into a needy expression, your head above his as his hands roamed over your body, his fingers squeezing a little as he gripped your ass through your dress. “to make y-you feel better,” you finally whined, his fingers digging into your bottom more. he nodded his head, looking up at you with his dark eyes, a sight that made you feel weak and like his prey.

“you wanna make me feel better? then let me use your tight fucking pussy,” he barked, moving his hand up to quickly grab a handful of your hair and tug your face down lower so that he was looking down at you. you whined, the painful sting of him pulling your hair versus how much pleasure you got from his cock still pressing up against your panties making you grow even wetter and achy. “say yes,” he commanded, narrowing his lustful gaze on you.

“yes,” you whined, nodding your head over and over. he pulled your face up to his again with your hair in his fingers, crashing his lips onto yours forcibly. his tongue traced between you lips, the taste of his toothpaste still on his wet tongue and making you whimper into his mouth. he released your hair, his hands moving to your hips and pulling you on top of his muscular body, his head hitting his pillows as he kept kissing you. you were straddling him, already lost in pleasure because of how intoxicating it felt to be wanted by him, a sensation you were always chasing it seemed. he pulled away, his breathing heavy as you stared down at him from above with wide, desperate eyes. he bucked his hips up, making you gasp in pleasure from feeling his clothed cock against your soaking core that rested in your panties still.

“you’re so fucking worked up already,” he taunted, “such a slut for me. already begging me to use your cunt.” his deep voice and degrading comments only made you ache more, already ready to start begging like he always made you. “i can feel how fucking soaked you are, even through my underwear. leaking all over my cock like a needy whore,” he smirked, shaking his head, “you like it, don’t you? letting me feel how much your pussy aches for me? i bet you want me to touch you right now and feel it? you want that, don’t you?”

you bit your lip, nodding and feeling him buck his hips up into you again, making you release your lip and moan. “don’t nod, say it. say, ‘i want you to feel how wet my pussy is for you.’ say it.”

he always made you say filthy things like this, but it turned you on so much. you really were needy for him, he could use you as he wished, however he saw fit and you wouldn’t complain. oh, how lost in him you really were. “i-i want you to feel… i want you to feel how wet m-my pussy is for y-you,” you stumbled out, your heat growing wetter as you said what he wanted you to say. he nodded, bringing his large hand up and cupping your cheek, his palm warm as he rubbed your face with his thumb.

“exactly. i know how much you want me,” he purred, his eyes peering into yours, “how much you want me to just fuck you until your fucking screaming. you know only i can make you feel that way right?” you nodded, actually agreeing with him. “now do what you said you’d do. make me feel better and take off your pretty little dress for me like a good slut.”

you immediately started ripping off your dress, so eager for him to touch your bare skin. you finally pulled it off your head, throwing it somewhere in his tidy room, leaving you in only your matching baby blue bra and panties. nate let out a breath, taking both his hands and starting to tease you with his fingers, tickling your skin as he started moving his fingertips up your thighs, over your hips and sides, before stopping as he got to your shoulders. your body twitched and squirmed on top of him as he did so, and you knew he enjoyed it. he liked teasing you until you were desperate for him, until you couldn’t take anymore. he smirked as he watched you shiver when he started pulling down your bra straps, his feather light touches making you squirm on top of his hard cock that pressed through his boxers.

nate pulled down your bra straps all the way, the cups of your bra releasing your breasts, your chest heaving, making them rise and fall, up and down as you stayed on top of him. “look at these tits,” he whispered, his deep voice still low, “your nipples are hard already. you want me to touch them, don’t you? yeah, i think that’d make me feel a lot better. you want me to feel better, right?”

“yes,” you whimpered, feeling his fingertips trace around them, the skin under your breasts and above them on your chest. you bit your lip, taking a breath when he finally started to fondle you. his big hands were warm on your skin, goosebumps raising all over your trembling body. the skin of his palms pressed against your sensitive nipples, making you let out a sharp gasp and choking you up. you looked down at him, his dark eyes directly on your face, an evil smirk on his lips.

“god you’re such a whore,” nate smirked, still keeping his voice quiet, “i can feel you getting wetter, you know? you like how my hands feel on these pretty tits, don’t you?” you nodded, already feeling overstimulated from his touch until he squeezed your breasts harder, his fingers dipping into your skin until it almost hurt. you let out a muffled cry, your voice choking from how worked up you were getting, from how turned on you already were. you’d do anything he said, let him touch you as he wished, tease you until he saw fit to give in. you let him be selfish, you knew that part of him would never change.

after his tight squeeze with his warm hands, he finally reach around your trembled form to unhook your bra, the blue material falling down over his abs beneath you. he grabbed it quickly and threw it somewhere in his clean room. “now,” he breathed out, almost rolling his eyes at you from how much you trembled and squirmed on top of him, knowing he could be rude to you right now because you didn’t care how he treated you in moments like this, because you secretly liked it, “you’re going to be a good girl for me and you’re going to take off those panties and you’re going to take my cock and ride me till i cum, okay? that would make me feel so much better.”

your needy face looked down at him, his fingers hooking into your cotton panties and teasing the skin on your hips, his eyes narrowing on you a bit and waiting for your submission. you’d never been on top of him before, never rode him. but he was asking you to, and he did say it’d make him feel better. you couldn’t help but whisper a soft, ‘okay’ and move off of his tall body for a moment, giving in despite your nerves. you slipped off the edge of his bed, standing there, feeling exposed with his gaze all over your body. you started to take your underwear off but he quickly stopped you as soon as you started, his voice sounding annoyed as he spoke. “turn around and let me see you bend over as you take them off,” his deep voice instructed you, a tinge of annoyance still evident in his tone, “go on.”

you bit your lip as you obeyed him, turning around and bending over slowly as you slipped your soaked blue panties off your body. they hit the ground and you stepped out of them, swallowing before you turned around. your heart started racing once you saw him, his own underwear off now and his thick, long cock in his hand. he rolled his brown eyes when you didn’t automatically step over and get back on the bed, annoyed that you just stood there and looked at his hardness. “do what i told you to do,” he sighed, his brows pinching together as he heard your soft rapid breaths, “i told you what would make me feel better, now do it.”

you nodded and crawled back on top of his tall, muscular body, the both of you now naked. you felt his cock from beneath you, your wetness resting on top of it and making your body heat up and your pussy ache painfully. his hands were digging into your hips, his nails painfully sticking into you as he waited impatiently. “stick it in you,” he gritted out, narrowing his eyes up at you again, “i know you don’t need any fucking time for foreplay. you’re practically dripping on my cock right now. so do what you want. you’re greedy like that, aren’t you? maybe you don’t even care how i feel or want me to feel better, maybe you just want to be a greedy slut and feel my cock inside you…”

“no,” you blurted out, blinking down at him as you shook your head, “i-i want you to feel better, nate. i want to do whatever you say that will help you right now.”

nate bit back a smirk at your words, looking up at the ceiling like he was trying not to laugh at you. he was cruel like that, but something about how his actions degraded you, only made you want him more. always wanting to please him. “okay,” he finally said, his dark eye boring into you, “then stop leaking all over me like a needy slut and actually take me.”

you quickly reach your hand down, lifting up on top of him a bit with your legs. your fingers wrapped around his large size and quickly pulled it up to your entrance, letting out a tiny moan when his tip hit your soaked entrance. he fingers dug into your hips more when you did, silently telling you to hurry and drop down on his cock. you shut your eyes as you lowered yourself on him finally, feeling him stretch you out, a loud whine leaving your lips as you finally took all of him.

“now bounce that pretty body up and down on my cock,” he instructed, or demanded, “make me ‘feel better.’” you started moving up and down on his length, the sensation new and pleasuring, the position making you love the way he looked up at you with his dark eyes, how his pupils dilated until his irises were almost black. his lips parted, pants leaving him as he kept his large hands on your hips and guided you up and down his cock. his deep voice let out a low groan, making you almost fall apart already, even if you’d just started. “you better not cum yet,” nate threatened, his words coming out breathy and dark, “i’ll be mad.”

you kept going, unable to stop the small whines and whimpers that left your mouth, his cock hitting your sweet spot everytime you lowered yourself back down on him. you shut your eyes tightly and he dug his nails into your hips again when you did, a silent reminder to keep them open and on him. you let out a choked whine, staring back down at him and trying not to cum, his chiseled features and heavy breaths from below you making you want to scream. “keep going,” he warned you, “don’t cum like a stupid slut already, you’re better than that. keep making me feel better, don’t be selfish.”

you would rather be damned than to not keep going for him, to not obey his breathy commands, so you kept up your movements on him. you kept yourself steady by bringing your small hands down to his heaving, broad chest, his black, hungry eyes boring into yours as you kept whining. you tried not to chase your own pleasure, trying to be keenly aware of how fast or slow you went, feeling when his legs would tense or when he’d groan so you knew you were making it about him. “fuuuck,” he groaned out, his eyes wide as he brought one of his large hands over your naked breast, squeezing as you continued to ride him, making sure to lift off of him and slam back down on his length, something that seemed to make his tall form tense and the muscles in his toned thighs twitch beneath. you were enjoying drawing these noises and reactions out of him, making him feel good, wanting him to praise you soon for doing good.

“you’re making me feel really good,” nate panted out, squeezing your hard nipple between his fingertips, earning a whine from you while keeping his other hand on your hip, “you wanna be good for me, don’t you? my little secret loves making me feel good.”

you moaned out a hitch pitched ‘yes,’ slamming yourself up and down his throbbing cock quicker. when he called you his ‘little secret’, it made you feel so dirty, but you couldn’t help but feel your stomach tighten from the expression. you loved being his secret, loved that he wanted you all to himself and the fact that no one knew who you belonged to, only him and you. you’d gotten used to lying for him quickly, and now, seven months later, being his secret was your favorite thing to be.

you felt yourself about to snap, biting your lower lip until you tasted copper as you tried to remain concentrated on him. it was hard, especially because he kept groaning and egging you on, knowing how hard it was for you not to cum when he spoke or made noises. nate knew your body and reactions well, and he used that knowledge to tease and taunt you, to wreck you completely during sex. it was his way, and you couldn’t do anything about it, which he reveled in.

“you’re squeezing me so tight,” nate choked out, “i can tell you’re about to cum. you better not, you’re doing this for me, remember? say it. say you won’t cum because you need me to fill you up first.”

nate’s demands and taunting sounded so dark coming from his deep, breathless voice. it was hard not to fall apart just from the sound, but you obeyed his command, your voice shaky and high pitched because of how much you were struggling not to come undone. “i won’t cum! i-i won’t! need y-you to fill me up first. please!”

nate let out a dark chuckle, grinning a sinful smile as he heard how close you were in your choked cry. “good girl,” he murmured, squeezing your hips with both his big hands, making you cry out as you felt how deep his nails were pressing into you, wondering if he’d leave bruises and struggling not to cum from the thought of him leaving his marks on you, “keep going. you’re lucky i’m about to fucking cum, gunna fill your tight cunt up real good. fuck- keep squeezing on my cock, i love feeling you about to fucking snap.”

“nate!” you whined out loudly, going as fast as you could on his length, his hard grip on your hips guiding you up and down and making you keep up your pace. he shook his head at you, denying your release, serious about you making him cum first. he was panting and groaning, his toned thighs tensing from beneath you, his grip on your hips never loosening.

finally, only a minute later, he was groaning even louder, his grip on your hips starting to slow your movements as he came inside you. you were practically screaming as you felt his length throb and twitch inside you, how his warm release was deep in you cunt. “there!” he growled out suddenly, his brows pinched together as his lips stayed parted as he breathed rapidly, “now you can fucking cum!”

that’s all it took, his permission making you twitch and moan uncontrollably on top of him as you finally found your release, even if your movements had stopped completely. you felt his cock start to soften inside you as he dug his nails into your hips still, knowing that simple action alone could draw out your orgasm further. your thighs shuddered around his hips as you finally started to come down, struggling to keep yourself upright on his body as you panted loudly in his quiet room. nate noticed, and despite liking the way you struggled, he wrapped his long, strong arms around you and lifted you off of him and down beside him on the bed. you closed your eyes as you tried to relax against his pillows, the muscles in your body beginning to grow tired as you finally came down fully.

he laughed at you darkly, something he often did when he saw how spent you were from him making you cum. nate pulled you closer to him as he laid on his side, pulling the soft duvet on his bed over you both to cover your bodies. “open your eyes,” he chuckled.

you fluttered your heavy eyes open and looked at him, the vicious smile still on his handsome face as he looked over your features. “thank you for being good for me,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips and your cheek, making you relax even more, “you know that i do care about you, right?”

you nodded, wanting to believe him even if it was hard to decipher his true feelings. he nodded too, pressing a couple kisses to the side of your face, and wrapping you tighter in his arms. “so good for me,” he murmured against your skin, making a pink dust appear on your cheeks and your chest warm.

you never wanted this part to end.

[crimsonbubble]

Cod men being absolute munches please ❤️❤️

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, oral, overstimulation, panty stealing (dont ask pls im depraved), beard burn, scent kink of some sort *not proofread, just pure horny

[BRB LOSING IT RN]

kinktober masterlist

MINORS DNI!!

ghost is messy and kinda pervy. like he'll keep his mask on when he tells you to sit on his face type messy. will not take the mask off until you've soaked through it but you can feel his tongue push against the rough fabric as he bumps it against your clit. he has definitely used the soaked mask as fap material when he's away from you. though he's not opposed to stealing your panties if his masks aren't available to him.

if ghost was messy, then soap is sloppy. he's doped out on your taste and scent. he just wants all his senses to be you. loves to squeeze your hips while your push his face closer against your pretty cunt. once he starts, he won't stop. he just thinks you always have too much on your mind, so he's doing you a favour and making him the only thing on your mind. also, you just look extra pretty when you're tearing up sensitivity. loves how you can't tell if you want to pull him closer or push him away.

price is so so attentive. he's peering up at you as he sucks your pretty clit into his mouth. makes your thighs clench around his head just because he loves seeing how easily your body reacts to him. also loves to hear you complain that your skin is raw and sensitive but then again it is unbelievably hot to see your captain's beard dripping in your arousal.

gaz loves to have you sit on his face. literally smother him, it's what he wants. heavily encourages you to ride his face as you please. grabs your ass like he's getting paid to do so. can not and will not keep his hands off you. if you offer to suck him off, good god he'd make sure to give you the most mind blowing, toe curling, gut wrenching orgasm ever.

alejandro loves control, but he's always willing to sacrifice it for you. he'll let you take the reigns; want to sit on his face? he'll happily lie down for you. want to have him on his kness? he's already there. while his mouth is busy working on your sticky cunt, his hands are roaming all over you. it's like he's trying to commit the curves and slopes of your body to memory.

rudy is a certified lover boy. literal hearts in his eyes when he's needy for you. wants, no needs you to sit on his face. he just wants to feel your thighs on him. holds your hips down on his face so he can tongue fuck you and bump his nose into your clit.

horangi downright abuses your sweet little clit. he can't help it, you make the sweetest noises when he overstims you. he'll pin your hips down on the bed so he can trace his name on your clit with his tongue. loves to hold eye contact with you when he goes down on you. def the type to stop when you close your eyes or look away.

konig forces you to put your weight down on him. don't just hover on him. sit on him. full weight. doesn't matter if he can breathe or not. though he prefers to situate himself between your thighs with his hood on, so you can't see what he's gonna do. once you cum on his face, he isn't letting you go until you do it again. forces your body to move along his face so he can continue to please you.

keegan finds it more amusing to just pull his mask up over his nose to eat you out. simply bc he can't be bothered to take it off completely. he's a clit kisser. and he makes out with your pussy too. sitting in his office chair while he's kneeling under his desk so he can eat you out. loves to finger you while he kisses and licks your clit.

[meltingmidas]

Coachella Rut

Paring: Idol!Hongjoong x Non Idol!Reader

CW: DomJoong/SubReader, Joongie is aggressive :))), pinv, unprotected sex (don’t do this plz this is not sexy!), creampie, mentions of marks and bruises, degradation, pls lmk if i missed anything!

WC: 920

Midas's Notes: So I literally started this right after watching the Coachella stream.. holy shit. Joong really did something to me and idk if I’ll ever be the same. Is there possibly a Mingi one in the works? Maybe. Uhhh this is NOT edited cause I’m too tired and this is just raw horniness so please enjoy (and excuse) this messy fic! PS also didn’t have a fuckin clue what to name it so enjoy the random title <3

🔞 Below 🔞

“Fuck Joong, slow doowwwn- ugh please!” You whimpered as he roughly pounded into your abused pussy, your legs over his shoulders, his arms beside your head. He’s been at it for nearly 2 hours now, rejecting your every single orgasm, giving you no time to rest. Your neck is littered in bruises, cheeks red from his previous slaps, eyeliner dragged down to your jaw. He’s always like this after a concert; but for some reason Coachella has him in a rut.

He’s aggressive, raw, and borderline psychotic. A wild smile plastered on his face, the shitty red dye running down his face over his eyes and around his cheeks, down to his chin and neck. He locks eyes with you as he brings his hand up to roughly hold your jaw, your cheeks uncomfortably squishing together. “You are fucking mine, got it? Your heart, your soul, your thoughts, your pretty pussy, everything. You belong to me. Yeah?”He whispers out, inches away from your face, he’s movements never faulting. You nod, and mewl out a small “Yes sir” before he gives the corner of your lips a small kiss and returning to the side of your head, giving light nips to your neck. Hongjoong looks straight out of a horror movie; and it’s fucking sexy.

You’re dragged out of your thoughts by a particular hard thrust, kissing your velvety sweet spot inside you, making you sing his name like it was a prayer. “You look so fucking good underneath me. All fucked up on my cock, yeah? You can’t get enough of me, can you?” He grunts out, his voice course from the previous show he put on. You nod eagerly, your nails scratching at his shoulders, bound to leave your mark all over him. “Yeaah that’s right slut. Tell me how good I am.” You moan loudly at his request, surely others would hear (not that you cared), starting to attempt to form a sentence. “Cock feels to-fuck feels too good Joong. Need you to fuck me harder. Please!”.

He chuckles deeply, heavy into your ear, soft grunts and pants leaving his lips. “You feel so fucking good, you were made for me, whore.” You scream out his name as he starts fucking you faster; harder than he’s ever gone before. You whine and whimper, begging for your release, “Please Joong- pleasepleaseplease fill me up sir, I need it so bad. Need your cum inside me so bad.” Hongjoong moans loudly in your ear, his breath fanning against the shell. He lifts up to look at you, the fully sits up, your lower half now slightly lifted up off the bed thanks to your legs still over his shoulders. He gives you a wild smirk, eyes dark and full of love and lust. His hands find the plush spot of your hips, nails digging his shape into it. You whine, tears spilling out as you keep your babbling pleas for his seed. “Fuck- such a good girl, asking so politely for my cum.” One hand moves from your hips and finds your clit, your eyes shoot open and a drawn out moan leaves your lips, a new spark shoots up your spine and your release edging closer and closer.

He grunts, his thrust growing sloppier and harder, you can feel him twitch inside you as he gets closer. “Gonna make you mine sweetheart. All mine- fuck.” He peers down at you, a smile and his signature laugh, “Cum for me, doll.” That was all you needed as you find yourself twitching, hips bucking up into his, you feel your walls convulsing around his, feeling your sweet slick run down to your ass. He moans, voice scratching as a string of “shit” leaves him, as you feel hot ropes of cum fill you up. You whine, feeling so full of him and his milky cum. “So so good. Fuck you’re mine. Mine all mine..” he whispers out, more to himself, as he pushes his final spurts of cum inside you.

You look at him through your wet lashes, admiring the scene of his sweat drenching him, basking in his post sex glow. He catches your eyes, a soft smile leaving his lips as he leans down to meet yours. Hongjoong gives you a soft, gentle kiss, completely different to the ones you received earlier. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t do too much did I?” He asks, slowly pulling out of you, a mix of both your cum oozing outside of your puffy pussy. You shake your head, “No, not at all Joongie. But holy shit, I don’t think I can get up after all… that.” You laugh, and you hear him quietly joins you. “Here.” You look over to find him handing you a glass of water (that he already prepped beforehand, what a gentleman), and a towel in his hand beside you. You gladly take it, shaking as you hastily take a sip. You feel him gently lift one of your legs, softly patting and wiping you off. “I’ll start you a bath, and we can take one together. Or would you rather eat first? Which sounds good?” He quietly asks you, throwing the towel to a dirty clothes hamper and grabs your hand to give it a kiss. You giggle, “Bath, then food, please.” He nods, slowly rubbing your knuckles in his hands. “Sounds good sweetheart.” He gets up to start your bath, you sit up, sipping your water and wondering if you should get chicken or a burger.

[thinkinonsense]

MY HAIR𑁍

old man!logan howlett x housewife reader

cw: fluff, minor nsfw content, soft logan

wc: 800+

part one

next part

you aren't an insecure person by any means, but that doesn't mean you don't have insecurities. whenever you even attempted to explain them to logan he always hushed you up with a kiss and whispered how he loves you no matter what. he never understood why someone so angelic would fixate on the smallest of imperfections?

the main insecurity that logan could never wrap his head around was, your hair.

growing up, your hair was always long, thick and curly. people either loved it or hated it but you always hated it. kids at school were so incredibly cruel that every summer you would cut it short. getting rid of all the heat damage caused by the constant abuse of your straightener.

logan and you met during the winter months when you usually let the curls be free, not caring much to do anything with it until the heat came again.

during the beginning of your relationship, he didn't seem to be bothered by the barrier you created around your hair. he questioned all the straightening products and asked why you always had to cut it come summertime.

over time it became logan's main obsession. he knew you were possessive of it, always smacking away his hand anytime he tried to wrap a pretty curl around his finger. he could always smell your shampoo lingering which only added to the obsession. the absolute worst was when you rode him because all he wanted to do was tug at the ends until your mouth hung open.

at every chance he could, he would offer to wash your hair or style it for you. it was painful for him to see how soft and full of volume it looked; bouncing as you walked.

for god's sake, logan learned how to do a fuckin' french braid, that's how badly he wanted to know that part of you.

yet, your walls never crumbled.

one night while the two of you were watching an old western in bed, logan decided that he had had enough of it.

"sweetheart?" logan asked, looking down at you as your head rested on his chest.

"hm?" you peer up at him through your lashes.

"can i ask you something?"

"anything."

logan took a deep breath and then asked, "why won't you let me touch your hair?"

the question sounded silly, and he knew it but at this point, logan was desperate. even now, seeing your hair caged up with a claw clip was torture for him.

"i-i didn't think it was a big deal." you stutter, caught off guard by his forwardness about the topic.

"it's not." he looks longingly into your eyes. want you to appreciate it the way i do."

there's a look in your eyes that is debating whether or not to give logan what he wanted seemly badly. you trusted logan, he would never make fun of you. maybe it was silly to keep that part of yourself hidden from him. the two of you are married after all.

logan watches as you sit on your knees in your silky navy pajamas. he can hear your heart beating rapidly in your chest as you exhale then reach up, touching the clip in your hair. it felt borderline erotic to logan as he watched your hair fall effortlessly over your shoulders.

"i'm going to give you instructions, alright?" you warn him.

logan wanted to roll his eyes as you inform him to not tangle your hair. he knew how to be gentle, but he wasn't going to blow this opportunity.

"want you to touch softly just like how you do my mind." your voice was barely a whisper as you watched his hand lift up to your shoulder.

he nods, stroking the soft follicles from your earlobe to your waist. it was smoother than silk. every curl fit perfectly around his finger.

"it's beautiful, sweetheart." he complements, watching as a blush rises to your cheeks. "can't believe you've been hiding it from me all this time."

you climb onto his lap to kiss him when something snaps deep inside of logan. the shampoo.

"fuckin' lavender..." he groaned against your lips. "could smell it a mile away."

"love you, lo." you pull back to say. "i'm sorry that it took so long to-"

your words fade in your throat as he tugs at the hair resting near your ass while grinding up against you.

"don't apologize, just want you to love yourself the same way i love you." he says in between leaving marks on your jaw, inhaling your scent.

a moan falls from your lips, leaving logan to wonder if it was his words that caused it or the fact that he was now tugging a fist full near your neck. either way, it didn't matter because he would never stop touching your hair. at least not while you sing like a hummingbird for him.

[superfreakfranky]

A siren.

A temptation.

And you're the only one to hear it.

Zoro offers to keep you safe from plunging overboard and things get...heated.

Cw: 🔞 afab, mentions of a history of abuse, kissing, nudity, lap sitting, dirty talk, spanking, oral (you receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, (I see a theme here in my writing...🤙🏻)

On his way to the kitchen, Luffy finds you peering over the deck rail.

Half asleep, he blinks at you.

Weird.

It's 4am.

"Did ya see somethin'?"

It's as if you didn't hear him. There one moment, then you're gone.

The screaming wakes Zoro.

"I can't save her! Guys! Please!"

And Zoro's moving quickly. Captain calls, he answers.

You're overboard, jumped, according to Luffy.

Without blinking, Zoro goes in after you.

He reaches for you in the shadowy water, comes up short.

There's something down there. Something almost pulling you deeper.

He gets to you finally, pure adrenaline pushing him on.

Your nails break skin when you surface.

"Oi, damn it! What the Hell?"

Your eyes are glazed, you're frantic in his arms.

"Please, let me go. They need me."

"Quit talking crazy. Get on the boat."

It's almost a workout strongarming you back up as you fight him. You're so damn determined to go back under, he has to almost restrain you - which is near impossible while treading water.

Finally, Luffy grabs you, pulls you up, starts screaming a lecture at you.

The sun's not up yet.

Zoro climbs aboard again, soaked and annoyed.

With the ruckus, the whole crew's on deck now. Zoro seeks the eye of Chopper.

"Look her over, would ya? Something's not right."

You're fighting Luffy as well, Zoro stripping from his wet shirt and ringing it out as he observes.

How odd.

Luffy tightens his grip. "Damn it. Stop. I don't wanna hurt you, okay?"

Chopper examines your eyes first, notices the glazed over pupils.

"Oh, shit..." His hooves grab your hands, turn your palms up.

A mark. A single red mark, but a symbol.

The crew steps forward, eager to know what woke them so early.

Usopp flails, falls to the deck.

"Oh no! It's real! Everybody inside. Panic!!"

"What the Hell is that?" Franky speaks first.

"It's the mark of a siren. She must've been on deck," Chopper informs the crew.

"Now that you mention it, I had heard a story about these waters, but it just sounded like some old pirate ghost story. No way!" Nami gasps.

"Luffy, bring her into the infirmary. We need to tie her down." Chopper demands.

"Right!"

Usopp pulls some wrap put of his pocket, makes quick work of tying your wrists.

Zoro stills.

He knows your history. Knows how they found you.

"Wouldn't that be a bit inhumane?"

Chopper's lips purse. The crew stills, eyes downcast as they remember your first encounter. The rope burns. The agony.

Zoro just remembers your eyes; how you pleaded for help.

He could save anyone - but the horrors done to you by that monster that called himself a man - those memories stay. Nothing could be done about that.

"We don't have another option," comes Chopper's voice.

"I've got her."

The doctor hums at Zoro, looks away.

"Fine. Your way first. But, if not, we need to tie her up until we're through these waters."

You're thrashing still, tearful and begging to get the ties off your wrists.

When Zoro steps in your view, the fog clears for a bit.

His calloused hands untie the restraints. Your gaze is glued to the movement, trails up his forearms, then to his face as he steadies you.

He almost thinks he sees a flash of something in your eyes, but it's gone again.

"I'm taking her to the crow's nest. Far enough away from the water."

The crew doesn't argue. Maybe they're too tired.

"Make her something to eat," Luffy demands. "That'll fix her right up!"

If only.

"I'll look through some of my books I got at the last port. Maybe I'll find something useful," Chopper suggests.

It's going to be a long day.

---

"Oi, just quit your thrashing. You're impossible."

He's got one big arm around you, his other lifting a large barbell.

The Hell you're going to disrupt his plans for the day.

He'd trusted you to sit and wait for him to get a workout in, but the second you were out of his grasp, you were booking it for the deck.

And he refuses to fail.

Refuses to let them tie you down.

Or worse - that damned cook be tasked with guarding you.

So you're sat in his lap for now.

---

"Can I please just shower? I smell like seawater and your sweat."

He's blushing.

"Now how are we going to do that?"

"I don't know! You need one, too! You stink."

Eyebrows furrowed, he frowns, a slight growl at his next exhale.

"Fine."

...

Back turned as he sits on the ledge of the tub, he huffs a breath as he hears you bathing behind him.

"How do I know you're not gonna drown yourself or something?"

Could sirens take you in any water? He didn't want to ask.

At his words, you pause. And then he feels your small hand slip between his calloused fingers.

You finish bathing this way.

He's silent the rest of the afternoon.

---

"Distract me."

It's a lucid moment for you. As the night draws near, you've gotten antsy. He's had to rest you in his lap again, hold you back periodically.

It's like you're hearing someone calling you in the silence.

It's eerie.

The others have left you alone, as if it's contagious or something.

"Hm? What'd'ya mean?"

"Please, Zoro."

And he'd do anything to stop this; can see you're suffering.

"The sun's about to set. Please. One more night, it's all I need to get through. I'm scared."

"...Okay."

You shift in his lap. He allows it.

"What do we do?"

Your eyes travel down to his lips then back up.

Oh.

Oh.

"I just need my mind elsewhere."

Your hands trail down his chest. His sharp inhale urges you on

"Mhm."

You slide your leg over, straddle him now.

"Just a small distraction."

"It's not small," is his response.

Your gaze flicks up again and he sees a hunger in you like he's never seen before.

"This alright?" He asks, his fingers grazing your hip.

"Mhm."

"And this?" Hands trail up your torso, lifting the hem of your shirt.

"Yes."

He pulls it off and tosses the shirt, then leans toward your neck.

"This, too?" His voice is low, the moment more intimate than ever.

All that time with you fussing around in his lap today, he's a bit worked up, though he won't admit it.

You needed some help, and he was there to give it.

He captures your lips in seconds, feels you arch toward him.

His hands trace up your back, dragging chill bumps with them.

"Get this damn thing off," he mutters against your lips, fingers fidgeting with the clasp of your bra.

In one fluid movement, the bra drops to the floor.

Without warning, you grind your hips, eliciting a moan from him.

He's hard.

He feels huge, you think.

The chemistry between you is palpable.

"Distraction, huh?" He mutters. "Okay." He shifts his weight, tackling you to the floor. Your back hits as you exhale sharply. Zoro takes in your topless form, strips off his shirt, then returns to hover his body over yours.

His greedy mouth traces across your skin, hesitating before twirling his tongue around your left nipple, a hand groping your right breast; just a pause before he continues down your torso

He snakes his fingers under the waistband of your pants, shoves them down and off. You catch a slight smirk before he drags his teeth over your skin, begins pulling your panties down with his mouth.

"A distraction, I can do," he speaks against your skin.

You raise your hips when he kisses between your legs; already so sensitive for him.

And Zoro eats you out like he's a starved man. He listens for every hitch of breath, every whispered prompt, every twitch of muscles until you're cumming all over his tongue.

He's straining against his pants, cock leaking as he anticipates what's next.

You look so satisfied, blissed out on the wood floor - glazed look different from the one he saw earlier.

Thumb still pressed against your clit, he gazes up at you.

"Think you're ready for me?"

Mouth agape, you almost look combative, so he starts rubbing slow circles with his thumb.

You're speechless - which is a feat, he thinks.

When he stands, you get a good view of his tented pants.

Towering over you, pointed gaze, you see his jaw clench.

"Up," he demands.

You feel exposed, sprawled out on the floor like this.

Without him touching you, that glazed look returns and he watches your attention snap to the ladder.

He grips your hand, pulls you from your daze. Zoro guides you to the bench seats.

"Bend," he commands.

You do without a second thought.

He enjoys that you obey.

Good.

When you hear him step out of his pants, you gaze behind you, desperate to catch a glimpse.

"What, are you worried?" He chuckles. "I'll take care of you."

He grabs a handful of your ass in one hand, smacks the other cheek with his other.

Fingers find your clit again, a whisper of a touch until he's burying his fingers inside of you.

You whimper, almost begging for something else.

"Settle down," he demands, voice monotone.

"Sorry," you whisper. "Just want you."

That humors him. "I know." He slips his fingers out, slides his cock between your folds. You moan at the sensation. "We've gotta keep you occupied all night, remember?"

He punctuates the sentence with a smooth thrust into you, the foreplay allowing you to take him really well. He's impressed.

When he's fully in you, he leans his head back and groans. His balls tighten at the sensation, but he takes a breath and starts a slow pace, making sure you feel every inch of him.

Holding onto the back of the bench seat, you roll your hips back against him.

And, fuck, if he isn't mesmerized by how you look together.

His grip on your hips tightens before he smacks your ass once, twice.

Bending himself over your back, he places his hands on top of yours and ruts harshly into you.

You feel protected, safe, treasured for the first time in a long time.

He's hitting a spot inside of you that's driving you crazy.

Zoro doesn't stop this pace until he feels you tightening around him. A low hum meets your ears, a chuckle rumbling in his chest.

"That's it. Make a mess of me."

You couldn't fight it if you tried.

You come with a moan of his name.

"My turn," Zoro grunts, plopping down in the bench seat, you two still connected. He lifts you with ease, making you rise and fall on his cock at the speed he desires.

Your head leans back against his shoulder so he nips at your neck. The deep thrusting makes him slow down, enjoy.

His hands wander, fondling your breasts as he fucks you.

You arch back, grab at his hair, try to catch his lips to kiss him.

He's silent, focused, taunting and teasing long gone which you can only assume means one thing.

"Where do you want to cum?" You ask.

A few soft huffed breaths leave him.

"What makes you think I'm close?"

You smile at this, rock back against him.

"Just a hunch."

When you yank his hair, he lets out a moan, purses his lips.

"You want to fill me, don't you?" You taunt. "Watch it drip out of me, so full of you..."

Your words seem to be doing something to him, though he remains silent.

He's letting you take the lead on the pace, though his hands grip your hips now, guiding you on.

Grinding back against him, you lace your fingers between his, move your hands between your legs, feel him there on your clit.

When your free hand, you lightly touch his balls as he fucks up into you.

A choked moan leaves him at the sensation.

"For fuck's sake," he scolds. "Gonna cum in you."

"In me, on my tits, up to you..." You laugh.

The thought of his cum dripping out of you - of someone catching you in this position right now - sends him over the edge.

He buries his face in your neck, pants out a moan as you feel him spilling inside of you.

You sigh, leaning back against him, and running your fingers through his hair.

"Gonna need that about five more times tonight, swordsman."

He chuckles. "Is that all?" He breathes deeply, content. "Bet ya can't keep up."

You're instantly up, turning to straddle him. Your hands trail over his abs, making his cock twitch to life again.

When your grip settles on his biceps, you catch his lips in a deep kiss.

"Try me."

---

The crew had agreed to sail through the night.

They'll assume Zoro's naps today are because he stayed up all night watching you.

Which...they're not wrong.

He watched you ride his cock.

He watched you pleasure yourself while he worked out.

He watched you get on your knees for him, swallow him down.

He watched you start to nod off in his arms as he fucked you for the fourth time.

"Knew you couldn't take it," he taunted, stroking his fingers down your cheek.

"Not sleeping, just enjoying," you insisted, but your voice was laced with exhaustion. "Almost sunrise."

He hummed. "Good excuse to get some alone time."

"At the mercy of a siren's song. Nice, Zoro..." You rolled your eyes.

"Not used to this, but it turns out, it's a great outlet between battles."

You laugh. "Odd. You're so odd."

"I could stop," he teases.

"You could not," you whine.

---

Sunrise.

You're sound asleep on the floor as Zoro finishes another workout.

He watches the light on the water, hears someone climbing up the ladder.

You're in his shirt, but Chopper doesn't say anything.

"How is she?" He whispers.

"She's fine," he assures with a yawn, does another rep. "I took good care of her."

"Good," Chopper nods, unaware of his meaning. "Those sirens can be nasty."

"Mhm. Real nasty."

"Let her sleep. I'll have Sanji bring you guys some food."

The cook would know immediately what happened here.

"I'll bring her down when she's ready. Tell Sanji he's on call."

With a nod, the doctor descends the ladder and Zoro watches you with tired eyes.

Hell of a night, that was for sure.

He checks your palms, the siren's mark fading as the sun comes in.

Gone like a dream, but what a dream it was.

[cyberlillies]

caleb + sylus + double gun play

cw: no explicit consent/dubcon, gun play, degradation, pissing/mentions of piss, gun scare, they're playing russian roulette in reader's body so yeah... you have been warned, no actual gore tho.

wc: ~1.1k

"hmm. feeling stuck?" sylus peered down at your teary face, a smirk lacing his lips. "go on, kitten, move. his gun or my gun?"

you hear a laugh behind you. "i think she likes mine better. she's already shaking her hips like a whore." caleb snickers, putting emphasis on the last word.

you were definitely stuck, body sprawled across the laps of the two men. your face remained in sylus's grasp, while your legs were held open by caleb. each had their precious guns in hand, which were now stuffed deep into your mouth and your cunt, the duo asking you to choose the better one.

you whined, their guns were thicker than you expected, stretching you out and making you gag. you were drooling from both holes, saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth while juices flowed from your abused pussy.

sylus tsked. "she's making such a mess." his pants were wet with your spit, you could see a dark patch right above where his cock should be.

"yes, she is. look." caleb swiped some of your juices, showing sylus the way it shined and formed strings between his fingers. "what a dirty girl. wonder how she tastes." he licked his fingers, tasting your arousal. "sweet. good thing i fed her all those apples, huh." his tone a bit too possessive for sylus's liking.

sylus growled impatiently. "don't get too ahead of yourself. she still hasn't chosen either of us."

the men turned their eyes to you lying fucked in a pool of your spit and juices. you squirmed in place, both men having trapped you in a tricky situation. you'd never known a discussion about weapons would lead to this.

"pipsqueak, come on." caleb chided. "it's getting rude now. choose one." he carefully rolled his wrist, causing the barrel of his gun to rub against your walls, making you feel the coldness of the metal on your warm insides.

you moan around sylus's gun, who takes this chance to push it deeper into your throat. your nose hit the trigger guard, the barrel reaching till your gag reflex. you held back your coughs, breathing deeply as sylus waited till you were relaxed enough to push again.

"tch. we've given her enough chances, don't you think?" sylus muses. "instead, why don't we show her how these guns work?"

"good idea." caleb smirked.

"one bullet in each gun. whoever gets to you first, wins." sylus holds your chin up, angling his gun to press into the top of your mouth. "you ready, kitten?"

you furiously shook your head. they wouldn't? would they?

"oh yes, we would." caleb speaks as if he had read your thoughts. his hand moved to press the gun further up your cunt, your walls clinging on for dear life as the tip of the gun grinded against your cervix. your hole closed up, trying to force him out but it worked the opposite — your pussy keeping him in place as he thrusted deeper.

"ready, sweetie?" sylus asked, a finger ready on the trigger. you whimpered, "mmhph- mhm, ngh, n-!"

you felt the click before you heard it. your body tensed up, fear constricting you, heart furiously pumping blood through your veins. no bullets went off, not in your mouth, not in your pussy. you were still alive.

"beginner's luck." sylus scoffed, displeased at having to compete another round with the smug colonel. caleb, on the other hand, was having the time of his life watching your hole flutter around his gun. "you're missing out on this view. she's trembling like a leaf. wouldn't be surprised if she pissed herself out of fear."

"i must see for myself." sylus's gun left your mouth. you took a deep breath while he settled between your legs. "move over. it's my turn with her." caleb would have objected, but he had better plans for you.

you were suddenly very empty, then you were full again. sylus wasted no time in burying his gun to the hilt, the lubrication from your spit helping him reach your core easily. "ah! no.. no..!" you cried out as you were manhandled into a position folding you into half, giving them unrestricted access to you.

caleb lined up his gun to your clit, rubbing fast circles as sylus lazily thrusted his. "ready for round two?" caleb didn't wait for your answer. "in three, two..."

"no.. please.. aah-fuck.. fuck!" you protested loudly.

"...one."

another series of clicks. nothing happened. except you squealing and sobbing fat tears down your face.

"aw, don't cry. you're only turning us on." caleb mocked you with a fake pout.

"should we stop teasing her?" sylus deliberately gave you false hope, watching your face light up as you nod manically. "just kidding. i'm not stopping till i win."

"please.. i'm sorry.. please." you beg forgiveness, unsure of your transgressions.

"sorry? for what, sweetie? aren't we just having a little fun?" sylus tilted his head, faking confusion.

"yeah, pipsqueak. isn't it fun? guessing whose gun goes off first?" you shake your head. no, it's not fun. "really? why are you dripping then? is it the fear? or are you secretly feeling good?"

"that can't be. she's too much of a goody shoes to feel good in such debauchery." sylus quipped.

you whined in desperation, shaking your hips in protest. "no..."

"no? no?" caleb pressed his gun harder into your clit. "what if i did this then?"

"don't..." your hands flailed around, trying to release yourself from their grip.

"stop struggling." you feel the hum of caleb's evol around you, threatening to hold you down. his lips reach to your ear, licking away at the stray tears. all the while sylus has been pounding into your poor hole, his finger ready on the trigger.

"ready? the probability of a real gunshot is quite high, pipsqueak." caleb tutted. "i'd be scared if i were you."

you shake your head, whimpering pleas of mercy as he holds up his hand, counting down from three fingers. two. one.

"bang."

terror enveloped you, enough to get you leaking all over their laps. you were too petrified to realise you had squirted all over them, peed all over them. the men groaned, feeling your hot release drip over their guns, soak into their clothes, make a mess.

"fuck, pipsqueak, you actually pissed yourself!" caleb laughed in disbelief. "a hunter being so terrified of guns? how did they let you in the association?"

"all the more she needs us to protect her." sylus added. "what if she pisses herself during a mission, huh? can't have you embarrass yourself like that, sweetheart."

"looks like we'll have to train you all night. fuck the fear of guns out of you, yeah?"

a/n: my applecrow i need them so bad... this was rushed as hell btw.

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain, mention of Sirus' family but no talk of abuse, some talk of traumatic injury

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

Sirius hates the cold. It makes him look ill, his nose always runs, and he does not have a head made for hats. 

The walk to the rink yesterday was bad, with the chill and the early hour and the dark mood that seemed to permeate him like it infused his very blood, but you made it better by being yourself. He suspects you might have even been going out of your way to be sweeter than usual, given that you knew it was the anniversary of the day Sirius ran away from his family’s home. You’d tried to cheer him up. Still, yesterday was bad.

Today is worse. 

You’re silent as you stalk down the sidewalk, one boy on either side of you. You said hello to both him and Remus as you stepped out the door of your apartment, and then that was it. If it were Sirius it might make sense, but you always have an unnatural amount of energy in the mornings. Obviously you’re not speaking to him. And Sirius is still upset about the addition of the death spiral to your routine, so he’s not speaking to Remus. And Remus is hardly one to spark up conversation during an uncomfortable silence, so that just makes the three of you a very sullen, very silent procession to your early fucking morning practice. 

Except when you arrive, the rink is already bustling. You take one step inside before going back out the door, forcing both boys back outside with you.

“What the fuck?” Remus tries to peer inside. For once, Sirius agrees with him. “Who’s taken our slot?”

“I don’t know,” you say, but you’re still standing in front of the door like you’re barring their entry. “I’m going to go find out. You guys stay here.” 

“Why?” Sirius asks.

Even when you look at him you’re not really looking at him, your eyes distant. If you’re trying to make him feel like shit, it’s working. “Because I don’t need either of you going in there to bite someone’s head off. I’ve got it.” 

With that, you slip inside, not giving either of them a chance to argue. Sirius supposes he could go after you anyway, but you seem like you’d bite his head off, and he’s hurting enough from the cold without that extra ailment to contend with. He pulls out a cigarette instead. 

“You really shouldn’t do that,” Remus hums, but when Sirius looks over the other boy is lighting up too, a cig dangling from the corner of his mouth. When he sees Sirius struggling with his lighter, his fingers frozen and clumsy, he rolls his eyes and steps closer. 

Sirius goes still as Remus cups a hand around his cigarette, lithe fingers an inch from his mouth. The lighter rasps once, and the warmth next to Sirius’ face is a welcome sensation. When Remus steps away Sirius straightens his shoulders, expression carefully impassive as he inhales. He doesn’t thank him. 

“She’ll have your ass for doing it, too,” he says. 

Remus lifts a brow, blowing smoke out one corner of his mouth. “Why? I don’t need my lungs for anything.” 

Sirius shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. She thinks she should be in charge of the whole world.” 

A soft chuckle. Remus looks out to where the sun will rise in a few hours, the sky still a sweet blue. “Maybe she should be.” 

Sirius can’t help a little smile at that. He takes comfort only in knowing Remus doesn’t see. “Don’t let her hear you say that.” 

They lapse into a brief silence, easier and more contented than Sirius would have thought possible between the two of them. It breaks only when you come bustling back out the doors. 

“Okay, so apparently—” You stop, looking between them both. “Guys. Seriously?” 

“What?” Remus asks, but Sirius knows better, dropping his cigarette and stamping it out. 

Your gaze flicks over him, almost approving but still a far cry from friendly. He swears your mouth wants to smile at him, only you’re not letting it. 

“Those are so bad for you,” you tell Remus. 

He levels you with a dry look, the brave bastard. “What does it matter? I’m not an athlete.” 

You wince but don’t back down. “Athletes aren’t the only ones with reason to live past fifty.” You give him a hard look. It takes a while, but eventually Remus relents, dropping his cigarette as Sirius had. You nod, crouching to pick up both dog-ends and taking them to a bin. “Each one shortens your life by eleven minutes, you know.” 

Remus meets Sirius’ eyes, incredulous. “She comes prepared with statistics?” he asks in a hushed voice. 

Sirius nods. “Told you so.” 

You brush your hands off on your pants. “Okay. Anyway, hockey practice got moved up.” 

“You’re joking,” says Remus. 

“Nope. And, someone else got wind of it before us, because the slot they had at nine has already been filled. We can’t practice today.” 

Sirius shakes his head. “Bullshit. Why did hockey get moved?” 

You shrug, hugging your middle so your hands can burrow under your arms for warmth. “Management said they didn’t know, only that someone on the team asked for a different slot just for today. Seems like they were sweet-talked into it.” 

Your eyes meet Sirius’ for half a second, and he takes out his phone, frigid thumbs anger-typing away. 

“So that’s it then?” Remus asks. He looks like he’d really like his cigarette back. “We’ve just woken up before dawn and we’re not going to practice?” 

You sigh. “Seems that way. We can come back during open skate, but you know how that is.” 

Sirius scowls, and Remus’ expression twinges with distaste. “Yeah,” says Remus, “let’s wait until tomorrow.” 

You all break where you usually do, though hours ahead of schedule, Remus going off towards his place and Sirius walking you in the direction of yours. 

“Fancy a coffee?” he asks you, voice intentionally light. 

It has the expected effect. You bristle at his easy tone, keeping your eyes ahead. “No, thanks.” 

“Fair enough.” Sirius would really like something to warm his hands, but he suspects he needs to pick his battles with you today. “Fancy telling me when we’re going to be friends again?” 

You blow out a harsh breath. It crystalizes in front of you, and you walk right through. “Don’t be daft. We’re always friends. It’s because I’m your friend that I’m so pissed off with you.” 

He nods slowly. “I don’t follow.” 

You shake your head, anger quickening your pace so that Sirius is nearly jogging to keep up with you. “Why can’t you ever stay out of your own way?” you ask him. “I know yesterday was hard for you, but you can’t be an asshole to everyone just because you’re having a bad day.” 

“Hey now, that’s not fair.” Sirius knows joking probably isn’t the best tactic with you right now, but he can’t help himself. “I wasn’t an asshole to you, was I?” 

“That’s what I mean!” You stop so hard he nearly plows into you, but you don’t so much as flinch at the possibility. Your stare is fierce. “You can’t keep trying to scare him off. It’s not going to work, and we need him. Can’t you see how much better he’s made us already? I know you didn’t want a coach, but Remus is good for us. So you can stop being so difficult.” 

“I am not being difficult,” says Sirius, though he often is. You stick your tongue in your cheek, annoyed, and he fights the urge to take your face in his hands. He hates having you cross with him, but at least you’re talking. “And you don’t know what we would be like if he weren’t here. We might’ve been fine.” 

You sigh, looking suddenly tired. And so, so disappointed. “That’s not the point anyways. You know what you said to him yesterday was wrong.” 

Sirius feels a dull stab in his gut. He knows. He does. He knew it the second it came flying out of his mouth, and he has no idea why Remus doesn’t seem as livid with him as you are. Remus, with his even voice and his exasperated, knowing looks and that stern little wrinkle between his brows, who seems able to wind Sirius up better than anyone else. A match to his short fuse. 

“How would you feel?” you ask. Some of the anger has fallen away from your voice, leaving it soft and sad. “What if we went to competition in a few weeks, and you injured yourself so that you knew you could never skate again. And then someone used it to mock you.” 

“He’s risking us doing that,” Sirius says, stubbornly, though he can hear the plea in his own voice, “by asking us to change the routine.” 

“He’s trying to help us,” you reply firmly. But your shoulders droop, and you sigh. “I know you feel bad about it. I’m done being mad at you now. It’s exhausting.” 

Sirius feels too hollowed out to revel much in the victory, but your arm linking through his does help some. “Some could say that was my plan all along,” he jokes weakly. 

You make a halfhearted attempt at a chuckle. “Good thing I know better. If your hands are in danger of falling off, you could stop at mine, make yourself a coffee.” 

“When I asked you for coffee five minutes ago you said no.” 

“Yeah, I wasn’t done punishing you yet.” 

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 6

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, smut (piv, biting, marking, mild choking) DD:DNE, violence/death, panic/anxiety attacks, mentions of pregnancy/labor, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: ayo my high valyrian is probably wrong so if you know it is just roll with it. girl this fic doesnt want to end wtf i- if you like my work, please consider leaving a comment or reblog as I really look forward to them | cross posted on ao3

@arabellasleopardcoat

You fall asleep in Daemon's arms as he walks back to the Keep. He cannot help himself. His lilac eyes go back and forth between your face and where he was going. There seemed to be nothing else. It was just him, the moon, and your breathing against his neck.

When he reached the door to his marriage chambers, he was taken aback by the sudden galloping of a Cargyll twin. The knight opens the door then makes way. Daemon turns over his shoulder and realizes both brothers had been following him.

There is an angry annoyance that forces up his throat, but when you release an audible sigh, and he remembers it was he who had instructed them to retrieve you. He says two words before entering the room and kicking the door closed, "thank you."

Daemon lays you down and gulps at the sight of your body. Your brown hair falls over your face as you shuffle and reach out for nothing. He realizes then, as the urge to push your tresses away intensifies, that he's never witnessed you sleep before.

He removes your shoes, placing them at the foot of your bed.

And he never will.

Daemon walks off. He's five steps from making an exit when he hears the noise you make. He stills and waits a few seconds. You make the noise again.

With a line between his brows, he returns to you, peering over your body. Indeed, you were still asleep, but from the way your lips and forehead curled, you were dreaming of something unpleasant. He sighs, clasping his hands, "amīvindigon sesīr isse ēdrugon." Tormented even in sleep.

There is a discomfort that spreads in his ribs as tears leave your closed eyes. He shakes his head "mundagon riña." Miserable girl.

He sits beside you, staring for a moment before finally brushing your hair back, doing the same with your tears. While caressing your soft skin, he finds his thumb itching to smoothen out the creases on your face that seem to only deepen. Under his breath, he speaks to you the way he would Caraxes when he's overcome with emotion. He forfeits the commanding tone however and whispers each word.

At some point, both his hands find your cheeks. He is so caught up in tracing your lips, he doesn't even realize you were no longer in distress, nor does he know of your consciousness until you lean into his touch.

He is frozen when his eyes meet yours. He starts slightly when you sit up, heart racing when you embrace him. His pulse thunders so loud that you pull away and examine his face in worry. Daemon's breath hitches when your hands clutch his cheeks. Your eyes rove across his face and again, your forehead curls. You speak in the softest of voices, "what's wrong?"

He thinks for a moment. He stares at you. You just had a nightmare, yet you ask him what is wrong? He shifts and rests his hand at the small of your back. He shakes his head as his expression falls. He whispers, "mirre iksis sȳrī, jorrāeliarza." All is well, beloved.

You do not understand him.

He repeats, "all is well."

Your features slowly relax.

His face hardens as he tests the word he omitted in translation, "beloved."

His belly flutters at the faint chuckle you release. His eyes begin to widen when you slowly lean closer.

Daemon pulls his head back, intent on watching you, but he freezes when you kiss his cheek, again and again. You kiss his jaw, his jowl, his lips. Suddenly, he can smell you so clearly. Suddenly, he pulls you in.

You gather your skirts as you climb onto his lap. You sigh as you deepen your kiss. He makes a strangled sound against your mouth when you grind on his crotch. He digs his fingers into your hips before pushing your dress out of the way to claw at your thighs.

He sighs when your hands brush his chest. His breathing grows heavy at your attempt to free him of his top. He helps you get him out of his garbs, and soon he is getting you out of yours. Once you're both naked, he pulls you in, pressing his skin against yours, unwilling to part from your body. Simultaneously, he has a strong urge to examine you, to commit to memory the hue of your skin and the curves of your flesh. Daemon, in all his greed, tries to do both at once.

With you still sitting on him, he squeezes your bum, securing you on his lap as he drinks in your visage. He shamelessly moans and pants as you continue to grind on him, and now he can feel your wetness on his hardening member. As you undo the tie of his hair and comb the silver strands back, he remembers the first time you'd ever fucked.

He is hypnotized by your confidence, by how unbridled and overt your desire for him is. Nothing remains of the timid little girl he claimed on the beach. You were lust incarnate, the goddess of sex. You scratch your nails up his nape and besiege him with open mouthed kiss. He returns your fervor, scratching his nails down back, garnering out a shaky moan from your lips

He breaks away only to ogle at your breasts and he kneads them. His breath grows heavier at your continued grinding and hitches upon catching your dazed reaction. He spews out a string of High Valyrian curses before capturing your ribcage. He sinks his face into your chest and you mewl at the feel of his hot mouth on your breast, feeling restless and needy.

"Daemon," you tug at the roots of his hair, "I need you."

You are uninclined to wait for him as you lean into his shoulder while your other hand grabs his cock. Your breast in his mouth muffles the noise that leaves him as you sink down on him. You yelp when he nips your sternum, but it does not deter you from beginning to maneuver your hips up and down.

"Fuck, fuck," Daemon huffs against your chest. He looks up at you, going mad at the sight of your closed-eyed concentration. He licks a stripe of sweat building on the side of your neck and thrusts up in sync to your movements.

"N-ñuha dārilaros," my prince falls from your lips.

He moans at that. He straightens and traps you tightly in both his arms, "where did you fucking learn that?"

You squeak as his thrusts grow more vigorous, "I- mmm- in- uh- book."

Daemon licks your lower lip before biting it, "desperate hussy," he moans against your mouth, "iksan jāre naejot pryjagon ao." I am going to destroy you.

You gasp as he pushes you back like you were nothing. Your legs immediately lock around his hips as he comes atop you and your voice trembles when his hips thrust slower but deeper as he adjusts you to the center of the bed. He nuzzles into your neck, licking your jaw. He then pushes himself up and rubs your the curve of your ass.

You yield to him as he pushes your thighs back, bringing your legs over his shoulders. Using his weight to keep you down, he takes your wrists and pins them above you while the other tightens around your throat.

He fucks you thoroughly in this position and you can do nothing but whimper, arch your back, and feel your arousal drip onto the bed.

His hand brushes up your neck and soon he's tracing your parted lips with his thumb. You take him in and bite his finger. It stokes a flame in his belly, thus why he pulls away to push a hand on the back of your knees.

You are helpless as he plows into you. Daemon, in his delirium, reverts back into his mother tongue. He sings your body praises in High Valyrian. He calls you dirty names as he slaps his hips into yours with a wet squelch. Your fucked-out expression pulls out an honest confession of how pretty he think you'd look stuffed with his seed.

Of course, you cannot understand a word he's saying, nor do you know how much calling him name is egging him on.

He watches you, his darling doe. The dragon in him relishes your screwed eyes and opened mouth. You throw your head back as you chase your building pleasure, meanwhile Daemon feels his stomach tighten as his own nears.

Fuck, you were beautiful. It would be a shame to waste his seed.

A deep line forms between his brows as he imagines the child you would bear him. Fuck. He does not want it.

He grabs your jaw and pushes your head to the side. It's enough to push you over the edge. He curses as he feels you tighten around him. You're so hot and wet and divine, he grits his teeth to build his resolve. Quickly, he quickly pulls out, gliding his cock back and forth your slick folds, sequentially finishing on your pulsing cunt and belly, just as he always does.

The image is nothing new, but it drives him no less wild. Behold, the Lord Hand's dearest daughter, all dirty with his molten come. It's a wicked, wet dream made reality. It was all his.

But there was something different. Daemon doesn't just pull away and roll over. He stares at you for a while, watching you catch your breath as he does the same. He stares at the mess he's made of you, and yes, you were filthy but you were also glimmering. He gulps, before grabbing his discarded clothes to clean you up.

He wets his dress shirt with water then wipes you down. He does the same to himself and catches you staring.

His instinct is to ruin the moment, to berate you for looking so dumbstruck and to praise the prowess of his cock, but he cannot find it in him to do so with how utterly enchanting you look in the afterglow of your love m— fucking.

You reach out to him.

His heart races.

"Stay," you whisper.

If there's one thing he hates, it's people telling him what to do.

... why then was such a simple word so compelling?

You fix the pillows on the bed as your husband crawls beside you. Daemon feels his throat constrict as you throw yourself on him. He is unable to move as you press your chests together and snake your leg over his hips. He does not know why he's become petrified by your touch. You trace your thumb across his face, "you're so beautiful."

Daemon does not reply. He cannot.

His brows furrow when he thinks he notices your eyes water. They furrow deeper when you smile and laugh out, "I wish you were real."

You feel sick after saying that.

He feels sick after hearing that.

Your prince shakes his hand and takes the hand you had on his face, "I am real."

You nod and laugh again. "I believe you."

Why then do your tears fall?

Daemon lets you curl into him. You latch onto him so tightly, he feels you would not be able to push you away even if he wanted. He doesn't want to though.

You fall asleep in his arms.

You wake up all alone.

You groan at the sound your servants telling you to rise. You brush your brown hair off your shoulder and knit your brows at the feel of your night gown. A pit instantly forms in your belly. Of course it had been a dream.

Hot tears that instantly rush down your cheeks. You hide underneath your blankets and manage to croak, "leave me alone."

You weep into your pillows for you did not know any better. You did not know Daemon had slept with you. You did not know when he awoke, he watched you sleep until the last minute. You did not know he put you into the clothes you wore because you shivered without his heat.

You hear your servants fuss over you. They ask if you're ill and in need of a maester. The only response you give are sniffles and groans. They ask if you will be able to attend today's tourney.

You moan, "what?"

"It will be starting soon, milady," one of the servants say, "do you not want to see your husband joust? He is quite good."

You know she says it to entice you, but it only makes you feel sick. After all, you did not know Daemon roused early, only because he needed to prepare for the tourney. You never will.

The same servant says, "and your brother? Isn't it his last day in King's Landing?"

You push your blankets down and stare at your two servants.

"Milady," the other says softly, "it would be good to attend."

"I do not want to behold my brother in such violence," you snuggle into bed.

The servants turn to each other, and one offers, "you can close your eyes upon collision, princess."

You sigh and shake your head. You think of Daemon. You think of how he'll surely hurt Gwayne if they face each other. Your think of how he'd done so in a tourney once before. You shake your head, "I do not want to go."

So you do not.

When the tourney commences, Daemon is most eager to make his entrance. One by one, the players are called, and upon his turn, he trots on his horse with a look of pride. He basks in the cheers as his eyes fall to the main balcony, where he quickly spots the king. His expression further brightens at the sight of his brother's smile and his niece's grin. When he spots your sister and your ugly father, he looks the crowd once over, looking for you. His lips flatten when he realizes you're not there. He awaits your arrival, forfeiting the first pick to witness your entrance, then he realizes, you wouldn't be coming. Suddenly, it was as though he never woke up in a good mood.

Meanwhile, you were aimlessly roaming the castle with one Cargyll twin trailing behind you. You do not know who it is, as you cannot find it in you to speak to him. You knew if you did, you'd end up asking him what happened after him and his brother found you in the temple. You did not want to be disappointed by the reality you'd dreamed up Daemon, so you hold your tongue.

You are torn from your lonesome trance when you hear wailing across the hall. You find yourself drawing near to the source, and you realize it was coming from Queen's chambers. Your feet falter when it dawns on you she was now in labor.

One of the servants spots you and curtsies, "princess. Have you come to visit the queen?"

You release a shaky breath, "I-"

"Who is it?!" Aemma snaps loudly then sighs.

You step back, heart racing. You gasp when you knock into Cargyll's chest plate. Another gasp comes when you turn forward and find the face of the queen. She looks distraught and yet she laughs, "your husband visited me just this morning."

You watch as she groans and rubs her belly, "he requires your attention more th-" she winces, "than I."

You cannot help but take her arm, "s-should you not be in bed, my queen?"

Aemma sighs, squeezing your arm in return, "walking can help speed-" she does not continue as her face curls in discomfort.

You feel your breath hitch as she squeezes you tighter, "sh-shall we walk to-together?"

She looks at you, a deep line between her brows, "Daemon was very excited for today's tourney. You should be there cheering for him."

"But-"

Aemma lurches forward as a particularly painful contraction hits her.

She is taken by the midwives and lead back into her chambers. You are so stunned by the encounter, your ward has to reel you back and shake you.

"My princess," he takes your shoulders.

You look at him, unable to speak. Your eyes become glassy but you manage to take deep breaths to calm yourself.

"Do not distress," he says, rubbing your arms, "the queen has everyone she needs at her disposal."

Your lips wobble, "her p-pain must be unbearable."

He cannot help the twist of his face nor how his face reaches out for your cheek, "you need not think about anyone else's pain. You have far too much of your own."

You do not respond to him until you find yourself in the gardens. You are grateful he did not think to lead you into the maester's ward, and guilty that you still do not know who it was accompanying you.

"Erryk?"

"Yes, my princess?"

You turn from the flower bushes to him, "did I get it right?"

He knits his brows and nods, "yes, my princess."

"Apologies for not speaking to you earlier. I... was not in good spirits."

"You needn't apologize for doing what is best for you."

You lower your head, "you are too kind to me."

"I really ought to be kinder," he says, taking your hand in both of his.

You look at him as he rubs your knuckles. You smile and cover his hands with yours.

"I would tell you to watch the tourney if I were kinder," Erryk says.

You laugh, "it is precisely because you are kind that you do not tell me to do such things."

Erryk thinks how inappropriate it was of him to act this way, to hold your hand, to impose his opinions upon you. If he was kinder, he would not be so apparent with his fondness. He mutters, "I am dutiful, my princess, but I am not kind."

You knit your brows at that.

He does not clarify and pulls away, "perhaps you would like to go out and pick flowers again?"

You smile at the thought, but remember your brother, "I do not want to miss my brother. He will leave today before sunset no matter what."

He nods. If he were kinder, he'd offer to take you to the tourney to see your brother while he is still here, but he also does not want to bring you to your husband.

You think of the tourney nonetheless, as well as the queen's words. You sigh and shake your head, "would it be inappropriate to watch the games at this hour?"

Erryk is surprised by your question.

"I do not want to appear as though I meant to make an entrance."

"I assure you," he shakes his head, "no one would think it. It is not your nature."

You chuckle to yourself, turning to your feet, "you're right. They'd probably assume I was subject to the horrors. As it is my nature."

"That is not what I mean-"

"A jest," you smile, "a mere jest."

When you arrive at the tourney, your father immediately assumes exactly what you said, and looks you over in concern. You simply agree with what he assumes to save yourself the trouble but reassure him you were better. You then assume the seat beside Alicent.

It's harder to reassure her, as her worry is more frantic than your father's. She secures her hand in yours throughout the event, and tells you which players she thinks will do poorly so you are not so shocked if they end up on the ground.

You are glad of it, but in truth you pay little attention to the violence. You let your mind wander, counting how many birds fly overhead. You daydream about flying on Caraxes. You daydream about embracing Daemon from behind.

You are only pulled back into reality when you hear your brother's name announced.

Alternatively, Daemon rolls his eyes as he dawdles around his tent, waiting for his turn to bash someone in with his lance.

You perk from your seat, watching the man with the Hightower sigil gallop across the stadium, all the way to you. Gwayne removes his helmet and smiles. He calls out, "I am glad to see you, sister. I was concerned you would not come."

Daemon stills when he hears this and looks out his tent.

"Cast away your concerns. Focus on staying on your horse," you call back.

Gwayne offers his lance, "perhaps your favor will keep me upright, princess."

You roll your eyes at your brother's teasing regard. Still, you stand and throw him a wreath, "do not dare fall off your horse, ser."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he puts his helmet back on.

As the Hightower twins were speaking, Daemon exited his tent and mounted his horse. Without even looking at the man who meant to go against Gwayne, the prince announces he will have his turn and gallops off, leaving everyone nothing else to do but follow.

Daemon replaces your brother, huffing as he halts before you. He looks up at you and your parted lips, your braided brown hair, your terribly modest dress. Suddenly, his chipper mood returns to him. He licks his lips and grins, calling out your name.

Alicent turns to you, gripping your hand. Rhaenyra turns to you, chuckling under her breath. Otto turns to you, clenching his jaw. Viserys turns to you, smiling softly. You turn to Daemon, voice breaking, "husb-and."

Your husband releases a breathy laugh. His stomach feels fuzzy, "I am gladdened by your appearance."

Your throat tightens yet your jaw slacks. He is?

Daemon watches you. He waits for your response but receives none. It makes his brows furrow, but his smile remains. He points his lance, "give me your favor."

"I-"

"He's already given her favor, uncle," Rhaenyra says, leaning forward.

Daemon's eyes remain on you, "then she'll give another."

The princess laughs, "she cannot favor two knights. Especially not two knights jousting against each other."

Daemon finally turns to his niece. She smiles at him as he huffs, "fine," but the prince turns to Alicent, "if I cannot have my wife's favor, her sister's suffice."

Rhaenyra turns to Alicent. Alicent turns to you. Your eyes do not leave Daemon. Your sister pulls away and takes the wreath, dropping it on his lance, "I do hope fortune finds you, my prince."

Daemon nods at her.

Alicent sits back down, turning between her friend and her sister. The former looks sulky while the latter looks agitated. Your heart pounds as Daemon smiles at you once he is positioned opposite Gwayne. You misinterpret his expression. Alicent takes your hand, and this time you squeeze her tightly as you turn to your twin, "he will hurt Gwayne."

Your sister watches you gulp and rubs your hand, "it's a tourney."

You turn to Alicent with wide eyes, "precisely," you rapidly shake your head, "I should not have come."

Alicent lowers her head to offer you a solemn expression, "our brother is not made of glass. He is knight and a formidable player in his own regard."

You smile at your sister and nod, trying to find comfort in her words. You look back at Daemon, finding him already looking at you. His grin is renewed and you feel your stomach churn. You shift on your chair and avert your gaze to your brother. Gwayne is already faced forward with his helmet on. You mutter a prayer of protection under your breath.

Daemon's brows knit when you do not turn back to him. He tries to will you to look with his mind, but you do not, not even when the horses begin to run.

Gwayne manages to hit him, the cunt's lance colliding with his chest where his own misses. A point is called and the crowds cheer. Daemon turns to you and finds a look of relief on your face. It causes his lips to tighten. He barks as he charges the second time.

Gwayne hits him again, this time, nearly dismounting him. Daemon skids on the railing but manages to get himself upright.

The prince huffs, eyeing his opponent darkly. His eyes trail back to you, finding you looking out to him in concern. Part of his anger dissipates, but then you turn to your brother, gesturing vaguely. Your twin gestures back and you roll your eyes at him. Daemon doesn't understand what it means, but it irritates him all the same.

He huffs and decides to be done with this bother. The prince is silent until the horses start running again. His lance expertly makes the hit, causing the horse to topple forward, effectively sending the ginger cunt flying off. The heavy crashing and loud gasps are music to his ears. Daemon looks back at his opponent and laughs. He chucks his splintered weapon to the side and entices cheers with his victory scream.

The only reason his celebration stops is because he hears shrill scream from the balcony. He turns and finds you standing by the railing, calling out to your brother. Your father and sister are stood behind you, trying to calm you down. You thrash against them and manage to slip away. Daemon watches you leave the balcony and the Cunt Hand gives an apologetic look to the king.

Erryk follows you as you make your way down the arena to Gwayne's tent. He is uneasy by how distressed you were, and though he knew your distress would not wane until you see the condition of your twin, he did not like the idea of you coming to him, lest it inspire the rage of your husband, who was rather happy to watch your brother crumple to the ground.

You find Gwayne laid on a cot, attended by some squires. His helmet is removed and his pained expression makes you run to him.

"Brother," you come to his side, finding relief in the maester that enters his tent.

You tense when your brother calls your name and you worriedly wipe the blood that trickled down his philtrum with a towel.

He groans and you pull away, allowing the maester to inspect him. His bent breastplate is removed and you see bruises on his pale chest. The measter presses his ear against his chest and turns to you, "Lord Gwayne is strong. He will be fine."

You breathe a sigh of relief and nod, "thank you. Thank the gods."

"You should not be here," Gwayne groans as he sits up.

You glare at him, gripping your skirt.

"Get her out of here, Carygll," he motions vaguely. Erryk comes to your side on cue.

You scoff, "hypocrite. If you were in my place, would you leave if I asked you?"

"Please," he looks up at you with tired blue eyes, "I do not wish to quarrel."

"Then do not wish me away!" you shake your head, "I-"

Your attention is stolen when your name is called again. You, as does everyone else, turn to the man who walks into the tent. Daemon knits his brows, gaze lingering on your twin before turning to you. He brings his hands behind him and sighs, "See. I did not kill him. You needn't be so worried, darling."

The pet name makes you feel sick. Erryk clenches his jaw.

"Come," he reaches a hand out to you, "your heart will only heavy with worry if you stay here. There's plenty of space in my tent."

Anger builds in you at his callousness. Gwayne recognizes it and curses under his breath. He watches you intently, noticing the twitch of your face twitches and the very moment you resign yourself to your husband's whim. He stares at his lap, unwilling to witness the bitter tears he knew would come after you take his hand.

Daemon shoots Gwayne a shit-eating grin as he walks out of the tent, but the cunt does not even see it. Still, he is pleased as he brings you to his tent and immediately pours you a cup of wine. The prince freezes when he realizes you had been silently sobbing. You stand there aloof as tears wet your face.

The prince drops the cup he meant to offer you and captures your cheeks. He gazes at you in concern and repeats what he had already said, "I did not kill him."

Your eyes focus as he swipes your cheeks. The coldness in your gaze unnerves him, "you did not have to be so cruel."

He pulls his head back, "cruel?"

You say nothing.

Daemon chuckles dryly, releasing you, "we were both in a tourney," he chuckles again, "girl."

You flinch when he calls you that. Your father's face appears in your head.

The prince is riled up by your silence. His stomach is uneasy by the steady flow of your tears. He scoffs, "your brother lost, but your husband-" he enunciates, "won."

You sniffle and wipe your cheeks, "yes," you offer him a smile, "apologies. Congratulations, my prince."

He stills at your words. He finds no satisfaction in it. His jaw feathers and he scoffs again, "do not congratulate me. I've still others to defeat."

You nod and step forward, "yes," you place your hand on his shoulders, "you are not injured at all, are you?"

It's as though your hands were heating his armour. He flinches when you touch his face. You pull your hands away ready to apologize for the intrusion but then he barks, "I am not feeble like you and your twin."

His anger is familiar. It is no worse than that of your father's, thus how you sustain your stillness.

Somehow it is worse that you do not react.

Daemon clenches his fists at your blankness, "say something, damn it."

You are taken off-guard by the desperation you discern, "w-what do you want me to say?"

"..."

"..."

"Do you have nothing more to tell me than I am cruel?"

The softness of his voice strikes a fear in you that you have not yet known. Your hands begin to tremble.

In a second, his softness is gone, and he snaps, "if you love that cunt so dearly, you should have married him instead."

You are stoic as Daemon storms off. The prince glares at Erryk, who had been waiting outside his tent the whole time, "get that bitch out of here."

Your ward's face contorts in contempt as your husband walks away. When Erryk makes his way towards you, he is unnerved by your stillness. He reaches for your arm, "princess?"

You turn to him and suddenly, you're laughing.

Goosebumps form underneath Erryk's armor.

"He said I should have married Gwayne instead," you turn to him.

He is tense at your eerily jovial expression. He mutters, "I heard."

"I do not ascribe to the unorthodox ways of his house," you shake your head. You laugh again but tears begin to flow after, "he thinks I'm stupid, doesn't he?"

The man gulps at your words and frowns, "even if he thought your skin was green, it would not make it so."

You laugh, but it is not so unsettling this time.

Erryk leads you out of the tent, "where to, my princess?"

"I... would like to go for a swim."

He takes a moment to think but then nods, "there is a stream that not many know of. We could go there. It is no very far."

As the tourney progresses, Daemon takes out his anger on his opponents. The is no satisfaction in any of his wins however, as each time, the looks over his shoulder to search for your face, and each time he is reminded you are not there.

At some point, he's so distracted that one vermin opponent manages to dismount him. He rages and screams for his sword. His foe grabs a flail. In the end, the prince is overpowered and forced to yield. It takes everything in him not to lunge at the stupid fuck as he walks towards the princess and her friend.

He storms to his tent, unwilling to be attended by anyone. He barks as a trembling squire, "I want my wife."

"S-she left with ser Car-"

Daemon kicks his table down.

"I-I— I will go call for her-"

He groans in pure vexation as he removes his armor. He looks down at himself, finding dirt, bruises, and small cuts on his body. His eyes water, but not in pain. You would clearly spare him no sympathy for his injuries. He did not even win. His breathing grows heavy in anger. It doesn't take long until he is overcome with emotion. Instead of drinking the cup of wine he poured himself, he slams it to the ground then proceeds to raze the other furniture in his tent.

[agreeewrites]

Hit Me Where It Hurts The Most p.4 | S.B.

feat. Sirius Black x Rowle!reader

SUMMARY: You attend the Lestrange Gala on Rabastan's arm, finally making your family proud. But all things must come to the light, and with time running out, a decision must be made.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, pure blood ideology, manipulative and abusive families, angst angst angst, protective!Sirius, hurt/comfort, HEA

AN: wow! this is long! but ahhh! can't believe we've reached the final part of the series!! but don't worry, I'm not done with this one quite yet...

series navigation | part one | part two | part three | masterlist

You tried to focus on the book in your lap, but the words were swimming on the page, taking the shape of your argument with Sirius.

He's lying to you.

You don't understand.

Please don't leave.

He'd been so passionate, so single-minded in his desire for you—it scared the shit out of you. His words were pretty, his intentions righteous, but was that enough?

For so long, the story of your life has been drilled into your head. Over and over and over again. A wealthy man's wife, the jewel of his crown, the mother of his children, keeper of the bloodline.

What were you beyond that? Who were you, if not obedient?

The train rolled loudly beneath you, the Scottish country side a blur of green and gray. It was a long weekend, and it seemed loads of students were taking advantage.

Before boarding, you caught a glimpse of James and Sirius with some bags waiting in a patch of sunshine. Of course James Potter would use a free weekend to visit his parents.

Sirius was puffing on a cigarette, staring down at the tracks while James talked animatedly about something you couldn't hear. He looked…sad. And you turned away, following your brother onto the back of the train.

You were in a compartment with Thorfinn, his long legs stretched out and resting on the cushion beside you, his head lolled against the window. But you knew he wasn't sleeping, because his snores would rattle the windows more than the train.

He was oddly quiet, though, and the threat of danger buzzed like a gnat around your head. You wished you'd insisted on sharing at compartment with Rab, but Thorfinn dragged you away before you could open your mouth.

“What are you staring at?” He gruffed, peaking open one of his eyes to peer at you.

You hurriedly looked down at your book, but it was too late. He pushed himself up, cracking his thick neck before bracing his elbows on his knees and leaning towards you.

“We need to talk.”

You closed your book, setting it aside with trembling fingers. “What about?”

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. A bizarrely human gesture of discomfort. “Father wrote two weeks ago, the—the business is not going well.”

Your stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”

It looked like it genuinely pained him to be telling you this, and your addled mind couldn't begin to decipher it. “We're running out of money, y/n. Rapidly. If things continue, we may lose…” he trailed off, staring down at his fine leather shoes. “We may lose everything.”

“Why are you just telling me this now?” You asked, voice tight with fear. Was there anything secure in your life anymore? At every turn, if seemed danger and uncertainty lurked.

All you ever wanted was safety, and that seemed more impossible by the day.

“I didn't want it to affect—” he waved vaguely towards the closed compartment door. Towards Rabastan. “I didn't want it to be a factor. Father told me to keep it from you, but sister—” he reached for your hand, the bandage removed by Madame Pomfry that morning, and it took every ounce of willpower you'd built to not pull away. “You may be our last hope.”

You shook your head, tears springing to your eyes. “I can't, Thor—”

“You already are,” he said. “With the Lestrange's on our side, Father can turn this around. Save our family.”

You held his icy gaze, shocked by what was transpiring. Thor hadn't spoken to you like this in…Merlin, years? He'd become so tight-lipped, so hostile, you'd forgotten that there was man inside that brutal, glacial exterior.

But…was he a man you trusted?

“I should go to him now, then,” you said, the compartment suddenly stifling. “Have some quiet time before the party.”

Thorfinn nodded. “I'm not supposed to allow unsupervised meetings, but…this once I can let it slide.”

“Thank you, brother.” You leaned forward to kiss his cheek, surprising him, before slipping out of the compartment before he changed his mind.

You slumped against the wall, catching your breath and wiping tears from your cheeks. How had this all ended up on your shoulders? Your family, your future, your feelings, Sirius’ feelings—it was too much.

All you ever wanted was safety. Security.

For a moment of delirious hope you thought about tracing down Sirius’ compartment, begging him to take you to the Potter Manor with him. Let yourself want him as recklessly as he did you. But what Sirius offered was a pipedream, a fantasy, and you'd always been a practical girl.

You could only see one reality laid before you. Unrolled like a red carpet at your feet.

No matter how you felt about Sirius, how much you felt for him, could you risk everything for a shot at something as fickle as love?

What happened when he got tired of you in six months? When the novelty wore off? When the heat of an illicit affair turned tepid and stale?

Sirius would resent you. You would resent him. It could only end in heartbreak for the both you. Could only end in pain.

You raped a knuckle on the door of Rabastan's compartment.

“Come in,” he called, sounding a bit distracted.

You slid open the door, peaking your head in. “Am I disturbing you?”

He closed the book in his lap, setting aside the quill in his hand for notes. Dressed in luxurious clothes, even for a train ride he thought he'd be spending alone. “Never, darling. Are you alright?”

You sat on the cushion beside him, his dark eyes sweeping over you, tangible as a caress. “Thorfinn is snoring too loud for me to think straight,” you lied. “And I thought maybe we could spend some time together, before tonight?”

He smiled, turning so his back was braced against the train window and he was facing you, one leg propped up on the seat. It was a casual position, spread out and languid, and your cheeks flushed with heat at the near indecency of it.

Rabastan never did anything by mistake, and this was no exception. His perceptive eyes watched your reaction, and something sinful flickered to life in them as the blush stained your skin.

“Your brother was under strict orders to prevent unsupervised interactions,” Rab pointed out, tilting his head slightly.

“We'll be in London by the time he wakes up, he won't even notice,” you replied.

He made a soft, contemplative sound in his throat. “I didn't take you for the rebellious type, little doe.” He pushed his dark hair back from his face, revealing every sharp angle and curve, a face carved by the Goddess Aphrodite herself. Flawless.

You'd make beautiful, perfectly pureblood children, that was for sure. Not that you cared much for that, beauty or blood status, and you hadn't ever really contemplated whether you wanted children. It was just what was done.

“I'm not, usually,” you said. “I'm not sure what's come over me.” At least that wasn't entirely a lie.

“You always have this lost look in your eye,” he murmured. “Beautiful, fuck, you're beautiful. But sad, aren't you?”

His words struck a chord, tears brimming once more, weighing down the buoyancy of his praise.

You were so tired of being sad all the time, afraid. You just wanted to forget for awhile, and just be.

Rab shifted, setting his feet on the ground and moving closer to you. His hand came up to cup your cheek, turning your face towards him. “Darling, I could make you so happy.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, achingly tender, and a sob wrenched itself from your chest. “Sh, sh, my love, it's alright now.” He swiped away your tears with his thumbs. “You're safe with me. You'll never know hardship or pain again, if you just let me take care of you.”

You looked up at him with watery eyes, his expression painfully sincere. And you knew he meant it, knew that he would never let harm come to his wife. If you were his, you were as secure as gold in Gringott's. Untouchable.

“Just tell me what you need from me, and it's yours,” he whispered, eyes shimmering with promise.

Right now, all you wanted was to forget. To feel something other than gnawing, consuming fear.

“Don't want to think anymore,” you breathed. “I'm so tired of thinking.”

The corner of his mouth lifted, sharp as a dagger and twice as dangerous. “I think I can manage that.” He dragged you towards him, molding his lips to yours. You leaned into him, letting his mouth guide yours through the lush, toe-curling kiss. His tongue glided over your lower lip, tasting you, and you parted for him, moaning as his tongue twined with yours.

Rab felt so good, so assured and deliberate. It was easy to give in to him, to let him take the lead.

One of his arms looped around your waist, hauling you up and into his lap, straddling him. His hand on your face slid into your hair, gentle but firm as he deepened the kiss. Your heart beat wildly in your chest, heat spilling into your lower belly. You gave a tentative roll of your hips, desperate for more than a kiss, and you felt him smile against your mouth.

“Eager, darling?” He purred, kissing down your neck. “As tempting as you are, little doe, there will be none of that until you're mine.”

“Rab,” you whined, digging your fingers into his muscular shoulders, head tipping back to give him more access.

“Fuck, you sound so pretty.” His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush to his chest as he thrust his hips up, making you gasp. “Go on, sweetheart. Show me what a perfect little wife you'll be.”

His words send a terrifying, exhilarating thrill through your body, a visceral reaction beyond rationality. It was a like a drunk being passed a handle of whiskey, everything you ever wanted at your fingertips.

Pretty little wife.

A path. A plan. A purpose.

You rocked your hips against him again, crying out when the thick bulge of his cock grazed your clit. Yes, yes, yes. Fuck, it felt so good, losing yourself in him. Letting the world slip free from your shoulders like the moans slipping from your lips.

Rab chuckled low in his throat, his hand skimming down your stomach, dipping beneath your skirt and panties to feel your dripping pussy, leaking obediently into his hand as his middle finger swirled your entrance. “You're a vision, darling. Absolute perfection,” he praised, the words hot and breathy against your skin. “Being so good.” His finger slipped inside of you, curling against your gooey walls, and you keened, aching thighs working you even faster against his palm.

“Mmph—Rab, m’so close,” you whimpered, burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“Go on, let go for me. There's my precious girl, that's it—” his whispered encouragement sent you over the edge, muffling your cry into his neck as pleasure seized you, hips bucking erratically as you rode out your high.

“Fuck, fuck,” you gasped, heart pounding in your ears, between your legs, as you slowly returned to earth, melting into his sturdy embrace.

Rabastan slid his fingers from you, taking a small taste of you for himself before feeding the digit between your lips. “Well done, love. Came so pretty for me.” He kissed along your temple, your cheek while you sucked yourself off of his finger.

He withdrew his finger, patting your cheek like you would an obedient dog, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

Suddenly, what you were doing hit you like a ton of bricks. You'd crawled into his lap like a bitch in heat, desperate and lonely, and so pathetic—your whole body stiffened in his arms, fighting the urge to recoil from him.

How could you have done this? Walked into his trap so willingly after everything? Betrayed Sirius’ open-heart so completely?

It took everything in you to swallow the tears forcing their way up your throat.

The train whistled, long and ear-splitting, and you jumped off his lap, so relieved your knees nearly gave out beneath you.

“Thor is going to wake up, I have to go.” You righted yourself, willfully ignoring the wet spot you left on his designer trousers, the raging hard on still tenting in his lap. “I'll see you tonight?”

“Run along, little doe. I'll see you tonight.” He waved you away.

You hurried back into the hall, nearly tipping over your feet when the train started to slow as it approached the station.

Thor wrenched open the compartment door, blue eyes landing on you. You have him a stiff nod, knowing what he wanted from you, and he grinned, jagged as the spikes of a bear trap.

You stared at yourself in the mirror. The emerald gown Rab selected for you was exquisite, tailored to perfection from its halter neckline to the slit reaching towards your hip. It looked like it had been poured onto you, hugging every curve. You should feel beautiful, but instead you felt deeply vulnerable. Like you may as well walk out there naked. All your secrets from the last month written across your skin.

After departing from the train, you and Thorfinn met up with your parents for tea, and you endured their endless questions and backhanded praise, leaving you feeling battered and even more ashamed than you already had.

It all felt so…hopeless.

Your eye wandered to your trunk, where the invisibility cloak was hidden away. A final sliver of hope. You didn't think you were brave enough to use it, if this morning was any indication. But you'd brought it anyways, knowing it was what Sirius wanted.

Your mind tugged one way, your heart another. Without this marriage your family could be left destitute. Your future a compete mystery.

And clearly, the allure of Rabastan's security and power was more formidable than you'd bargained for. The slightest push, and you'd folded. Fear making you desperate, foolish, cowardly.

And maybe that's what you were. Maybe Sirius was wrong about you.

The door to your suite creaked open, your mother sticking her head through the crack. “Are you finished yet?”

“Yes, mother,” you replied, rising from your makeup table and smoothing your dress. “I'm ready.”

You walked arm and arm with your mother down to the party, tuning out her endless instructions on how you should act and heave, who you should speak to, who you should ignore.

But as soon as you stepped into the ballroom, she fell silent in awe. It was stunningly lavish, every table dripping in velvet and diamonds,the glittering chandeliers overhead extravagant enough to compete with Gringotts. The marble floor clicked under your heels, the sound swallowed up by the band on the stage and the mingling voices floating on the air.

You knew the Lestrange's were wealthy, but this…

“Ah! There are my beautiful girls!” Your father appeared, Reinhard Lestrange on his left, Rabastan and Rodolpus flanking him like sentinels. “Don't you look lovely, darling.” Your father took your hands, bringing your knuckles to his lips, and you had to fight to control your expression. Your father never showed affection

Unconsciously, you glanced up at Rabastan. His eyes were trained on you, a pleased gleam lighting up his face, and you flushed. Reinhard seemed to notice the exchange, and looked at you with more interest.

“It's a pleasure to finally meet you,” he drawled, his voice having the same smooth cadence as his younger son. “Reinhard Lestrange.” He offered a hand, and you placed your fingers in his, and he brushed a kiss to your knuckles.

“It's an honor, sir,” you cooed despite your heart beating wildly in your chest, curtsying low.

A small smile ghosted his mouth, an echo of Rabastan's. “No wonder my son is so besotted, it's rare to meet such a competent young lady. Let alone one as striking as you.”

Besotted. You caught Rodolpus and Rabastan exchange a look, Rodolpus a teasing smirk, Rabastan a half-hearted glare.

“I only have my parents to thank for my nature, sir,” you said, and your parents beamed.

Reinhard chuckled. “So, what went wrong with your brother then?” Reinhard teased, surprising you with his sense of humor.

“Well, there's always one,” you shrugged, glancing at Rodolpus, and Reinhard burst out laughing.

Rabastan gave you a proud wink, and you bit your lip to stop from grinning. Rodolpus chuckled too, elbowing his brother, and you exhaled in relief. Maybe you could do this.

“Quite right, darling. Lucky Bella didn't hear that though, she's rip those pretty eyes right out.” Reinhard clapped Rodolpus on the shoulder. “Come, dinners about to begin.”

Rabastan swooped in as your party began to move, looping your arm through his. He looked wonderful, like one of those American movies stars, so dapper in his perfectly pressed black suit.

He leaned down towards you, keeping you close as you navigated the crowd. “Masterfully done, darling. I haven't seen my father laugh in weeks.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, waving at Evan and Regulus as you walked past them, their jaws a bit slack as they stared at you.

Rab cast them a warning glare, and they snapped their heads back to one another. “You look beautiful, though I doubt it needs to be said considering the trail of broken necks.”

“It's the dress, Rab. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever worn,” you said, looking up at him through dark lashes. “I'm so grateful.”

He leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “You'll have a closet full of the finest things, little doe.”

You reached the table and he pulled a chair out for you. You sat down, letting him slide you closer to he table before taking his seat beside you, to the right of his brother. Thorfinn sat beside your father, who was at Reinhards left. Your brother cast you an appraising glance, but turned his attention back to your father with barely an acknowledgement. Your heart deflated a bit.

Rabastan shook his head, frowning at the hurt tugging down the corners of your mouth. “And I thought my brother was an arse.”

“I resent that,” Rodolpus muttered, taking a sip of champagne. His wild-haired wife sat beside him, curled around his arm like a snake, her eyes meandering over your face.

Bellatrix Lestrange, once a Black. You could see the Black genes written all over her, from the bone structure to the haunting gray eyes. A jilted pang made you wince down at your plate.

How badly you wished Sirius was here. And he would be, you supposed, if Walburga and Orion Black weren't despicable wastes of oxygen.

You glanced down the table, finding them sitting with Regulus' between them, his eyes cast down at his plate while his parents talked over his head. From the movement of Walburgas mouth, you knew what they were talking about: Sirius.

Regulus felt your gaze and looked up, his eyes connecting with yours. His jaw feathered with tension, and thread of connection in spooling between you. He must see the hurt reflected in your eyes well.

You looked away.

Dinner dragged down for what felt like eons, tiny plate after tiny plate of priceless, exotic food, and endless flutes of champagne.

After dessert, Rabastan coaxed you out onto the dancefloor, where you waltzed and turned for another hour or so. But you couldn't get Regulus' expression out of your mind, couldn't shake the harrowing feeling it left behind.

We aren't supposed to be here, it screamed.

You'd never particularly enjoyed these parties, volleying with Sirius had always been your favorite part even if you'd never admit it. You felt his absence like a missing rib.

Had you ever missed Rabastan like that? Felt a moment was lacking, a meal was tasteless, a song was hollow, because Rabastan wasn't there to enjoy it with you?

The answer came with dizzying clarity: not even once.

But you felt it constantly with Sirius. Even at the wretched party, you so wished he could hear the sonorous band, or got to taste the bizarrely sweet squid patté just so you could exchange the same disgusted glance.

Everything felt brighter, lighter with Sirius.

But, the toll of the Lestrange clocktower sounded like a death knell. There was no going back.

You heart fractured, sending a wave of despair so intense, you stumbled over Rabastan’s foot.

He hauled you closer to his chest, steadying you. “Are you alright, darling?” He murmured, gently brushing your hair from your forehead. “Ready to sit for a spell?”

You nodded, allowing him to escort you towards a set of chairs in a quieter corner of the party. He flagged down a waiter to bring you a glass of water, and procured a fan from another.

“I have some business to discuss with my father, will you be alright on your own for a bit?” He asked, petting the top of your head.

“I'm alright, thank you, Rab,” you replied, taking a sip of water to try and force down the knot of emotion in your throat.

He kissed your cheek before disappearing into the crowd. You noticed your brother peel off from his place at the bar with some girl to follow him, and alarm bells sounded in the back of your mind.

You had a terrible, bone-deep feeling that the business they were discussing was you.

When you looked around, no one was paying you any mind. Your parents were nowhere to be seen, and neither were the male Lestrange's.

This might be your only chance to find out what they had in store for you.

As quickly as you could without drawing attention, you made your way out of the party and up to your room, fanning yourself and hoping anyone that noticed you would simply think you were poorly and retiring to your room.

You ditched your heels and grabbed the invisibility cloak, wrapping around yourself. You watched yourself disappear in the mirror, and a thrill of excitement shot up your spine. Sirius' cologne still lingered on the fabric, and it brought you a bit of comfort.

After stuffing some pillows under your duvet, you slipped out of the room, invisible as a wraith, a closed the door softly behind you. You hurried down the halls of the massive manor, wracking your brain to remember the brief tour their house Rabastan gave you upon arrival. You turned down the hall you remembered him skipping over, the walls decorated with art too fine to be unimportant like he'd implied.

A few feet down the hall, you could hear your father's voice floating through a crack in the door.

“This is my daughter we're talking about, Lestrange,” he bit.

“What you're proposing is absurd, Rowle,” Reinhard replied, sounding almost bored. “Especially considering it seems she'd marry my son of her own volition.”

“Not without our permission, she wouldn't. And she will have no such blessing until the amount is paid in full.”

Your throat dried. What amount?

Rabastan chuckled, the sound low and patronizing. “You think she cares what you think, Thorfinn?”

“Of course she does,” your father snapped. “Don't pretend you know her, or care about her.”

Silence echoed around the hall, drawn to a razors edge. You shifted to peer into the room, finding Rabastan leaning against his father's desk, eyes dark with rage.

Thorfinn stepped between Rabastan and your father, and Rodolpus moved to stand beside his younger brother, looking decidedly more casual than the rest of them.

Rodolpus alone could mop the floor with your family, and they knew it.

“Care about her?” Rabastan growled. “Have you not come to my house to sell her like merchandise?”

“Rabastan,” Reinhard warned.

Rabastan pushed off the desk, prowling closer. “Merchandise, which, I feel inclined to mention, you damaged?”

Your stomach dropped, and Thorfinn blanched.

“What?” Your father hissed, turning to Thorfinn.

“Damaged how?” Reinhard asked, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder.

Rabastan went quiet, letting Thorfinn sweat, before he shook his head. “Damaged metaphorically, of course,” he said, leaning back against the desk and Thorfinn sagged a bit in relief.

“Regardless, you ask too much, Rowle,” Reinhard continued, casting a warning glare at Rabastan.

“How much would a daughter of your own be worth, Reinhard?” Your mother asked, and you gasped. Your mother was never one to speak out of turn.

Reinhard’s expression darkened. “That's the difference between us, witch. I would never put a price on my child's head,” he snarled. “I've only agreed to be a part of this because my son insisted.”

You braced a hand on the wall, shock rocking through you. Not only were they trying to sell you, Rabastan wanted to buy you?

“Father—”

“Enough. I know you're soft on the girl, but—”

“Fine,” your father interrupted, making Reinhard grit his teeth. “Make it 15,000 galleons.”

You felt like you might be sick. How could you family do this to you? Thorfinn's words earlier echoed in your mind. The business is not going well. You may be our last hope.

You didn't realize he meant it so literally.

Reinhard looked at Rabastan. “Is she worth it, son?”

You couldn't stick around for his answer. You took off down the hall, bare feet slapping on the marble, tears streaming down your face.

An arranged marriage, one of mutual gain, was one thing, but to be sold? It made you sick. How could Rabastan agree to that? How could he touch you, kiss you, knowing that he was purchasing you like livestock? Had you ever had a choice? Would they drag you down the aisle in shackles?

You pushed your way through the party and out the grand front doors, flying down the steps. The ground was frigid and rough beneath your bare feet, but you ran anyways, leaving the shadow of Lestrange Manor far behind you.

You couldn't get back Hogwarts without the train, and there was only one other place you could think of to go.

In a sickening whirl of color, the spell spit you out on the stone steps of candlelit porch, framed with enchanted flowers that bloomed brightly despite the winter chill: Potter Manor.

You stared up at the front door, heart racing so fast you could barely breathe. There was no turning back from this.

You reached a hand up and knocked three times.

A few moments later, James pulled open the door, dressed like he was about to go to sleep. Fuck, you hadn't even considered how late it was.

“Y/n?” He asked, adjusting his glasses.

“I'm sorry, I—”

“Y/n?” Sirius pushed in front of James, eyes wide. He was shirtless, flannel sweatpants slung low. His smattering of archaic ink a stark contrast to his fair skin, and for a second you forgot what you were doing here. “Are you okay?” Sirius asked, ushering you into the foyer and closing the door. “Are you hurt?” He pushed the cloak from your shoulders, revealing the gown you were wearing, and his eyes widened in surprise.

“No, no. I—” a sob welled up, choking off your voice.

“Oh, darling, come here.” He bundled you into his chest, wrapping his arms protectively around your body while you cried into the curve of his neck, fists balled up against his abdomen. “Sh, sh, it's alright, love. I've got you,” he murmured into your hair, pressing kisses into the side of your head. “I've got you now.”

He held you a bit tighter, lifting you into a bridal holding, making you cry harder.

“What's going on?” You heard an unfamiliar man ask, and you clung tighter to Sirius, fear streaking through you.

“Shh, it's James' father. You're safe,” he whispered, carrying you across the house and depositing you onto a chaise in a sitting room.

Distantly, you could hear James explaining who you were in a hushed voice.

“I didn't know where else you go,” you sniffled, taking a stuttering inhale. “I'm sorry for barging in.”

“Nonsense,” he shushed you, crouching down in front of you and offering a handkerchief. “You're right where your meant to be.”

You dabbed your eyes and nose, smearing mascara all over the clean fabric and cringed.

“Can you tell me what happened, love?” He asked, brows furrowed with concern.

“They—he—” your voice splintered, another wave of panic and sobs dragging you under.

“Okay, you don't have to say anything.” He shifted to sit on the couch and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as you trembled. You buried your face into his neck and let yourself cry, and cry, and cry.

All the stress and fear of the last few weeks bubbled up and poured out of you until you were gasping, hollowed out and raw.

Something shuffled in the room, and you suddenly remembered you were not alone. Sirius appeared to have the same realization, glancing over his shoulder at his friend and his parents.

You braced yourself for the barrage of questions, but instead you heard James’ mother murmur, “Would she like some tea?”

“Love?” Sirius asked, turning to you. “Do you need anything?”

You shook your head, embarrassment scorching your cheeks. “M'okay, thank you Mrs. Potter,” you mumbled.

“Chamomile tea would be great, mama, thank you,” Sirius answered for you, a twinge of exasperated affection in his voice.

“’Course. Be back in a bit,” she said, her voice so gentle it brought tears to your eyes once again, and you heard three sets of slippers shuffle out.

“Look at me,” Sirius murmured, cradling your face and lifting your head from the crook of his shoulder. “I need to apologize for yesterday. I let my own feelings cloud my judgement and I—I’m so sorry if I frightened you.”

“It frightened me because it was true.” You barely recognized your own voice, hoarse and small. “Because I wasn't ready to face it.”

“And now?” His gray eyes welled with something dangerously close to hope, and your heart gave a silly little flip.

For the first time, you didn't try to fight it. You just let the feeling bloom in your chest, warm and glittery, and you nodded into his neck, wrapping an arm around his middle.

“Now I know that I was building my life, myself, around a lie. None of it was real—” tears threatened to choke you again, but you fought them down. “How I feel about you is the only thing I know isn't stained by their lies. I know that it comes from me, the real me. And that’s why it scared me so much. They taught me not to trust myself…”

Sirius was quiet, eyes glossy with unshed tears, his thumb catching a stray tear as it rolled down your cheek.

You weren't sure if you were ready to give voice to what you heard, but you wanted to offer some kind of explanation for your sudden appearance. “I overheard something, and my instincts were screaming at me, and I just…I listened.”

“That's good, love. That was the right thing to do,” he murmured, rubbing soothing circles around your back. “And I'm glad you came here.”

James sauntered into the sitting room, tray in hand. “I was wondering where the cloak went,” he said, crouching down in front of you and handing you a mug of tea. “You alright, mate?”

Mate. The word made your broken heart glow.

“I thought you ran it by him?” You asked, quirking a brow at Sirius.

Sirius shrugged. “James is a loud mouth.”

“Hey!”

“I heard you tried to go toe to toe with my brother,” you said, providing further proof of Sirius' accusation.

“And I'd do it again,” James huffed. “I'll do it now, if you want. Where is he?”

“Not Thorfinn, unfortunately. But you can tangle with me, if you'd like.” A low voice filled the room, startling the three of you to your feet. Rabastan stood leaned against the doorway, twirling his wand in his fingers. “Trusting sort, the Potters. Let me right in.”

James bolted out of the room in search of his parents and Sirius withdrew his wand, tugging you behind him.

“What did you do?” Sirius growled, and Rab rolled his eyes.

“Nothing, cousin. Now, get your hands off of my girl.” Rab straightened to his full height, but Sirius didn't falter.

Fuck this. “I heard you,” you snapped, stepping out from behind Sirius and raising your own wand as you stalked towards him. “I heard you talking with my parents. You fucking bought me?”

Rabastan's smug smile dropped. “No, I--”

“What am I worth, Rabastan? 15,000 galleons? Twenty?” you hissed, jabbing your wand under his chin.

“You didn't stick around for my answer, darling?” He countered, taking a step forward, closing the gap between you. “I said you were worth the trip to Azkaban after I gutted your brother like a fucking fish.”

You blinked. “What—”

“We were never going to buy you,” he admitted, his voice softening. “Or at least, I wasn't. I would only have you if you wanted me in return.” His fingers came up to caress your cheek, and you flinched away, taking a step back. “I thought you wanted me too,” he whispered, hurt straining the edges of his voice.

“You've been lying to me,” you said, taking another step back. “I can't trust you, or any of them.”

Rab's jaw flexed, his chin dropping to his chest in shame. “I'm sorry, little doe—”

“Don't fucking call me that.”

He turned his head like you’d slapped him, his hand flexing around his wand, eyes squeezing shut. A part of your heart ached with guilt, but you couldn’t forgive him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

James returned, wand raised. “You need to get out, Lestrange. Now,” he ordered.

“James, wait,” Sirius said, stepping forward and placing a steady hand on your shoulder. “So, you didn't go through with it?” The question was directed at Rab, who lifted his head to meet Sirius’ eyes.

“That’s why I came,” he said, looking back at you. “I called it off. All of it. But I need you to understand, you...you can’t go home.”

“What?” Panic closed like a fist around your throat.

“I’m sorry, darl—y/n.” He took a tentative step towards you, pocketing his wand. “When we discovered that you ran, your father—he disowned you.”

You sagged to the side, Sirius catching you around the waist. They disowned you. Cast you side like damaged goods. Like you were worthless to them now. “W-what?”

The room tilted around you again, your vision tunneling to a pinprick--

“Easy, love.” Sirius eased you back onto the chaise, cupping your face in an effort to keep you tethered to consciousness. “Take a breath for me, in—good girl—now breath out. Nice and long, that’s it.”

You followed his instructions, taking big, deep breaths until the darkness at the edge of your vision receded, your heart rate starting to slow.

“All they’ve done is set you free, doll,” Sirius said, smoothing your hair from your face. “You’re going to be alright.”

“Where will I go?” You sniffed, clutching at Sirius’ shirt. Over his shoulder, you saw pain flicker across Rabastan’s face, but he looked away, towards James.

“If I provide a stipend, would your family be able to house her? Since you Potter’s like stray’s so much?” He gestured to Sirius.

“It’s up to her,” Sirius interrupted, throwing his cousin a glare. “She can go where she wants.”

“You’re more than welcome,” James said, looking past the others towards you. “We’ve got plenty of room, no stipend required.” The last bit was directed at Rab, his voice turning barbed.

“The semester’s almost over,” Sirius added. “Could stay for the summer, than get your own place in London. If that's what you want to do.”

“And we’ll keep your brother far away, if needed,” Rabastan added. “I meant what I said. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Despite yourself, some of your resentment towards him loosened. He’d done the right thing in the end, and perhaps it wasn’t all a lie. This world had chewed you all up, one way or another, how much could you fault him for baring the scars of the monster that made him?

Those same scars nearly cost you everything. Everything being the man on his knees in front of you, the sincerest and most loyal person you'd ever known. The only person you ever trusted unconditionally and without restraint. He was everything you'd ever wanted, you'd just been to blinded by fear to see it.

“Thank you, Rab,” you murmured, and he dipped his chin. “And thank you, James,” you said, and he gave you two thumbs up. You took Sirius’ chin, turning his face to yours. “And you, Sirius, there aren’t enough ‘thank you’s’ in the world,” you whispered, and the smile he gave you was so lovesick, it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“Don’t you dare thank me,” he said, taking your hand from his face and placing it over his heart, beating rhythmically in the center of his bare chest. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, love. I’ll maim Lestrange’s pretty face right now if you want—”

“Fuck off, mutt—”

“That won’t be necessary,” you chuckled, leaning in to peck Sirius’ lips. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I suppose that’s my cue,” Rabastan said, adjusting his cuffs and looking everywhere but you and Sirius. “I’ll see you around the common room, then?”

“We’ll see—”

“Of course,” you placed a hand over Sirius’ mouth, silencing his attitude. He nibbled your palm in retaliation.

Rabastan dipped his chin in farewell and took his leave, glancing back at you a final time before stepping out into the quiet night.

You lowered your hand from Sirius’ mouth, giving him a phony scowl, and he bared his teeth, teasing you back.

“I’ll talk to my parents,” James said, rubbing the back of his head. “Sirius can show you to the empty guest room, though I suppose you won’t be using it—oi!” Sirius launched a pillow at James’ head, and he scampered away, disappearing down the hall.

Sirius turned his attention back to you, expression softening. “Are you alright, love?” He asked, holding your hands in his.

You nodded. “I’m okay…afraid, I suppose. But in a different way.” You traced the web of your fingers with your eyes, and brought your joined hands up to kiss across his scarred knuckles. “But Sirius, I’m not sure we should jump into anything quite yet.”

Sirius nodded, his eyes lingering on your lips. “We’ll go at your pace, whatever you want—so long as I can kiss you every six hours.”

You grinned, affection blooming like a burst of sunlight in your chest. “I think we can arrange that.” You leaned forward, pressing your tear-dampened lips to his, and for the first time, it didn’t hit you where it hurts the most, in your battered, bruised heart. It touched your soul instead, somewhere deeper, uncharted.

Somewhere new.

Thank you so much to everyone that read and supported this series! I'm so proud of it, and it was a joy to scream about it with you all 🫶

But don't worry, you haven't seen the last of Rabastan 😉

taglist: @lovelykat001, @carmenschemtrails, @lolalleins, @fangirl-swagg, @batboysanonymous, @watchmerora, @iheartnostalgia, @simars3, @elizabethblood9, @unstable-cucumber, @holholliday, @itisjustwhatitis

© agreeeeeeeeeee 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[tojisteddy]

Natural Blonde | cw: 18+, angst, mentions of depression, death & abuse, ptsd, (loosely) 2009 backstory, 30s Simon, fluff at the end.

‘It’s grown out.’

That’s the first thing that popped up in Simon head as he looked himself in the mirror after four days. Baggy, tired eyes, messy hair with brunette roots— the ambassador of exhaustion.

He needs to get himself in order. Upright. Try. Try and take a step forward instead of letting himself sink further. Simon huffs, going through the cubbord under the bathroom sink, gathering the proper tools.

The bleach, the developer, toner, gloves, a bowl, shower cap, and a brush.

Simon Riley’s saving grace at a time like this.

Dying his hair.

If anyone was concerned, weather it be the recruiter who got him in the military, to his peers that trained with him, to the men and women he trained, to Kyle, to Johnny, to John— the man that guided him through his own head time and time again— Simon was a natural blonde.

Maybe it was a mask, even at his age, deep down, in the far end of his brain, there was that scared and trembling little boy. That little boy that would take the slaps and the punches to protect his brother, the one that could hear the never ended yelling of his parents in the next room over and his mothers cries. The little boy that was just fucking hungry and would creep down the steps to go steal the food that should’ve been given to them.

That damned bleach was, in its own way, a mask that protected him, it protected that little boy that couldn’t do it himself. A sure fire way to prove that he wasn’t a Riley— no— that he wasn’t his father.

With the blonde, he could be a different person. Simon could be that strong person that younger him and his brother needed so desperately— the man that could protect, the man that could speak his mind without hesitating, could hug and love, be strong and provide— do what his father couldn’t do. That’s what Ghost was.

But that mask would shrivel up on its own sometimes.

It’s when Ghost had to be Simon, and no not the one that could give a stupid joke, talk about his favorite film franchise for an hour, who likes quiet jogs with the dogs, take out on Sunday nights, wants to endlessly listen to whatever you had to say because he was eager to hear from you.

It’s the one that can’t stand to look at himself or get out of bed. The one that’s walking in circles in his mind, trudging the weight of that long carried despair since childhood. The one who can’t get the words out, and prays to God you don’t leave him because this isn’t who he wants you to see but he can’t help it.

He hated it. How no matter what he did, no matter how much time had passed, Simon could look in the mirror and see his father’s blue iris’ in his own brown ones. He’d see his fathers over bearing, shadowing build— and now, the fresh strands of brunette that had grown out— his father was right there looking back at him in the mirror.

It made Simons heart jump out, stomach coil— fuck, fuck, fuck, here we go again. There’s a loud ‘boom’ and ‘crash’ that makes Simon’s ears ring, his eyes squeeze shut and it’s like he’s back on the battlefield again. The gunshots, the yelling, the bombs, the sound of a helicopter close by, fire blazing, sounds of agony, but the only difference?

The only real enemy here was his father, and yet, even on this field, was that little boy again. Quivering in fear— hungry, hurt, in need of reassurance.

Simon has to think, fight or flight, he stumbles back from the sink till his back hits the cool tile of the bathroom wall. There’s contemplation, the smallest or small voices whispering in his ear all while he’s seeing his father walking, breathing in the flesh. Those flared nostrils, flushed face and glaring eyes he gave Simon and Tommy when he was about to smash another replaced vase against the wall— perhaps God speaking— ‘hey, it’s alright’ ‘you’re alright.’

A reminder, that there wasn’t a need to be afraid anymore. That Simon could stand on his own too feet and that monster that haunted him, wasn’t him. He wasn’t attached to it, he was long gone and dead. Most likely drunk himself to death. Simon could just be.

Simon dares to open his eyes, just a peek, as if checking like the cost is clear. His brown eyes flicker directly to the floor. He’s still here. In his house. The faucets dripping, the house is creaking like it always does, he can hear the music you like to play trickling it’s way upstairs, the nails of the dogs hitting the scratching up wooden floors, the soft bathroom rug you were so adidment about getting in between his toes— he’s okay.

And even if it’s just for the next moment that he feels this stillness— Simon Riley bathes in it. Wraps himself in it like much needed blanket on a freezing night in an undisclosed safe house.

Simon stands up, gives himself a quick glances at himself— and only himself— in the mirror before getting in the shower. He doesn’t know how long he stays in there, but he’s refreshed and squeaky clean when he gets out. He slides a pair of clean sweatpants on, gathers the materials that sat on the bathroom sink and heads down the stairs of the second floor.

Your eyes snap towards those heavy footsteps from the couch, your dogs, Slugger and Fish, already up and eager to circle around him since they haven’t seen him up in days.

“Hi.” You say softly, giving him a quick glance. Better.

“Hi.” And it’s just as soft, weary and deep, but there.

He clears his empty throat, slightly nervous, and gesture to the small pile of objects in hands, “Mind helpin me?”

And it’s the signal, an ‘I’m okay right now’ and you grasp at it like a flag in flag football.

You give him a lazy smile and a shrug, “never gotta ask.”

And it’s like you two are back in routine again, together without a misstep. Simon’s hands rubbing and holding onto your waist as you start bleaching his hair. Only you could see the man this raw, bones and all, everything that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley was and wasn’t. touching your thighs as you stand between his legs in the kitchen, getting a sense of you as if you changed while he was stuck in his own mind. But you’re constant, just as you’ve always been, smearing every root of his scalp with the mixture that was in the bowl while humming some Kacey Musgraves song. Helping Simon put the pieces back together. Just as he’s done with you.

“You look so nice Si.”

You’ve rinsed the toner out after the long process, Simons drying his hair with a towel, the blonde fresh and perfect on him. Sun glistening on him through the kitchen shades, face damp, a few lashes with water in them. He’s practically shining. A natural blonde.

“Thanks baby.”

a/n: I’m indulging myself by getting angsty but this is dog shit and no one’s reading this.