#desire and decorum x reader

[r3starttt]

BEHAVE

PAIRING: Caitlyn Kiramman x reader

SUMMARY: Being her controversial young girlfriend but she's sooo mean about it.

CW: Mean Caitlyn. fingering and public sex if u squint. A mix of Cait act 1 and after act 3 because that eye patch makes her so hot.

A/N: this was a headcanon but it's too long so, enjoy(? also I apologize because this is very self indulgent and maybe it doesn't feel like it's Caitlyn at all but who cares!

* first post of the year!!!! ahhhh praying I can write so much more

TAGLIST: @lewd-alien @greysontheidiot @jolyne @sapphic-ovaries @tlouloser @prwttiestbunny @visobsession @thesevi0lentdelights @lvlymicha @stickycherritart @patronagrona @halle5s @usuck @thalchmy @lovelyy-moonlight @fakevalentine

"Do you truly believe I wouldn’t notice?" Caitlyn’s voice brushed against your ear, a velvet whisper laced with reproach as her hands rested on your shoulders. She guided you through the sea of silk gowns and tailored suits, her touch light yet insistent. The weight of her name—Kiramman—still carried its unyielding responsibilities. These endless soirées, gilded in pretension, were as much a part of her world as the air she breathed.

You hummed in acknowledgment, your brow furrowing as the opulent liquor in your glass shimmered with each step. The crystal caught the golden glow of chandeliers, creating ripples of light that danced with the cadence of your movements.

"I distinctly recall telling you not to speak to her," Caitlyn said, her voice low but firm, a melody of restrained fury and high-society decorum. And there it was—why she was upset. Her words, precise as a scalpel, made the realization cut deeper.

Jealousy. It wasn’t the first time.

She was a woman molded by singularity, the only child of a family whose legacy loomed large. Years of hard work and calculated poise had shaped her, yet even Caitlyn Kiramman wasn’t immune to the corrosive sting of possessiveness. She had drawn comfort from women, and in doing so, learned too much about how easily temptation could unravel the strongest resolves. She knew what could happen when the wrong hands reached for what they desired.

"And I didn’t," you replied, your tone measured but pointed as you placed emphasis on the pronoun. "She spoke to me."

But you knew the defense was weak, the excuse thin. It wasn’t about who initiated the conversation—it was about the way you let it linger, the playful barbs you traded in defiance of Caitlyn’s clear wishes.

"Look at me."

She halted, steering you into a quiet corner where the hallway stood mostly empty save for the occasional passing silhouette. Her grip shifted to your chin, blue-painted nails biting just enough to demand your attention. Tilting your face upward, her single piercing eye—framed by the violet eyepatch that gleamed under the estate’s polished lighting—locked onto yours.

"That woman," Caitlyn said, her tone laced with hate, "will go to any lengths to provoke me. She is petty, immature, and cannot tolerate the fact that I chose you." The emphasis on you was punctuated with a fleeting brush of her thumb along your cheek.

"And why is that?" you countered, tilting your head slightly, an air of defiance laced in your words. You knew the unspoken truths hidden in her gaze, the ghosts of her past lovers lingering in her quiet. You weren’t the first to occupy her bed, but you intended to be the last. Still, the question hung in the air, daring her to acknowledge the vulnerability that simmered beneath her jealousy.

Her posture shifted, the tension momentarily releasing as she let go of your face, her hands finding yours. "Behave," she murmured, her voice carrying a polished warn. "You’re not some foolish girl in need of coddling , are you? Didn’t you insist I treat you like a grown woman and not—what was it?—a 'sweet indulgence,' like those other girls you claim I once entertained?"

Sharp, clever, and unrelenting , Caitlyn always knew how to turn the blade back on you, her wit as honed as the rifle she wielded with such precision.

"I’m merely observing," you replied with a shrug, feigning indifference though the sting of her words lingered. "You seem awfully afraid of some women. Almost as though you know them too well."

Her laugh was soft, almost a scoff, but her grip on your waist tightened. Caitlyn wasn’t one to retreat. Instead, she seized the moment, her free hand taking your glass and setting it on a side table near the staircase alongside her own. Without a word, she led you upward.

The quiet intimacy of the stairwell was a stark contrast to the party below. The golden light softened as you ascended, and with each step, the air between you grew heavier, thick with the unsaid.

Your heels echoed against the polished marble, mirroring hers as you followed her onto one of the estate’s many balconies. Caitlyn left the balcony door ajar, the muffled hum of the soirée seeping through like a distant murmur.

Her lips grazed the delicate curve of your neck, warm and insistent. "Do you know what I used to do?" she murmured, her voice low-- confessional. Her hands found your waist, steadying you as though she feared you might falter under the weight of her words.

"I would take them home," she began, her tone as smooth as the feel of her hands on your skin. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly, a possessive gesture had you folding already. "I would ask about their lives, their dreams... enough to slip beneath their guard."

Her lips traveled upward, brushing the corner of your jaw, then your cheek, before stopping just next to your ear. "And then," she continued, her voice a breath against your skin, "I would lean in, cup their necks, let my gaze linger on their lips... kiss them."

As the words left her mouth, she mirrored the act with you. Her fingers glided to the nape of your neck, holding you firm, her lips capturing yours with a deliberate fervor. The kiss was unhurried yet commanding, a declaration rather than a question.

"I would undo their clothes, piece by piece, savoring the soft of their skins." Her hands traveled down, tracing the contours of your frame with reverence until her fingers found the hem of your dress. Slowly, she gathered the fabric, the rustle of it rising in harmony with the quickening beat of your heart.

"I would caress their thighs," she continued, her voice dropping with promise. Her hand slid beneath the folds of your dress. She paused there, letting the silence be filled with the distant hum of the party behind you.

Her gaze met yours again, piercing. She pressed her knee in between your legs, her fingers making small circles over your clothed clit, feeling the fabric damp under her touch. A smile spread on her face, almost a mocking laugh escaping her as her forehead leaned closer to your own. "Yeah? feels good, doesn't it?" Her breath hovering over your lips before you nodded, opening your lips further to try and get a kiss she denied.

"I would love to feel how wet they got... listening those whimpers and the many obscenities spilling through such pretty lips." Her other hand went behind your waist, digging her fingers into you.

Your head tilted down as you got pressed into the railing. Worried that someone might see.

It wouldn't be new to them. Cailtyn had been caught endless times by those working for her or around her- and she couldn't care less. Making her girls go louder each time.

"I loved to hear how they pronounced my name in between gasps." Her wet lips pressed another kiss into your neck. Her hand guiding your hips to move against her leg as she slid her fingers up and down your covered slit.

You held behind onto the railing, using it to impulse your body as you wished against her fingers and her body and just enjoy yourself while using her. Your lips pressed too tightly to not let any sound out.

Your eyebrows furrowed to a point it hurt. Caitlyn made you mad, she knew how to put you in your place every single time.

"Be a good girl and let me hear you, love." She pressed herself closer to you again, her fingers busy with your wet. She had minutes that felt endless just rubbing at your clit over your clothes, providing you the friction of her knee against your cunt or her fingers over your hole- teasing to pull your panties aside and fuck you-- But that was it.

And maybe all of it had you falling for her one last time. Opening your lips to moan and whimper against her own. She wanted the show and if she asked so nicely why would you deny her?

But just as you felt like maybe there could be a way to convince her to fuck you like you wanted, she stopped. It was almost too abruptly it hurt.

"Go to the bathroom and compose yourself," Caitlyn instructed. Her grip tightened on your chin, tilting your face upward with a practiced ease that left little room to argument. The intensity in her eyes was an unspoken demand.

"I will not endure the embarrassment of your behavior tonight." The sharp edge of her accent making each syllable bite. Her fingers pressed into your cheeks, just enough to remind you of her control, her authority over this moment. "Your age is already... challenging for me. Do not make me regret this, love. Do you understand?"

You nodded, the motion awkward under the restraint of her hand. A wave of heat prickled at the corners of your eyes, tears threatening to spill, not from pain but from the raw sting of her words. Your voice came out small, broken, as though the very air had been stolen from your lungs.

"I'm sorry," you murmured an apology barely audible, stifled by the weight of her fingers against your face.

"Don't apologize," she snapped, the command as firm as it was cold. Her gaze bore into yours, cutting through your composure. "Just do as I ask. Prove to me that you're capable of being what I need you to be."

Her lips hovered dangerously close to yours, her breath warm, intimate, yet void of comfort. "Show me you're worth it-" She paused to make it clear, it was a warn if not a threat. "And never, ever speak to her again. Not a word, not a glance. Or it's over. Is that clear?"

There was no room for negotiation, no softness to temper her gaze. Her words were final. Like anything else around her, it was an unspoken contract you had no choice but to sign.

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆.❞

KINKTOBER WEEK ONE — OVERSTIMULATION.

⤿ pairings: jacaerys velaryon x betrothed!reader.

⤿ word count: 6.5K (i got carried away)

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), experienced!reader, dom!reader, sub!jace, dry humping/grinding, jace is a virgin, horny/yearning jace, mutual pining, heavy kissing, overstimulation (fem!rec), fingering (fem!rec), handjob, cunnilingus (fem!rec), talking jace through it, praise kink, hair-pulling kink, lots of body kissing, teasing, dirty talk, lots of begging

⤿ note: lowkey this is the final jace post for a long time, I think I got it all out & tried to combine some kinktober requests all into one :)) hope y’all enjoy!

Dusky curls fall across pallid features, brows creased in concentration with a curtain of stoicism.

The scrawling of a quill scratches hastily against parchment, its destination unknown to you. It is difficult to see him as a man grown, for men do not often pout with pliant lips.

Nightfall brings an unwanted chill, the first inklings of oceanic ice biting away at your bones, swirling about through the ancient stronghold of Dragonstone. Even the fur-lined slip you wear does not offer much comfort.

In the sparse moments that you shared with Jacaerys since the announcement of your union, you’ve strived to learn as much as you can about him. Loveless, tenuous arrangements were commonplace — you did not want to waste your years toiling alongside a man who cared little for you.

To your great fortune, he shared your sentiments, tracing the outline of your soul with his fingertips, gracing you with his time whenever he could. With the youth of the evening underway, you sought him out, having missed him at dinner.

Between the gap in the door and the cobbled archway, you stand within the shadows of the corridor, one palm perched along ancient mahogany. Wordlessly, you keep to your fleeting observations, hues flickering across the handsome plane of his visage.

The Prince of Dragonstone — your intended, whose kindly hand continued to cradle yours through the endless turbulence of a darkening political climate. You considered yourself lucky — it could’ve been much worse, an arranged marriage.

Jacaerys’s chambers fare far better than your own, befitting of royalty, steeped in Targaryen decorum and tapestries of crimson and black. Candlelight dances across his jaw, bathing him in a light so spectacular that it nearly rips the air from your lungs.

Handsome is a mere understatement — the Velaryon prince was every bit as comely as some gallant knight ripped from pages of a novella. Your stomach erupts with constant butterflies whenever you catch a glimpse of him, longing to tangle yourself within him.

For a moment, he pays you little mind, drowning in a sea of parchment, tackling the growing duties ushered in by the brink of war. You admired his desire for usefulness — he had brought plentiful allies into the fold with his determination and ambition.

“You did not come to dinner,” Your announcement is disarmingly gentle, the croon of a songbird through dusk as you slip inside of his quarters. It seems to ensnare him then, having you here, unchaperoned. “Are you not famished?”

You carried a silver plate of lukewarm foodstuffs, roasted quail, broiled vegetables, and a smattering of fruit — his stomach lurches at the sight. “I suppose I lost track of time,” He exhales, placing his quill down atop his desk. “Forgive me — my responsibilities seem rather endless.”

Beauty blossomed from you like a flourishing meadow, the warmth of springtime; tender, made to cloak him in your sweetness. He was captivated by you, still smitten to be alone in a room, and yet he committed countless sins within the recesses of his mind.

Between the occasional grace of your hand and a chaste kiss against his cheek, it left Jacaerys within a realm of wanting. An ocean of you, and he was drowning. It was improper to think of you in such a salacious manner, but the hot blood of youth prevailed.

“Then break from it,” You insisted, footsteps light as you crossed the threshold from doorway to desk, nudging the plate of food in his direction. “Hours without a quill in-hand will not hinder you any less.”

A threadbare smile graced his comely features, and he seemed accepting of your suggestion. In the time that you had been betrothed, he had made every effort to learn more about you — such efforts were not in-vain, as he made ample progress.

There was a kindly warmth to you, a depth that he found invigorating. You were shy, initially — time softened you, and you unfurled like the petals of a moonflower, showing your promise and intelligence, your swift wit.

Reluctantly, Jacaerys submitted to your advice, abandoning his quill and parchment for the somewhat mundane taste of now-cold food. Still, it was enough to relieve the gnawing bite within his stomach, allowing him to relax as much as one could.

“Why does your quill scratch so furiously?” Your inquiry drifted through the air, to be caught by him. It seemed that his only company was that of dust-laden tomes and endless parchment that swallowed him whole.

Begrudgingly, a wistful sigh tore past your betrothed’s rosy lips, fixed into a vexed expression. “I work tirelessly to bring allies into the fold for my mother’s cause,” He uttered, picking at the stem of a grape. “Some of it is to no avail.”

Empathetic, you placed your palm atop his shoulder, sinking into velvet and toughened silk. He nearly buckled beneath such a simple touch alone, fighting away the string of untoward thoughts. Instead, he reached, digits climbing to seize yours.

“Do not let this weight burden you so, Jacaerys. There are more than enough men to even the load,” Shaking his head, you were again privy to your intended’s glaring streak of stubbornness. “You do not have to take it all on your shoulders.”

“It is the only way to find some shred of worth, of usefulness,” He bemoaned his mother’s tight leash — she never let him scout, take to the skies on Vermax, participate in anything that wasn’t docile. “Being coddled in this way is maddening.”

Silken digits flexed around his hand, prompting him to relax, if he were even capable of such a thing. “If I were the Queen, my desire would be to protect you. Coddling can be easily mistaken for an overprotective nature.” You soothed, canting your head to one side.

He took little comfort in your words, as much as he longed to believe them. Perhaps he did not see such a goal now — in time, his thoughts may shift. “I will not trouble you with such thoughts any longer.” Jacaerys exhaled, and you let it rest.

In an unexpectedly sweet gesture, you brought his hand to the plushness of your lips, and as if you were some debonair swordsman, kissed his knuckles. The obvious flush of rose permeated his cheeks, and you then released his hand, much to his dismay.

Silence filled the void of conversation as you wandered about his chambers, quietly admiring the draconic decorum before seeking to sit, plucking at your nightgown. Being alone with him, here — it wasn’t entirely proper, and subconsciously, you were aware of this.

“Did supper yield any conversation of importance?” He inquired, eyes following you as you sat down atop the velveteen cushion of the chaise lounge. Hues of wisteria and mauve comprised your evening gown, colors that you wore splendidly.

“You did not miss much of anything,” Twisting around within your seat, you faced Jacaerys, tucking a fist beneath your chin. “Though, I certainly missed your presence. I feel like a stranger without you near.” You murmured.

Sent to Dragonstone to be at the side of your betrothed, you were away from home — unnerved, pensive, and left to wander about with no true direction. Jacaerys had done his best at ensuring that you were comfortable, but the feeling was not a permanent one.

“For that, I apologize,” Jace sighed, finishing half of his plate before rising from his seat. “I fear that this conflict has put a strain on all within this castle. You are not the source of any indifference.” He assured you, circling the lounge to sit by your side.

Closeness was something he’d yearned for in a way he never had before, and within the proximity of your warmth, he seemed to bristle. Seven Hells, how would he outlast this storm? He could not seem to halt the mounting desire he had for you.

If it weren’t for his sensibility and wanting to be gallant for you, as your intended husband, the impetuousness of lust would’ve guided his hand.

Crackling embers within the hearth began to wane, basking you in shades of orange, growing duller with each passing moment. He sat up straighter in your presence, stealing glances where he could, committing your features to memory.

Reassured, you offered him a gracious smile, hands folded neatly within your lap. “It is comforting to know that my presence here is not unwanted,” You sighed, casting your gaze to the flames. “I must thank you for your kindness, Jacaerys.”

A fluttering heat settled within the pit of your stomach when you momentarily caught his eyes — earthy-brown swirling with something indiscernible, yet something faintly familiar. Carnality was not lost upon you, for you had experienced it before.

Jacaerys, however — you pondered if your betrothed was still virtuous. The sins committed in your youth had been carefully hidden beneath many layers, layers you felt as if you could reveal to him.

Clearing his throat, Jacaerys tempered himself, wanting to pull himself in from acting upon basic impulses. Some part of him felt truly depraved for thinking of you in such untoward ways, but he couldn’t help himself. Many evenings were spent in grisly solitude, dreaming of you, fantasizing.

”It is my duty as your betrothed to ensure your comfort,” His words emerged as somewhat breathless, as if he were labored in his attempts to draw air. You did not see it, but he fisted the cloth along his thigh in an attempt to relieve some tension. “I am to be your husband.”

“Yes, and for that, I am eternally grateful,” Steeling yourself, you decided to give him the truth, unobstructed and plain as a clear day. “I do not wish for there to be any secrets kept between us, which is why I must confess something to you.”

Perplexed, dark brows furrowed together, yet they seemed to show little signs of hostility or malice. There were countless options as to what this could be — anything. A secret laid bare before him in a moment like this had the potential to ruin everything.

Through a clenched fist and tight jaw, Jacaerys swallowed the growing lump within his throat, affording you the courtesy of his undivided attention. “What is troubling you?” Rigid, he waited for you to speak, noticing the brief hesitation that surrounded you.

A sliver of you feared judgment, that such past deeds would permeate your union in a sour light, but you hoped that Jacaerys would not begrudge you for it. With a steady inhale, you cleared your throat.

“I have lost my maidenhead,” Silently, you pleaded to whatever Gods would listen, hoping that Jacaerys would be kind enough to lend you his understanding. “Before this union, before I was betrothed to you. It was long in the past and something that weighs heavily on me.”

It was not anger he felt, but jealousy.

Jealous that another man had the pleasure of having you, to touch you, to live within your fair heart. He nearly shuddered when imagining you in such a lewd manner, so much so that his features became rosy in pallor. Yet, it was long in the past and something set in-stone.

Out of nervousness, you let out a soft cough, smoothing your palms across your legs. “I — Please forgive me, Jacaerys. I only wished to have transparency between us. I hope that this does not tarnish anything.”

“No,” Jacaerys inhaled sharply, hot air filling his lungs, heart thrumming beneath his ribcage. “It does not tarnish anything.” An angry heat crawled across his spine, settling his flesh ablaze with another wave of want, an ache that refused to leave him.

“You are not angry with me?” The sweetness of your inquiry tasted saccharine upon his tongue, honeyed words tangling around his heart. It wasn’t something that you were proud of, but you did not regret such actions, either.

“I am not,” He assured, tensing when you brazenly reached for his hand, squeezing it as a show of affection. Jacaerys felt so incredibly pathetic, feeling his cock twitch incessantly within his trousers from the mere touch of your heavenly hand. “You are still my betrothed. My sentiments will not change.”

Even still, he looked pensive, as if he were teetering on the brink of madness. There was a visible frustration within his features that betrayed his words, prompting you to question him sharply.

“You seem agitated, even still. What troubles you?” It was too shameful to confess to his insurmountable sins — how horribly he desired you, this heart of rot. Jacaerys feared that you would despise him if he said what was on his heart and mind.

Flushed and flustered, he looked away, yet you continued to chase after him, digits caressing across his hand. Gooseflesh iced his spine, throat growing with thickness as he shook his head. “It is improper, and unbecoming of a Prince.”

“More unbecoming than what I just confessed to you?” You wanted him to be put at-ease — intimacy was merely a fact of life, and you understood its sacredness, but the past was simply that. “Jacaerys, we are to be wed, you and I. Consummation will inevitably be apart of that. There isn’t anything that you could say that would turn me away now.”

He would seek absolution on the morrow for this — there was no returning from the onslaught of desire he now faced. It was as if a great storm had rattled his bones, and instead of rainfall, it was his lust laid bare, as dark as swirling thunderclouds.

Biting at his tongue, Jacaerys attempted to stave off his confession, earthen hues flickering away, clinging to anything else. It was wrong to think of you so often — and each thought was wrought with a stinging lust.

“I hunger for you,” It was spoken in a gravelly groan that made your insides twist with a newfound excitement. His cock was throbbing, aching with something awful. “I am envious of this man in your past, longing to be in his place. I have … Thought about you, in ways that are untoward.”

Fluttering breaths hitched within the depths of your throat, growing thicker with each passing moment. Nails dug into the cushion beneath you, his confession leaving behind a wake of fire, turning you to ash.

Admittedly, Jacaerys was not alone in his lascivious imaginations — you fantasized about the very same, more times than you could possibly count.

Jacaerys steeled himself, and as much as he desired to remain collected and maintain propriety, it was all dissolving at the seams. “I — I have not the experience that you have, but I hope that I can learn what pleases you.”

His affections were ravenous, the sting of youth that burned with inexperience, yet he cared little for such a thing. Jacaerys was eager, beyond desperate to know how to best pleasure you, longing for your instruction, if you would offer it freely.

A growing fire stirred within your loins, enough to make your breath hitch within your throat. “Do you wish to consummate tonight?” You questioned, and to that, Jacaerys shook his head.

“No, no — I want to touch you,” His desperation was gorgeous, something that you seldom experienced. “I long to learn your body, but I fear that I may covet you.” Jacaerys uttered, lips parting as a wisp of air tore past his mouth.

“There is no sin in coveting your wife,” Your voice had rolled into some mesmerizing lull, a near-purr that sent shivers down his spine. “Someone who is already yours.” The label was now established, and you were quite satisfied with that. You were blessed to have one of the better husbands in the realm.

Jacaerys huffed, pliant lips graced by firelight, deliciously pink as he met your mouth halfway. It was a frenzied kiss, born of his own yearning and overwhelming desperation, and yours began to climb to new heights of their own.

This hunger was different — it was thrilling and exhilarating, sending a rush of excitement to your stomach, thighs shifting together beneath your nightgown. Your hands reached for his shoulders, digits toying with the clasps of his cloak.

Tousled curls framed his freckled visage, cheeks blossoming with a delicate shade of rose as he kissed you, so passionate that it nearly stole your breath from your lungs. Your digits then crawled towards the nape of his neck, seeking to pull him closer.

A simpering groan stirred within his throat, erupting in a cacophony of breathy sighs as he felt you press closer. Silk clung to your frame, allowing him to glimpse your beauteous curves, to know that something perfect dwelled beneath.

Pupils blown with lust were shielded beneath thick eyelashes and fluttering lids as he scrambled to catch his breath, hands unsure of themselves. “Show me what to do,” Jacaerys sighed, feeling your lips halt to a crawl. “Please.”

To your awe and delight, Jacaerys was subservient, willing to learn and to let you guide his hand. Instinct would drive him soon enough. “Let your hand wander, wherever it pleases you.” Soft digits folded around his wrist, bringing his palm to your collarbone.

If he acted on such whims, there was no telling where his hand might travel, and so he restrained himself. Soft gossamer fabrics swept against his fingertips as he felt the divide where clothing met flesh. He wanted to unravel you, see you with his own eyes.

An excitable shiver iced his spine, jaw tensed as you slipped from your robe, only a curtain of thin silk resting between him and your body. His features seemed permanently steeped in a warm blush, painted with a swath of rose and pink.

The soft peaks of your nipples pebbled beneath fabric at the loss of your robe, gooseflesh raking across your skin at the pace of a wave. His hesitation was visible, etched into his features as he deliberated on what to do, afraid of startling you as if you were a doe in the woodlands.

It was then when you pressed closer, slipping yourself into the expanse of his lap, tossing a leg over his hips until you settled fully. His earthy hues widened, breath hitching within the depths of his throat as he struggled to maintain his composure.

What he wanted to do and what was expected of him were two forking avenues. Jacaerys felt his mouth water involuntarily, palms finally finding their confidence as he placed them atop your hips, caressing toward your thighs. “You are mesmerizing, and even that is a sore understatement.”

His honeyed words elicited a smile from you, fingers gracing the velvet of his doublet, seeking to slip beneath the clasps to remove his tunic. “May I?” You inquired, eyelashes fluttering in rapid succession as your betrothed nodded breathlessly.

As nimble fingers sought to rid him of his tunic, Jacaerys craned forward, mouth desperately seeking your own. A delicate gasp slipped past your lips, dancing with his own, hands preoccupied with feasting upon bare flesh.

He was lean, musculature present yet nothing close to bulky. Broad shoulders were covered in smatterings of freckles that climbed toward his visage, dusted across his face. Jace shivered beneath your palms as they skirted across his chest.

The prominent tent within his trousers brought about an ache like no other, one that he longed to extinguish. Your position made it difficult for him to focus, occasionally bumping your core against him, thighs squeezing incessantly at his hips.

The galloping of his heart slammed against his ribcage, a fluttering sensation spreading like hot tendrils throughout his chest. Darkening hues caught a glimpse of your breasts, yearning to see you without any obstruction at all.

A pang of anxiousness swelled with his gut, the nervousness of performing, of ensuring that you were well-satisfied by his hand. Each kiss evoked a wave of desire that threatened to burn him to ash in your fire, feeling your fingers rake through his curls.

His hands kindly roamed over your body, cupping the swell of your hips through your gown before rising across your stomach. They inevitably sought your breasts, kneading into your clothed flesh, and he felt the soft moan stir within your throat.

Only thin laces provided a degree of separation — between your heavenly flesh and his sinful hand.

“Where do you enjoy being touched?” Jacaerys whispered, features feverishly hot, basked in an orange glow; ethereal, with the makings of a true prince. “I wish to please you.” The needy strain within his tone filled your belly with fire.

“By your hand? Everywhere,” You crooned, dazzled by his gentleness and eagerness to learn. Jacaerys touched you with true selfless intent, driven by the carnal desire to please you, satisfy you as your intended husband. “Between my legs, my thighs, breasts, neck.”

Jacaerys reached for the laces of your nightgown, searching your countenance for any sign of hesitation. “May I undress you?” He questioned, voice pitched with lust, a delicious husk that scratched a certain part deep within you.

“Yes,” A huff, a sigh of relief — you were the very picture of temptuous beauty, armed with the grace of a maiden. You watched with thinly-veiled rapture as Jacaerys gingerly tugged at the laces, silk sagging upon your form. “You are so perfect.”

He was a novice still, merely an apprentice when it came to the intricacies of sensuality, yet hearing your sweetly-spoken praise made him preen. Billowing silk fell away, unraveling your form until it was naked flesh exposed to the warmer air of his chambers.

Gods, you were so beautiful — painfully so, a goddess incarnate, made for him to worship so reverently at your feet. Jacaerys could not mask his want for you, tracing along your bare flesh as if you were a map of constellations, yet even stars would envy you.

With a steadily-growing confidence and assurance, Jacaerys’s fingers caressed along your thigh, tracing upward until he reached the pliant curve of your chest. He cupped your breast, feeling you bristle beneath his touch, thumb brushing across your nipple.

A shiver gripped you, lips parting with a soft gasp as you careened forward, gooseflesh crawling along your spine. “Jacaerys,” A low moan stirred within your throat, eyes pleasantly half-lidded. You felt his lips cautiously press against the slope of your jaw. “Don’t stop.” You sighed.

Swallowing the lump of anxiousness within his throat, Jacaerys did not deliberate, attempting to shed himself of his hesitancy. Each kiss was exploratory, soft lips peppering themselves toward the column of your throat.

He continued to knead and toy with your breast, savoring the sensation of silky flesh within his palm, digits flicking over your nipple. Your hand raked through his curls, absentmindedly tugging until it evoked a groan from his mouth.

Warm, molten heat coalesced between your thighs, slick against your core as you rocked yourself against his growing erection. Jacaerys gasped, lips nearly faltering, but he didn’t want to tear himself away from you so soon.

His kisses became fervent, hot against your flesh as he kissed his way across your throat, seeking your collarbone. Your unattended breast did not lack the attention for long, as he kneaded into your chest with a passionate need.

“Use your mouth.” You instructed, voice teetering along the fine edge of breathlessness, teeth grazing across your lower lip. Jacaerys peered at you, visage flushed with pink, earthy hues flickering toward your breasts.

Jacaerys obeyed, mouth making a trail toward your chest, holding you aloft. Curious lips peppered themselves over your breast, shuddering at the sensation of your nails gently raking over his scalp. “Here?”

You nodded, unable to pry your eyes away from him as he took one of your breasts into his mouth, teeth grazing soft flesh, sucking at your nipple. A wanton moan tore past your lips, such a cry causing his grasp to tighten, your back arching into him.

“Perfect,” Sweetly-spoken praises drifted throughout his chambers, hips incessantly grinding themselves against his clothed tent. Jacaerys nearly moaned in-tandem with you, kissing your chest with gallantry, attempting to stave off his burning arousal. “Do you enjoy that?”

Feigning ignorance as to not give you an edge, Jacaerys looked to you, flushed countenance betraying the words coming out of his mouth. “Enjoy what?” He inquired, hoping to distract you by craning upwards for a kiss.

“This,” Perplexed, you rocked your hips forward again, your cunt brushing against the tent in his breeches. Jace very nearly collapsed beneath your gesture, dark brows furrowing together. “Does it feel pleasurable?”

Jacaerys hesitated, terrified of reaching his peak and ending things prematurely. “Yes,” He panted, throat swimming with a certain thickness. “Gods, I need you — you can’t continue like this.” He pleaded, somewhat sheepish. “I do not wish for it to end so soon.”

Planting a kiss against your betrothed’s brow, you cocked your head to one side. “Nothing has to end once you’ve reached your peak, Jace,” He reveled in your use of his nickname. “There is plenty left to do.”

Filled with a semblance of relief, your intended traced his hands along your sides, feeling along your body. “What would you want me to do?” Eagerness crept into his voice, something you greatly appreciated.

“Kiss me between my legs,” You suggested, watching the scarlet pallor flourish within his cheeks, spreading toward his throat. “Touch me, if it pleases you.” As if to accentuate your statement, you grinded against him again, eliciting a husky moan from the depths of his throat.

Dragging his hand toward the apex of your thighs, he peered at you for tutelage, guidance on where exactly to touch you. Wordlessly, your hand slipped to his wrist, coaxing his digits to your slick cunt, noticing the blush on his features.

Admittedly, you were just as feverishly hot, lips parting slightly as he began to explore, concentrating on your satisfaction. Two fingers parted your petals, seeking to stroke along your slit. It evoked a soft gasp from you, hips careening into the subtle gesture.

“There?” Jacaerys questioned, digits creeping upward until they softly rolled around your clit, stimulating that electric clutch of nerves. You moaned, and it seemed to offer him some answers. “Is that what you want?” He whispered, octave sultry in its resonance.

His words made you smitten, yet you nodded in response, watching as he began to find his confidence. Letting your palms drift toward his abdomen, your back arched as he began to toy with your clit, reveling in the pleasure scrawled across your countenance.

His perfect lips consumed your whimpers, swallowing them whole in the embrace of his mouth. Jacaerys kissed you hard, lips dancing in such a heated entanglement, yet his digits never ceased their movements.

Eager digits preened through his dark tresses, one fist gripping at the nape of his neck. Your other hand sought to find the waist of his trousers, tugging at the strings until they loosened altogether. His visage appeared bewildered, as if he didn’t expect it, yet he didn’t want you to stop.

A whine tore through your throat as he circled your clit with a clumsy inexperience, yet you wouldn’t fault him for it. Jacaerys exerted more effort into learning alone than your previous paramour ever had, and you had nothing but gratitude in your heart.

Jacaerys’s fingers graced places where he knew he could hear you — evoke a myriad of disgraceful noises from your tongue, a maiden of desire. He found his pace inevitably, digits sinking along your weeping cunt before gracing your clit again.

This repetitive pattern made your thighs twitch, perspiration glittering along your brow as you brazenly loosened your betrothed’s underclothes. “I want to touch you,” You whispered near the shell of his ear. “I would not neglect you so.”

With a shiver of anticipation, those dilated, earthy hues of his silently pleaded with you to do whatever you wanted — Seven Hells, he would never belong to another. He was yours, imploding upon himself with your touch and tender gaze alone.

He nodded, pink and compliant, assisting you with maneuvering his breeches aside enough for you to free his cock. Jacaerys was embarrassed at how eager he’d become from this alone, length glistening with a sheen of precum.

Jacaerys did not allow his hand to still completely, lazily tracing his digits across your cunt, shivering whenever your soft palm encircled his length. The contact elicited a breathless groan from his mouth, unable to conceal the wave of excitement that flooded through him.

The tender clash of your lips sent a rush of warmth through you, coalescing between your thighs, heat stirred by the presence of Jacaerys’s fingers. Ensuring a sluggish pace, your hand stroked along your lover’s cock, thumb brushing over the head.

His stomach felt unnaturally tight, a coil of festering heat that slowly unraveled itself. “Gods, you are incredible.” Jacaerys huffed against your lips, voice nearly tapering off into a low whine when you began to kiss his jaw.

Pleasure was mutually exchanged, touching one another in-tandem, bodies beginning to glisten with a sheen of perspiration. It was your lips that lingered against his neck, showering his sweet skin in an untold amount of feather-light kisses.

Flushed with embarrassment, he felt the occasional jolt of his hips as he thrust into your hand, cock throbbing with an overwhelming bliss.

Jacaerys felt trapped within some lust-ridden haze, focus unsteady and sluggish. A soft, simpering moan resonated from you, drifting beside his ear, taking residence within his mind.

A cacophony of crass noises emanated throughout the walls of his chambers — breathy sighs intermingled with wanton moans, the exchange of flesh for fantasy. Soft lips peppered themselves along his freckled shoulder.

Never faltering in your ministrations, your hand continued to stroke along his cock, pace developing into something evocative. Jacaerys groaned, eyes half-lidded, pliant mouth parted as a string of satisfied sighs escaped him.

The simmering flame of desire burned brightly within the pit of your stomach, his digits continuing to stroke along your cunt. A cry of delight tore past your lips, nails lightly digging into his shoulder.

Embarrassment rippled through him whenever he happened to moan, flushed like a ripe peach. His ministrations were passionate, done in a flurry of desperation and excitement. “I … I —” Jacaerys groaned.

“Jace,” You panted, gooseflesh raking across your spine as you rocked your hips forward, seeking any shred of friction. “Gods, I need you.” The words nearly bit his heart into two, oozing crimson desire and want.

“You have me,” Jacaerys insisted through a strained sigh, a solemn promise through pleasured groans. His hips jolted again, cock desperately sliding against your palm, begging for anything you offered to him. “Seven Hells!” He groaned.

Pleasure mounted, swirling within him like a tumultuous wave, one that he seldom experienced. Digits began to still within you, losing their rhythm, abandoning it for something erratic. He chased after his encroaching release, coil beginning to unfurl within his stomach.

Another kiss invited his own demise as you sought sanctuary within his mouth, pliant lips tangling with one another. Your hand continued to drag itself along his cock, thumb idly flicking over the head of his length, bleeding warmth.

Your nerves burned with desire, every fiber of your being consumed by Jacaerys’s presence. You hadn’t felt such a kindly touch before — even your last spark did not bother to learn.

As Jace’s head began to tilt backward, his lips barely graced the curve of your jaw before he came, sudden and white-hot. His spend fell in hot tendrils against your palm, falling to his stomach in a glistening sheen.

He did not expect to come undone so swiftly, but it was the first time you had touched him in such an amorous manner. Half-lidded and dazed, Jacaerys attempted to recuperate, reaching to cup your cheek.

“Forgive me, I did not think to warn you,” He huffed, chest stinging with heat as he fought to breathe deeply again. “That was …” Words turned to ash upon his tongue, features painted with a delicate shade of crimson.

“Invigorated by the moment,” You mused, pressing a kiss against his cheek before crawling off of him, moving toward the basin of water on his vanity. “For one without experience, you do not act clueless.”

Retrieving a rag, you prepared to return to him — but he was at your heels. “Jacaerys?” The very picture of longing, looming beside you as his hand graced the curve of your breast, caressing towards your stomach.

“I want to taste you,” He rasped, his gaze practically begging for you to let him. Gently, he plucked the rag from your fingertips, cleaning himself off with haste. “Please.” Jacaerys groaned.

It was as if the fire within your belly burned thrice as hot, demanding to be extinguished with all its might. Your lips parted, fingers curling into the wood of his vanity as you pressed your thighs together.

Jacaerys’s lips descended upon yours in an ardor-laced frenzy, a groan stirring within his throat, hands immediately seizing your hips. Instinct drove him, desire renewed, as bright as your own flame.

You did not hesitate, reaching for him with a swiftness, digits tangling within his dark curls. He was a godly sight, laces of his trousers undone, visage flushed, earthy hues nearly black with desire. He hadn’t felt so strongly about someone before, anchored to you.

One could not mistake his passion for roughness — Jacaerys was gallant, a man of honor, and you suspected that being rough was not in his interest. Each clash of your lips left you reeling, dizzy with affection, flesh crawling with heat.

“I need you, so terribly,” Jacaerys whispered, filling you with a euphoric sentiment. Desperation crept into his voice, a resonance that was laced with yearning, a craving. “May I?” He was needlessly polite.

Wordlessly, your head bobbed up and down in a series of swift nods, teeth snagging on the inner skin of your cheek. He reciprocated with a kiss against your shoulder, and then to your collarbone, forging a path with his mouth.

Jacaerys only wished to map your flesh, to trace each curve as if you were a winding river — a river worth wading. His softened fingertips incessantly squeezed at your hips, gliding downward to seize handfuls of your haunches.

Each kiss brought forth a glow from you, interwoven with a myriad of throaty whines and whimpers. His confidence only blossomed from there, instilling a sense of pride within him as he kissed between your breasts.

“Jacaerys,” A sharp inhale ripped through your throat as he made his sluggish descent, savoring every inch of your body, skin like velvet beneath his tongue. “Do not torment me.” You hissed, aching for the embrace of his mouth.

It was you that dominated the current tension between you both, reaching for his crown of curls as you eased him downwards. Jacaerys obeyed, sinking onto his knees at your subtle instruction, kissing at your stomach.

He was at your mercy, peering up at you through thick lashes and flushed features, allowing you to take the initiative. You most certainly did, sluggishly guiding him toward your glistening cunt.

There was nothing he wanted more in this world than to oblige you, lips pressing all along your legs, mouth steadily finding the apex of your thighs. Jacaerys took care in spreading you apart, tongue raking hot embers across your cunt, your taste ambrosial.

A stirring fire of lust roused him, cock twitching within his breeches as he delved deeper into your core. His mouth was a thing of beauty, tongue sluggishly tasting you from your clit to your entrance.

Your chest heaved with wanton pants, hand forming a fist within his tresses, involuntarily tugging and pulling as you pleased. Jacaerys did not mind it at all, desperate to please you.

Tangled within his dark mane, you coaxed him closer, digits digging at the base of his skull. Jacaerys released a groan into your core, hands clamping down on your thighs with an ironclad grasp. Your nectar fell heavy upon his tongue, the sweetest of honey.

Jacaerys thoroughly delighted in the feeling of your hands within his hair, your hips occasionally stuttering and bucking forward, desperately seeking his mouth.

He was attentive, even for being a novice at the act itself, lapping at your cunt with a fervor. His plush lips drifted toward your clit, gauging your reaction to the sensation. You moaned, and that only seemed to encourage him.

With slow, eager laps of his tongue, Jacaerys made sure to savor you, letting it flick across your clit. The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit.

The continued sensation of your digits carding through his curls made him sigh with elation. “Jacaerys,” You whimpered, dizzying moans spurring him on. “Gods, you’re doing so well, so perfect.”

The lascivious praise he received made him groan into your cunt, desperate for you to shower him in compliments. He flourished with your sweet words, comely visage happily buried between your thighs.

His eagerness was palpable through each flick of his tongue, lost within the oasis between your legs. Your thighs burned, desire making you hazy, mind clouded with nothing but him.

A myriad of soft whimpers and whines escaped you, hand gingerly tugging on Jace’s hair as he showered your cunt in an alternation of steady licks to lingering ones.

The short, dizzying gasp that tore past your mouth spurred him on, as he pressed another string of kisses against your slit. It was overwhelming, the stimulation — you very nearly collapsed.

Instead, your euphoria manifested as your climax, sudden and without pause, a rush of heat that spilled forth. Jacaerys groaned, continuing to lap at your cunt as if he were drunk upon it, prompting you to peel him off of you.

The sight of your betrothed on his knees before you, panting with exhilaration, chin glistening with your slick — it was a sight that you wanted to see again and again.

“That was incredible,” Careening your digits through the top of his scalp, Jace moved into your embrace, angling his face to kiss your palm. “You did wonderful — are you certain that this is new for you?” You mused.

Jacaerys blushed, yet held firm on his honesty. “It isn’t new anymore,” He chimed, wishing that he could have you like this all the time. “I wish to please you again, if you’ll let me. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

With a cheshire smile, you coaxed him up from the ground, pressing a string of kisses all along his collarbone and neck. He seemed quite pleased with it, holding you closer.

“Tomorrow.” You sighed into his skin, wordlessly guiding him to bed. You wanted to lay with him, learn his heart, more than you already had. As you settled beside him, he appeared beyond elated. “But there is still tonight left.”

[hazelfoureyes]

The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 3)

I deadass wrote part one as a one shot. Is this what peer pressure is? I love it.

It would have been easy to forget you, your soul was his anyways so the real fun had already finished. But that pesky video hit most streamed in 24 hours, he couldn’t even walk to the butcher without hearing you scream his name from errant phones. Surely there was a way, even from hell, to finish what he started and get you out of his system.

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x reader, smut, soft Alastor, unprotected sex (duh?), creampie, edging a little, feelings, Valentino exists, Vox also exists, literally wrote this split screen with part 2 on the right side so I could line it up right like he does hehe, Alastor has a bad time

tag requested: @astraechos , @thekanrojimitsuri2 , @hoeforalbedo , @crazylazybabyk , @oddball08 , @lovingyeet , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @random-3455 , @alicehasdrowned , @des-deswain5621 , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @doctorswife221b

When Val released, ‘The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice’, it immediately went viral. The website crashed, downloads surpassed his wildest, horniest dreams.

It’s scary but also hot? ☆☆☆☆☆

Eat me Mr. Radio Demon!

I’ve never wanted to be a pussy so much in my life.

The reviews were all favorable, the comments rolling in, it was perfect.

Until Vox said it wasn’t. He had seen the video, but figured no one would care about seeing Alastor fuck anything. It wasn’t the success that got under his skin, it was the wave of positive attention it brought Alastor. Suddenly everyone was tuning in to his broadcasts, little miss princess’s hotel was busier than ever.

And it was ubiquitous. Every screen seemed to feature Alastor’s breakout role.

“I said pull it, Val!” Vox slammed his hands on Valentino’s coffee table.

“Vox, baby, you’re being really sensitive about this. I’m literally fucking piles of money right now. Actual piles of money, like, person sized piles.” Val took a drag of his cigarette, “Its good for business.”

“Would you rather fuck money, or me?” Vox’s screen glitched.

Val leaned his elbows on his knees, “That’s a really difficult question for me and I think you know that.”

“Augh! Val! Think of the big picture! That obsolete dickhead gaining attention means gaining power. And that’s bad for business.”

Val’s eyes fluttered, “What if we like, say it wasn’t him?”

Flashes of Alastor’s face fazed in and out of focus across Vox’s screen, your body flipping over, a mess of tentacles writhing.

Val took off his glasses, “Oh yeah, that’s pretty obviously him.”

“What is?” Vox’s face splintered back to the screen.

“Do you—- do you not know you’ve been like,” Val used his cigarette to gesture at Vox’s face, “just straight up playing his porno?”

Vox’s hands flew to his screen, “No! Fucking shit! What the fuck!!” He picked up a vase and threw it across the room, “Wipe it clean off the server! Delete it! Ban it’s fucking streaming! End of discussion!”

Val shrugged, he owned every bootleg distributor in the pride ring. He’d pull it and up the price threefold for illegal downloads. “Whatever you want, amorcito.”

Alastor was quite happy the video went ‘underground’ of sorts. The first month after you left, he was plagued by the sound of your voice. Everywhere he went it seemed you were screaming his name, every phone and television a conduit for you.

What really bothered him though, was the reaction others had to him. Where once sinners leapt from his path and set theirselves on fire to avoid him, now people winked and waved. It made his skin crawl. When alive, at the peak of his radio show fame, it wasn’t uncommon to have fans approach him in jazz clubs. But the decorum of 1930's jazz fans was a far cry from the brazen displays of desire from the citizens of hell.

“Perhaps I should have thought it through?” He mused.

“Ya think?” Rosie put her tea down, “Was it worth it, at least?”

He mulled the question over. Worth it? Well, he had your soul. Which is grand. But you weren’t even in hell to be called upon. What did he really get from the deal? Alastor brought his palm to his face, already feeling the blush spreading. Rosie's chuckle didn't help. He did get something. You'd been gone a month, and each day he woke up having forgot you existed. And every night he lied down to rest and imagined your eyes staring back at him. Did he want to fight you, or surrender, when he saw that look? When the silk tie had fallen from your face, slipping down your nose to reveal your intense stare...He thought his heart had stopped. For every ounce of resilience in your voice he found a pound of fury in your gaze. What poor luck Valentino had been given to receive you as an offering.

"Too soon to tell." He leaned back, finally dropping his hand.

“Well it seemed you had a good time… not that I could see much through the green glow and all that static noise. Really spoiled the climax with that move, Alastor dear."

Alastor’s eyes were saucers, “Rosie. Are you implying-,”

“What?” She drew out the word, “I thought you weren’t into those things so of course I was curious!”

He sighed, “I’m not.”

Rosie pushed the teaspoon around her cup with one finger, “Sure looked like you were.”

He crossed his arms, indignant, “You don’t have to have an appetite to enjoy a meal.”

“Message received loud and clear dear! I won’t bring up the subject again.” She cackled and changed the topic to the latest gossip around the colony.

Another night staring at the ceiling, mind ghosting over the idea of you. He felt like he his sanity was unraveling Leaving his bed, he stepped barefoot onto the grass of the swampy forest he materialized into his room when he moved in to the hotel.

With an outstretched hand, Alastor felt for your connection. He couldn’t see it, but the weight of the chain connecting your soul to him sunk into his palm. Curious, he wrapped his fingers around the invisible links and pulled.

With a soft green glow, you rose from the grass.

His breath hitched, he hadn’t expected that. “It seems our deal really did stick, didn't it?" walking towards you, Alastor dropped to his knees at your feet. You were on your side, unmoving.

His head cocked to the left, ears turned in. Alastor crawled toward you, rolling you onto your back and opening your legs. He slotted himself there, “Hellooo,” He took your face in his both of his hands, elbows resting beside your ears, “Are you… sleeping, dear?”

This is ridiculous.

Alastor inspected your face; peaceful. It was a new sight for him, he'd really only ever seen you in some kind of rage or lost in pleasure. His hand slid down your body, realizing you were in the robe still. He laughed, but realized it was for no one. "Are you really going to sleep, hmm?" He hooked his hands under your knee and brought it up around his hip.

Nothing.

"I'm starting to get offended, dear." He leaned down and whispered into the crook of your neck. "If you don't wake up-" He slid down, the robe open enough to let his breathe ghost over your stomach. He stopped. He couldn't do anything to you while you slept. It was void of any enjoyment for him. Without your reactions, it was just....pointless. While he did enjoy your performance in the studio, he was taught to show respect for those of fairer means. A sleeping partner fell into that category.

He reached beneath you and straightened your robe that had bunched there under your body. Placing your leg back down by your ankle, he began pulling the collar up and closed it snuggly.

He stood there for a second, looking over you. It worked. You're here again. His mother had taught him that the human soul was most vulnerable at night. When asleep, the soul could wander from the body and travel earth and beyond. She even said people could train themselves, and with practice, remember their journeys even after waking.

Kneeling down, Alastor pushed your hair from your face, "Don't forget. What fun is there in that?" The shadow beneath your body shimmered neon green before you were swallowed by inky darkness and Alastor was once again, alone.

After his mother died, Alastor was often alone. Most of his time, really. Well, there were people always around. But they were staff, or hangers-on, or women looking for a comfortable life. They were dancers and bootleggers and musicians. Which was fine and grand. But, they never saw him. He never let them, they never tried. He was the radio host. The great dancer. The southern gentleman. The killer. The cannibal. The deer in the woods. Not a single person ever looked at him on earth and saw him. Which was precisely what he wanted, and manufactured with his wide smile and good manners.

So when your eyes bore into him from that tacky studio set, and he felt suddenly naked in front of you, he knew you were looking at the him. You saw him.

It was worth it. Alastor was willing to admit that to himself.

Over the next couple days, he would randomly try to pull you to him. Through out the day, in different places, he would summon your soul and wait. Nothing. It confirmed his theory, your soul was only able to leave your living body while you were asleep.

In the privacy of his room, Alastor paced the space between grass and carpet. What was this feeling? Nerves? He hadn't felt nervous since he was a child.

But, what was causing him a pause, was if he summoned you and you didn't appear. Maybe it had been a fluke? Maybe for the 7th time in 3 days he would pull on that connection and be left standing there, alone.

Still.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain composure. Finally, he reached out for your ties to him, and pulled you into hell.

He held his breath, unconsciously.

With a glow, you appeared again before him. He was quick this time to approach you, setting beside you and leaning close to your face. Asleep.

"Is this my foreseeable future?" He asked, "Staring at you while you sleep, my doe."

Suddenly, you opened your eyes and met his. Reaching up, you grabbed him with both hands and pulled his face into yours. Your hands ran through his hair as you took him in a frenzied kiss. Alastor froze for a beat, but when your tongue licked at his bottom lip, he was brought back to the moment. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, rolling over yours and reaching as deep as he could. He felt like he could unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole. He really could, if he wanted to.

Alastor swung his leg over your body and straddled your hips. "Mon cher, you've finally joined me." His chest was rising and falling with excited breath.

"Alastor?" You tried to feel your body, but it was nowhere near you.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. You're still alive and well. I've merely borrowed your soul for the evening." He looked down at you, and finally, for the first time in what felt like months, your eyes fell to his face.

But today, they were soft and out of focus.

"Can you see me, my dear?" He leaned down slightly, trying to read the look on your face.

"Am I dreaming?"

He chuckled, "Perhaps we both are." With an exhale he wondered if he had been holding his breath this entire time. "No, this isn't a dream."

"I don't understand...but--," You lifted your arms towards him, "Should I say thank you? It was fucked, what happened." Your voice was slow, words a little slurred, "But, I'm home safe and sound now. You did what you promised me. I don't know if I'll ever see you again so...should I thank you now?"

Your tongue felt fat in your mouth, heavy and delayed.

Alastor leaned down over you, "You don't have to say anything." He used his knees to open your legs, and settled there. "Unfortunately, you've become a little worm in my mind." His hands slid under the silk robe you hadn't stopped wearing yet, "I'm hoping if I finally have you, I can...whet my appetite, and return to my normal self." He felt along your hips, hands stopping when he realized you were naked under the thin piece of fabric.

"I keep remembering," you covered your eyes with your hands, "that big hand of yours. And I realize, you never touched me past that."

He smiled, genuinely, truly, "Exactly! You understand the problem precisely. Shall we both have our fill and be done with it?"

You moved your hands to touch his ears, waiting for him to disappear at any moment, "Please. I'm so tired of missing someone I don't even know." He removed your hands, and you held them to your chest.

"My thoughts exactly, mon cher." He adjusted his hips, letting his crotch rub against your core. This was the closest he had been to you since you'd met. It was dizzying, and it felt like his skin was vibrating everywhere it met yours.

A soft moan left your throat, causing his cock to twitch in his pants. Yes, it was you. This wasn’t his standard response to such sounds. Alastor sat up, his legs bent and knees at either side of your hips. Taking one of your hands from your chest, he placed a kiss on a digit. Then another. He kissed his way down your arm.

“So gentle. Weird.” You tried to focus on him, but your mind was still cloudy. The sensations were here but also so far away, too far away, in another lifetime all together.

“Was I not gentle before, all things considered?,” he continued his way down your arm.

You let your eyes drift to the sky, stars watching you from above, “More than him.”

His mouth went dry at the mention of Val, "I am many things more than him, darling." As his lips found your neck, he took a deep breath. "I can actually take my time now. No audience." He sucked a bruise, and released you with a pop. He presented two fingers to your lips, and without thinking about it you began to suck them. While you were slipping your tongue over and between his fingers, he moved to continue a trail of kisses and nips down your right arm.

"Get them nice and wet." He watched through half lidded eyes as you licked his long fingers. He knew he needed to remove his hips from yours, but the idea pained him. Finally, he took his fingers from you and swiped them over your entrance. Your chest jumped, so he did it again. He tried to push the fingers into you, but the resistance was more than he expected. You were wet, but tight. He let his middle finger slip inside you. So soft. So warm. His shadow tendrils allowed him some feeling but not this, this was something they kept to themselves.

"When was your last time, mon cher?"

Your mind searched for memories still left behind in your body somewhere, "In hell."

"You're in hell now."

"This doesn't feel like hell." You ground your hips onto his palm, trying to get that single digit slowly moving in you to come deeper, to become more. He replied by pushing in his pointer finger, erection becoming painful already as you let out a little moan. Bending them up, he began to make long thrusts past your g-spot. His mouth long stilled on your arm, staring at your face as you whimpered into the sky.

"Look at me."

Your eyes darted to him, half open and wet. Alastor felt his patience snap. Undoing his belt and zipper, he finally freed his cock. He ran his head between your entrance to your clit , gathering your fluids on him to ease his entry. Taking both of your legs, he held them at the ankles and set them on his left shoulder. With your hips slightly raised, he pressed into you.

With a hiss you dug your fingers into the dirt, body tensing instinctively. One of his arms hugged your legs to his chest, the other was now bruising your hips as he continued to push into you. With just his head in, he began fast and shallow thrusts. Every time making more progress into your warmth. The stretch burned, but the feeling of him forcing space into you for himself just made you wetter.

Finally, he bottomed out. He had no sense to still himself, shallow thrusts gave way to long, deep plunges. Alastor's breathing was filling the space around you, mixing with your own. Leaning back, he looked down at where you two were connected.

He withdrew slowly, nearly entirely, and pushed back in. Again. And again. It was intoxicating, how he felt himself melt into you. He'd had lovers in life, but never had he been with someone without a barrier of some sorts. Be that his well placed smile or latex. He'd never fucked anyone raw before. He almost regretted not trying earlier, as the sensation of your walls and arousal sticking to his cock and thighs was breaking him. Watching himself entirely disappear inside you, he closed his eyes. Everything was so hot, so tight, would he disappear entirely? Would he lost in the pleasure your body was so effortlessly giving? Was he the unlucky one?

Alastor pushed your knees up to your chest, using his body weight to hold them down as his paced picked up. You brought your dirtied nails to your own legs, holding on tightly. Desperately you needed something to tether you to the ground, keep you still against the twitches shaking your stomach and chest. You felt with any jolt to your nerves you'd fall off the world and drift into the night.

He felt the build up, his balls tightening and drawing in, he wanted to slow down-- he wanted to bring you there first but he couldn't stop the rutting of his hips. With a whine, Alastor's forehead came to rest on yours, hips smacking into you with a wet slap. "Look at me," He commanded again, and you obeyed. One of his hands came to your chin to hold your head still, "Don't you dare look away."

Struggling to keep your eyes open, he pushed into you with one final, deep thrust. His hands came down now to the ground around you as he pushed you into the grass. Hips stuttering, cock twitching in you. You'd never let anyone cum inside you before, the sensation of heat quickly filling your cunt made you tighten around him. "Good girl", He purred, jaw tight.

He pulled back slowly before bringing his hips down, sweat sticking to his forehead where it met yours. His pace was quickly becoming brutal, a hand finding its way to that little bud of nerves of yours. With rough pressure and hurried speed his thumb drew out your orgasm. When you came, you gasped out his name, craning your neck up to ghost your lips over his open mouth. As the pleasure surged from your center, you could feel your body again. He tried to keep his eyes on your eyes, but the overstimulation of your cunt trying to wring him dry forced him to shut them.

A light shone through his eyelids, startling them open again.

"Wait-!" He watched you get pulled away from beneath him. Before he could react, Alastor was on all fours in the forest, alone. Eyes wide, he pounded his fist against the grass. He tried to summon you back to him, to drag you to him but nothing happened.

He thought he'd gone crazy. Hands came to his head, smile pained as he tried to process what he was feeling.

No.

Not enough.

Too soon.

A growl ripped through his chest. This hadn't satiated him at all. No, he was worse off now. He was starved, he had nourishment ripped from his mouth and he as angry for it. Angry to hell, to Valentino, to the conditions of owning a living soul.

He did not even attempt to rest that night. Taking his time, he had to find composure again. Alastor managed to pull himself together after several hours of self isolation. After his heart stopped racing, after his hands stopped feeling phantom skin beneath them, he calmed his smile and went about his day.

When night returned, he couldn't help but stare into the forest domain. He wanted so badly to bring you to himself, but that want was terrifying. It was overpowering him, and he couldn't accept that.

Another night left, another day passed. Husk found Alastor's cruelty to be growing, his patience giving out at the smallest perceived slight. Angel stopped engaging entirely. Charlie found herself wanting to approach him, find out why it seemed his hair was always standing on end, his eyes sharp. But, she didn't. She couldn't. Alastor would pass through the halls like a raging specter. He wouldn't slow or acknowledge anyone.

He managed a week. Satisfied with his resolve, he waited for when night fell and he was sure you'd be deep asleep, yanked your soul from your body and into him. He felt rabid, like he his brain was catching fire. Finally when you materialized before him, he grabbed your face with his hand.

"My doe?"

Just like before, you stirred, and your hands immediately went for his hair. He pulled back, "Are you awake?"

"Am I dreaming? Alastor?" You looked drunk, mind struggling to process the change in scenery. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he hovered above you, and you pulled him into a kiss. He happily returned it, hands quick to untie the robe you had taken as your own. He wasted now time in getting himself unsheathed and lined up with you, before he could enter you reached out to him, "I wanted to say--- thank you. I don't know if I'll ever really see you again."

The realization made his blood run cold. His mother's stories flooded back to him. It takes training, and time, to remember the travels of the wandering soul.

"You don't have to say anything." Alastor thrust into you, your body tense but not as resistant as before. When he was finally enveloped in you, he could feel himself calm. He didn't feel any need to be gentle this time around. He immediately set a bruising pace, digging his nails into the soft flesh of your ass as he forced your hips to meet his with every thrust. You gasped beneath him, eyes wandering up to the sky just past his head. He'd bring you to climax, wanting to drink in your expression, and to his horror as you choked out his name you were spirited away from him again.

Everyone on the floor heard Alastor's rampage. When Angel ran to get Charlie and Vaggie, they were scared to knock. With a steadying breath Charlie rapped the door, "Al? You okay in there?"

Suddenly, silence.

The door whipped open, Alastor smiling with half lidded eyes, "Why of course. What ever made you think otherwise?"

"The fuckin' sounds of carnage, maybe?" Angel looked past Alastor. The sofa shredded, coffee table in pieces. The wallpaper had been ripped down and torn to shreds. Charlie noticed the dirt under his nails, but Alastor coolly pulled his hands behind his back.

"Can I do something for you?" His tone was cold.

"I guess not, Al...," Charlie took in the damage, "Did something happen?"

Alastor smiled wider, "No," and closed the door. No one saw him the following day, which wasn't entirely unusual but it was weighing on Charlie. When Alastor finally appeared and announced he was going to Cannibal Town, she was elated. A chat with Rosie would surely bring him back to himself.

"I don't see the problem. You've got her soul, you can summon her to you, and you get a little," She searched for the word, "relief. Why do you look so pained, old friend?"

"You know better than most I have no interest in chasing women, Rosie."

"Yet..." She cocked her brow.

"It isn't about the release. I don't particularly need that. I never have." He huffed, the conversation already exhausting him, "When I would kill someone, I was God. Their life was in my hands. I took that power from them."

Rosie clicked her tongue, "And when she's in your hands?" Alastor hunched over his black coffee before remembering himself and straightening his back. "I've never seen you like this before, hun. You've got it bad, huh?"

"Personal connections like this, Rosie, are dangerous. I lost my self restraint entirely. It's a weakness." He fought to regain his smile, never knowing who could be passing by.

She tutted him, "Oh no, that's where you're wrong. The difference between a strong man and an unstoppable man is having something to care about." Rosie leaned over and set her hand on top of his, "Imagine you walked into Val's studio right now and found her like you did a couple months ago. How would you react?"

His stomach wretched forward, if he saw you today, hanging from the ceiling? The stench of Valentino's cigarette smoke clinging to your hair, the marks where his hands had made contact with you? His hand under her's tightened, claws leaving marks into the wooden tabletop. "Do you feel weak right now, Alastor?" The hair on his ears was standing straight up, his now black eyes met hers, "You sure don't look it."

He’d remembered hearing something similar before from Vaggie. Could it be true? It was a precarious ladder. If he let himself be close to someone, then the person is in turn close to him, then that person knows him intimately, and then— they are a walking soft spot. Someone could take them and torture them for information. Or, hurt them to hurt him.

But, who would dare? A fire rose in chest at the thought. What was the point of power if he couldn’t have what he wanted? If he had to answer to others about his desires? To pursue strength and status was what he wanted but if that strength didn’t afford him freedom than what good was it, really?

"I say, not that you asked," Rosie smiled and withdrew her hand, "Could be nice to have a little company now and then. Plus, better than waiting 60 years or something for her to just die." She shrugged, "Now, eat. You look like a shit."

Rosie had a point, while your existence was fragile, it was still available to him.

For awhile, he would call you nightly. Alastor would fuck you into the grass, beneath the trees, under the stars. He learned your orgasm would wake you, and he would draw it out as long as he could. He'd edge you for hours, watching you sob for your release. Slowly, your consciousness became more and more solid during your meetings.

To his relief, his hunger for your presence calmed over time. He could handle a week or even two without sharing your company, and he noticed each time you seemed to recognize him more. You'd participate more, moan louder, scream his name and squirm from the pleasure. He relished trapping you underneath his wide shoulders, pulling you onto his lap as he fucked up into you.

He wasn't fond of the few times he summoned you and you were already wet, or smelling of cologne. He'd tease, "Lonely?" and when he'd fuck his back cum into you before helping you chase your own orgasm, he'd remind you, "You're mine, little doe. No one can replace me." And he'd feel his chest swell. Others had your body for the night, but your soul was his forever. With every meeting, he felt more like himself. And the nights you were screaming his name in the forest, and his horns were looming over you as he marked you over and over as his, he felt powerful.

Some nights, he'd call you to him to just let you rest. He'd enjoy a book, or some jazz over a meal, while you lied quietly in his bed.

The days he pulled you into hell and your hair smelled of the trees, of sweat and dirt, he would be gentler. He could feel the ache in your muscles, the tan on your cheeks, and sent you back.

One such night came, where he of course took your chains in his hand and tugged. But this time, when you arrived, your face was painted with anger. You were asleep still, and even when he whispered to you, you didn't wake. You were having a nightmare, from what he could tell. He took you to his bed, and let you settle.

You stayed there until waking up again in your bed.

And every night that week, he'd bring you to his bed and go about his tasks while you fought some demons in your head. He'd never seen you have a nightmare, and began to wonder if something was happening in the overworld.

Alastor was enjoying a deer carcass in his room, humming softly to himself, when a green light erupted on the floor.

He was well aware it wasn't night anymore, and that he hadn't brought you here. With a soft smile, he left his meal and approached the light. Slowly, your body rose from the darkness there. Not just your soul.

When you looked up at him, a smile on your lips and two small doe ears on your head, he grinned, "Did you miss me terribly, my little doe?" He offered you a hand up, "Welcome home.”

༻Masterlist༺

[alexiroflife]

"trance"

fluff, slight crack, modern!sukuna, whipped & clingy sukuna, itadori family!

ryomen sukuna x reader

Synopsis: sukuna, a man who rarely attempts to keep his thoughts to himself for the sake of others, makes his infatuation with you everyone else's problem when he's high

to sum it up: sukuna's fried, and naturally all he wants is you

WC: 3,258

Warning(s): mentions/use of marijuana, suggestive themes, horny ass sukuna who has no decorum in front of his family

You know Sukuna is no better than any other man who you have caught the attention of in the past. No matter the time of day or the occasion, the salmon-haired man is quick to intrude on your personal space, invading your unsuspecting body with the wander of his large hands over your frame until you find yourself returning to the default state of being at his will.

Sukuna proudly takes ownership of his infatuation with you too. Rather shamelessly, he's got an arm wound over your shoulders and locked around your neck or hands firmly splayed on your waist, bringing yours to his and keeping you there for as long as he deems necessary.

He would never say so out loud, but it is evident by his body language and the way he strays from being more than ten feet away from you that he is attached to you at the hip. Sukuna is an aggressively clingy man, for as long as you belong to him, he is taking advantage of your closeness, of your body, of your time, mind, heart, and soul.

Even so, when Sukuna is in the proper state of mind, he still remains somewhat calm with his actions and how he presses himself to you. He will appear almost angry with affection, but silent save for a few commands to relax your body or to stop stubbornly attempting to push away when you feel crowded, though you never have any luck in that regard anyway. He is more reserved, more contained with his confrontations as though touching you is the easiest, most soothing, and most familiar thing he has ever done. Sukuna has a tendency to skillfully mask his truest emotions with a viel of apathy and air of indifference, despite how his body speaks for the things he fails to verbalize.

And now, of course, while Sukuna is not at all in any realm close to withholding a proper state of mind, or state of sobriety more accurately, his body betrays him tenfold and acts on its own will while his mind is on the backburner, hazily numbing itself with the passionate buzz of the smoke that was dragging from his lips and past his nostrils.

Sukuna often fails to take into account the appropriate time and place to engage in or say certain things, for he feels that if there is something he wants to do or discuss, no company or environment could shift his will to do so. Arrogant with pride, Sukuna operates according to his desires, and all those who know him are quite familiar with his rather inconsiderate antics.

That is why the crimson eyed man is splayed out on his brother's sofa, legs spread dangerously far apart with his arms thrown over the back of the furniture. Blurry lidded eyes stare off in a heavy daze captured solely by you, who are maneuvering about his brother's kitchen alongside Choso, who is helping you locate the baking sheet for the cookies you have been yammering on about baking all day.

You can feel his eyes burning into your skull from a mile away, and you are wildly too accostumed to this routine of his for you to pay the notion any mind. You are far too focused on your own task at hand to meet the fiery, lust consumed gaze that your boyfriend has locked onto you.

His eyes, unfathomably red, trace the outline of your figure slowly as though drinking in the sight of you, savoring it so that he can taste it on his tongue long enough for it to linger until he can get his hands on the true, physical flavor of you.

There's a darkness in the way he checks you out from across the room seated next to Wasuke, who glares angrily ahead of him with a twisted scowl at whatever channel has been randomly flicked to in the stupor of Sukuna's high. It almost feels as though the room is charging with the volcaic tension that Sukuna's body emits from its place in the living room, for his obsession with you manifests into some sort of beast before everyone's eyes when he is under the influence of weed.

And despite being surrounded by family, Sukuna can do nothing but watch you with that hungry glint in those hues of blood red, paying no mind to how easily the room can read him.

Truthfully, Sukuna does not even feel that he should be blamed for the way he is eye fucking you now. You decided upon yourself that it was a good idea to visit the Itadori home with a thick cardigan slipping down the skin of your shoulder to reveal the tank top that hugs your midsection and tits tightly, which you only vurther expose when you decide to strip the outer fabric off with complaints of being warm. Your graceful arms stretch to grab the kitchenware out of Choso's hands to set aside on the counter, your bare neck craning gently with the tilt of your head and a concentrated pinch of your brow as you mix raw ingridients into a bowl with your hands, kneading the thick pasty mixture through your soft fingers. You have to be doing this on purpose, Sukuna decides, for you are far too captivating for him to turn away

Sukuna's lashes flutter with a slow blink and the stroke of his fingers over his mouth and chin. You look practically edible standing there, the overhead light of the kitchen illuminating your frame and epmhasizing your otherwordly, enticing beauty. Of all the many ways he has come to learn he can devour your body, each scenario flitters through his fuzzy brain the longer he stares at you, his pupils expanding with possessive want.

You flicker your eyes upward momentarily when you feel a particular shift in the atmosphere, and when you do, you meet your boyfriend's piercing eyes from afar. Your brows quirk and your lips tug to the side with nervous judgment when you catch that dangerous glimmer that can only mean you will not make it out alive when the two of you end up alone.

With slightly widened eyes, you slowly turn your eyes back to the cookie dough and a curious Choso standing beside you with oil spray for the pan.

"You okay?" the twenty-one year old questions slowly and you shake your head.

"Your uncle looks like he's gonna kill me," you exhale anxiously in response. Choso looks up to find what you are referring to, and his face sours when he catches wind of Sukuna's expression.

"Freak," he mutters under his broth with the clench of his jaw, passing the spray over to you amid his sickened glower.

As if beckoning him subconsciously, the brunette watches in something akin to horror when Sukuna lifts his arms from behind him and pushes himself up gradually to his feet. He appears to move in slow motion, hands tucked into his pockets and eyes still glued permanently to you as he saunters his way into the kitchen with heavy strides.

You keep your gaze down, pretending to be entirely too occupied as the salmon haired man slips into the space directly behind you, the strong scent of weed sinking into his cologne wrapping over you. Sneakily, warm palms snake over your hips. They still there a moment, gripping experimentally before trailing around and over your stomach, opting to cling to you this way as he steps his chest to your back and curves his nose toward you cheek.

He takes in a deep breath, inhaling you graciously as his hands wander over your stomach. You feel the tip of his nose and the whisper of his lips graze your skin as he lenas himself down toward the crook of your jaw and neck. His actions are sluggish, a representation of his current state of mind, and he pulls you into his embrace as though he had been seeking so for years on end.

"Can I help you, Kuna?" you murmur, gripping a ball of dough into your palms and rolling it.

He does not say a word. Only a low grunt escapes his lips and vibrates against you, his eyes falling closed. He seems to crowd into you closer, though you are unsure of how that is possible when he already has you tucked into him so securely.

"Just stand still," his voice rumbles into you, lips pressing to your ear in a soft kiss in between his slow words. "Let me feel on you."

You grunt softly when his lips touch your cheek, veiny hands smoothing over your abdomen in gradual circles, one hand sliding back to sooth down the top of your thigh and back up again. "Sukuna," you hiss as heat pinches your body. "Stop, I'm trying to bake," you lean over to shrug away, but he's following you, chasing your lips to the side and crushing his weight down into you, pecking over your jaw.

"No one told you to stop," he murmurs. "Keep going."

You bite down on your tongue, attempting to hide how flustered you have become by Sukuna's behavior, especially in such an open space. You expect nothing less from him, and neither does his family, but hell, he never knows when to quit and it absolutely kills you.

"Leave her alone," Choso rolls his eyes, shuffling away from Sukuna's bulky figure pushing past him to get to you. "She just said she was doing something."

"Yeah, and get a god damn room!" Grandpa demands bitterling from the couch with the raise of an agitated fist.

"You're scarring your family, Sukuna," you say flatly in between the uproar of hatred toward the salmon haired man, to which he lifts his head from you briefly with a mischievous smirk snaking onto his face.

"They'll live," he grins.

"At this rate, you'll be the very thing to keep that from happening and push me closer to death," Grandpa fumes.

"One could only hope, old man."

"Eat shit."

An amused chuckle rumbles through Sukuna's chest and against your back, practically rattling your ribcage. "Can't you all be nice to each other," you sigh as Sukuna turns his focus back down to you. His arms tighten around you, his caress of your stomach over your tank top ceasing to fasten his arms around your waist and drop his forehead to your shoulder. He sways you slightly back and forth, droopy eyes glazing over at the feel of your plush body against his.

"We can't be nice if we constantly get on each other's nerves, (Y/n)," Choso says tiredly. "Or more specifically, if Sukuna pisses us off."

"But that's damn near every day," you raise your brows with a twitch of an amused smile as you proceed onto rolling the next few balls of cookie dough.

"Exactly."

You shake your head, lifting your arms slightly as Sukuna's burly arms wrap up under yours. "Your family hates you, baby," you comment slyly.

Sukuna clicks his tongue, grumbling as he shifts with you. "I don't give a fuck," he murmurs. "What perfume are you wearing?"

"I'm not wearing any perfurme," you scrunch your brows in confusion at his abrupt shift. "Why?"

"Mm," he hums. "You smell good."

"Okay," you tilt your head away when his lips peck over your neck, his teeth eventually sinking down to nip at you. You flinch. "Get off, weirdo!" a giggle slips into your demand, your face scrunching when a hand comes to cup the side of your face to refrain you from moving away from the invasion of his kisses.

"For fuck's sake," Wasuke hisses under his breath.

"Let's go," Sukuna suddenly mumbles into you.

You turn your head to peek at him over your shoulder quizzically. "What?"

"Let's go, woman," he repeats, speaking directly into your ear. "Want to taste you. Now."

"Woah," your eyes go wide as Sukuna moves to feel you up again, thick fingers brushing the hem of your tanktop and grazing over the sliver of skin beneath. "You can't just say things like that," you scold, eyes darting over the room in panic though your own body is beginning to betray you. "Behave."

"Like hell you actually want me to," you can feel him smirk as the sly words leave his mouth, and you shiver, putting aside the last ball of dough you needed to roll. "Come on, peach," he urges rather gently, tilting his head over your shoulder to find the connection of your gaze with his red eyes. You look back up at him, eyes glassy enough for Sukuna to determine that he is getting to you. "Don't be rude."

"Sukuna, you're distracting me," you groan.

"Relax," he urges, "Enough complaining and relax."

His instructions fall on your ear as though he is attempting to coax you into submission, which he has a keen tendency of doing even when he is fully coherent. "At least have the decency to wait until we go home to act like this."

"I shouldn't have to wait for something I already have."

"Around your family, you should!"

"Quit worrying about them and focus on me."

"You make it impossible not to when you hover me like this."

"Good," he kisses the back of your ear. "Now let's go."

"Later," you smile with the emphasis. "I haven't even washed my hands yet."

Sukuna stretches his arms forward from under you, cupping over your wrists from either side and guiding your hands to the left whre the sink resides as Choso busies himself with tidying up a bit. You watch your boyfriend reach to flip the faucet on, then guide your dough coated hands under the water gingerly.

You inhale sharply, ducking your head to conceal your smile as his thumbs smooth your palms clean with the addition of some soap. You can feel his chest pressing into your shoulderblades and the weighted exhales the spread through his body. His head hovers over your own, eyes turning back to admire you as he mindlessly continues to wash your hands.

"God, is that (Y/n) over there? I hope that idiot isn't clobbering the poor girl," Jin's voice speaks up from behind you all at the front door, which had swung open moments before. You all watch him and Itadori shuffle into the space, the teenager clad in his baseball practice uniform.

"He's washing her hands," Choso deadpans, turning to greet Yuji as he walks into the space. The said boy furrows his brow and looks over at the huddled pair of the two of you.

"Really? Why? That's... oddly nice of him," he tilts his head.

"No the hell it's not," Gramps chimes in from the couch, having tuned into the family conversation with the return of his son and grandson.

Sukuna ignores the comments getting thrown around about him, his mind's only sole focus being you and the way your hands trickle over with water within his own.

"All of you shut up. I'm speeding things up," Sukuna slurs, and all heads turn to him.

"Are you high?" Jin raises an unimpressed brow at his twin.

"Stay out of my business."

The living room and kitchen combined erupt into lively chatter as voices overlap one another and some argument about some sports team ensues after an argument about Sukuna's habits. The cookies long having been tucked into the oven flood the space with an intoxicating scent, and as you move around to make sure the space is tidy when you are done, Sukuna does not let go of you once. He's stuck to you, rolling his hands over your hips and kissing across your shoulder, performing rather uncharacteristically gentle as he handles you as though cherishing you in his senses' heightened yet blurred state.

The red eyed man is especially hot on your tail when you step away to the bathroom. The second you make it into the space to prepare to examine yourself in the mirror, the door is clicking shut behind you and Sukuna is making his way over with a gleam of entranced greed.

You go to press your palm forward to catch his chest before he can completely approach you, but your strength proves inefficient against Sukuna's as he pushes back against your hands, lips curved in a lazy smile.

"You need to calm down," you nod with a nervous smile, squeaking when he flies his hands downward to tightly clasp your waist and pull you into him swiftly. "Seriously! Stop looking at me like that. You're gonna get us in more trouble."

"Be quiet, gorgeous," he purrs when your body collides to his with a thud. He hums, sliding his fingers past your hair to settle on the back of your neck, his thumb clasping over the front in a soft squeezing motion. Your smile dwindles slightly as he drags your head forward, his lips parted with a toothy, satisfied beam as you melt down before him. "Give me a kiss."

"No," you breathe out as though you had been holding in air.

"Why? What's the matter with you, girl?" his sultry voice questions rather teasingly.

"It's never just a kiss with you," you whimper. "And I'm not doing anything at your family's house with all of them standing twenty feet away."

"Didn't I tell you to stop talking about them? Hm?"

You chew down on the inside of your lip, eyes flickering to Sukuna's lips. "You never listen."

"I'm listening," he murmurs, brushing his mouth against yours. "To that little heartbeat of yours racing whenever I touch you."

"Kuna," you whisper, his hand giving your neck another soft squeeze. His heavy stare envelopes you in its fuzziness, his surroundings an air of buzzing nonsense yet you are the clearest thing that appears before him, your scent, your body, your face.

"Kiss me, peach," he orders lowly again and you shiver.

"Just one kiss-"

"Mhm."

Sukuna captures your lips in his before you can even finish your sentence, his aroma wafting into you so intoxicatingly that you believe that you yourself could get high off of your boyfriend's presence.

He melts into you, smoothing his mouth over yours passionately, firmly, softly. You cling to his back, leaning backward as Sukuna pushes further into you, his hand catching the back of your head so you don't lose balance with his weight. He's lethargic and heavy, slow with the prying of your lips apart and the slip of his tongue against yours, with the tilt of your head and the generous exploration of his hands over your frame. You almost do not think he can breathe, that he is fighting off air to keep his lips connected with yours.

You release a soft moan when his sharp teeth sink into your bottom lip to drag it out, eyes peeled open slightly to watch the blissful expression of your face.

"Sukuna," you mutter his name once more, only this time, you are unsure if it is a plea or another warning.

The salmon haired man bends down to tuck an arm under your butt, wandering you over to the bathroom counter and seating you atop the granite.

He cages you beneath him with his hands planted on other side of you. "That's right," he smirks. "Keep saying my name like that"

He presses back into you, and you wonder to yourself as you succomb to his will why anyone in this house allows Sukuna to smoke around you, knowing the recurrent outcome.

[wintersera]

"so are you ovulating?" || ningning x succubus!reader

notes: i actually wrote this fairly quick, but finding the right pics for the moodbaoard actually pissed me off erm.. but first of all FIRST NINGNING FIC WE CHEERED (a/n i forgot to say this was a part two of the succubus!reader thing soooo here’s the link!)

cw: tail sex (kinda), succubus!reader, top!ning, bottom!reader, mentions of a singular man

wc: 4k

after the ‘feeding on your unnie’ incident that had happened a few months ago, your performance was phenomenal. with all that energy you gained from that one night, plus some extra other nights following from then with jimin unnie, it was as if your every move, every note and every emotion was amplified by tenfold. you were on fire and the audience could feel your passion for performance burning brightly with every stage you did.

your mentors and managers commented on how energetic you had been for the past couple of months, how your performances were absolutely phenomenal, the knetz weren’t on your ass - which was surprising since almost half of them were all the time. the western fans said that you were, quote on quote,“serving cunt” in the recent solo weverse live you did… whatever that meant. even your own members were surprised at how active you were throughought day and night. 

but like everything in life, things weren’t bound to stay all too well.

a few days ago you tripped on stage, and to make matters worse, it was in front of your fans. the audience heard a small little thud and spotted you on the ground looking at the ceiling for a few seconds before you stood up embarrassingly. luckily this was the first take, you had other opportunities to do your very best with the smidge of energy you had left. 

knowing your fans, particularly your stans - either they’d make a meme out of you spacing out on the floor, or, they’d spam hashtags all over twitter saying “SM PROTECT YOUR ARTIST��� or something around those lines.

not only did that happen, but whilst you were preparing to record your lines in the studio, that familiar pain you would get whenever you were starved from energy came back ten times worse; it felt like you were being pierced in the stomach.

jimin noticed your pained expression and squeezed your shoulder in reassurance as she entered the recording room, but it kind of translated wrong in your head, causing you to moan out loud into the mic in front of your directors - not to mention you could hear yourself through the headphones echo. jimin chuckled lightly “what’s up with you?” then left the room a moment afterwords.

fast forward to the present day. a mundane and repetitive one. you had a photoshoot early in morning and a small meeting sometime in the afternoon and then you were free to do whatever you wanted afterwards. you thought that maybe some vocal lessons later in the evening would distract you, but you were pretty sure your vocal teacher was out with his husband drinking today. good on him, it buys you more alone time, and alone time makes you think about what to do about your situation. 

on to more pressing matters, aka your raging desire for sex. 

it randomly hit you hard while walking back from the company to your local seven eleven. you thought to distract yourself with buying a sweet treat for everyone, but instead you began to feel dizzy “ouh.. this isn’t good” there wasn’t a bunch of groupies following you around the block to your own misfortune, and it was still bright outside.so what was there to do about that urge?

it’s not like you could message jimin unnie out of the blue and ask to fuck. where was the decorum? plus you’re in the middle of promotions, what if you drain too much energy that she’s unable to perform the next day.

and it also didn’t help that your internal monologue was fucking you up.

“shit, do i just ask the manager to… NO- ew what the hell am i thinking? he’s way older than me. nevermind. why did i think about that jesus christ.” 

your options were slim. it was either wait for night, go to the practice rooms and prey on a cute trainee, with consent of course - or go ask jimin unnie again and risk exhausting her even though you just started promotions… 

you wondered who was at home right now.

you recalled ning going straight back home as soon as the meeting had finished. you could always ask? i mean she is your unnie after all, it wouldn’t hurt to ask to her. 

ah, but it would be awkward though. it’s not like when jimin unnie walked in on you tweaking out and then you had to shamefully ask her to “help you out”. either way you had to go home and do something about it. being out in the open wouldn’t be good for you anyway. anymore stress and you could lose your mind, probably going out of your way to do something that would be highly illegal, and you wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

–

on the way home you couldn’t suppress your excitement. you had already made up your mind to ask ning if you could, you know, do something nasty. multiple scenes were made up in your head. she could bend you over the table, press you against the wall and limit your restrictions with her pretty hands, or maybe she could shove your head into the pillow and pound into your desperate pussy.

as opposed to jimin, you never caught ning wound up in her own thoughts, nor staring at you in a sexual manner. whether it was pracitce, a stage, any event with the members, or an upcoming show, you had never caught her once. maybe she did look at you while you were dancing promiscuously as a joke. even so, her expressions were so nonchalant that even if she was, you would never be able to tell… though that thought alone excited you even more. who knows what her pretty little head was thinking about.

although jimin said to tell the other members about who you actually were to prevent you from being too awkward to ask your members for help, you refrained from doing so because well… you’re just like that, what else. how were you gonna do it anyway- hold a meeting in your apartment around the dining table and say that you need sex to stay active and alive? then what, they’ll eagerly accept the fact that you literally need to be inside of them, or vice versa, so you can get up on stage and preform as if it was a regular ass day.

those five minutes you spent daydreaming and thinking about telling your members were stopped abruptly by the door in front of you. when did the walk home become so quick.

then you started to think once again. 

would ning be the type of person to go out of their way to help you? yes she’s that type of person, however, does that mean she would willingly want to have sex with you… god, you don’t know her ‘that’ well. you’re close, close as how close a lifetime friend could ever be, but still, things would be weird if she ultimately says no to your request.

“you’ve been staring at the door for an awfully long time y/n. are you coming inside or do you want to stare at the door a little longer?”

fresh out of the shower, yizhuo greets you with a friendly smile followed by a giggle. her towel sticking against her body showing off the curves of her hips. 

oh fuck, why does she have to be wearing that now. 

“did you just finish showering? also, girl… get back inside. what if someone sees you with just a towel on” the aroma of your shampoo wafted through the air “you smell good…” you all were tight on money this month, so you all shared things like perfumes, shampoos, pretty much all products you and the other members owned. each time either one of your members had applied your shampoo, god, you had such perverse thought about them, wanting to ravage them until they couldn’t walk or even stand

“yeah i ran out of mine- and yours was newly opened so you know” she had been looking way too good recently, not saying that she never did look good, but there was something about her that made you feel extra desperate and needy. the wetness between your thighs spoke for themselves

“let’s go in. i need to talk to you quickly before my brain explodes” yizhuo cocked her head in confusion, reluctantly following your lead, closing the door behind her as you walked into your guys’ apartment. 

you followed behind her as she led you to your shared bedroom, looking up because you didn’t want to turn yourself on even more by staring at her ass “wow, the ceiling looked nice. a pretty beige colour… what the hell am i doing” you thought to yourself with a heavy sigh, looking back down and regretting it immediately. you noticed that yizhuo turned around as you locked eyes with the front of her cream coloured bath towel.

as perceptive as yizhuo was, she noticed a little black swish behind your back. she just played it off, too tired from all the practice, so she thought she was hallucinating a tail or something of the sorts.

now, being both the youngest and the least serious members of the group, you rarely ever had a heart to heart. to talk one to one with each other with the tone you had used, yizhuo must’ve thought that there was some topic you couldn’t bring up with the eldest “hey what’s up? it’s been a while since we last talked seriously” her damp hair against her soft looking skin, the fresh scent of soap and the way she looked at you with worry in her eyes. it almost drove you off the edge. she was so tantalising that you almost missed your cue to speak.

“uh- um, you know how we’ve been besties since i came to korea right?”

“yes”

“and you know we said that we’d always tell each other anything right?” you glanced around the room, avoiding her gaze while your fingers unconsciously played with the fabric of her bedsheets.

“yes…?” ning pondered for a while “…are you going to confess your undying love for me, is that what this is?” she cackled.

“WHAT? no, no- i think that might be less shocking than what i’m about to say” you take a deep breath in hopes to stifle the sound emitting from your booming heartbeat “okay so like, hypothetically speaking, would you have sex with any of the four of us?” for a god awful few seconds you sat tensely, waiting for yizhuo to say something. 

“are you trying to redirect my attention from a more important question girl?” her eyes rested on your face, heartily laughing until she released you were being totally serious. 

scratching your arm, you let out a sigh. it would be better to ask her directly wouldn’t it “you don’t need to analyse me like that. i was just saying-”

you could charm her into agreeing, but in the long run you’d feel like a horrible person. charming a person came with moral problems, and you strictly told yourself that you would never do that to a person. ever.  

“yizhuo… can we- can you do me a favour?” your stuttering caught her attention. you simply couldn’t bring yourself to ask, it’s strange out of the blue. 

“mhm mhm, what do you need”

“you”

“me?”

“yes.” with every fibre of your being you held back a variety of different ways to scream out ‘JUST FUCK ME’ biting your lip to help fight back a blush. it’s odd to blurt out ‘im a succubus. let’s have crazy passionate intimate gay sex right here right now’ 

hold on- does she even know you’re a succubus? “listen, it’s going to sound absurd and you probably think i’m not sober, but can you hear me out” it was still weird to outwardly say that you were in fact this demon thing that sucks people dry, literally. saying it to jimin was no easy feat, but you were obviously losing your damn mind that day. and then you have the other two members too? now was not the time to think about what you’d do in the near future, you were hungry and yizhuo was right in front of you, practically naked “are you, by any chance, okay with maybe” your gaze darted around the room before you locked eyes with her “maybe having… sex? maybe?”

“ohhh, okay i see how it is. you’re ovulating” she spoke with a dead serious tone.

you were losing your mind. you couldn’t tell if she was fucking with you or not. but in all honesty, yizhuo did think you looked like you were ovulating with the way your thighs pressed together. yup, ovulating.

your heart began to race as you increasingly became desperate within seconds. you felt feverish, hot to the touch while your head throbbed. almost a whole two months without tending to your needs ended up with you succumbing to the symptoms “please yizhuo. i need you to do something, anything- i feel like i’m gonna die actually” 

“woah woaah, let’s calm down. you’re not gonna die silly. is it just-“ yizhuo paused for a while, coughed and maybe even hesitated to say the word “sex. is that all? it can’t be too bad. plus if it’s with you, i don’t mind…” yizhuo’s words were genuine. it put your mind at ease. 

“you don’t understand though. it’s like… it- i don’t know” you pout at her with the remaining energy left in your body “it’s alright- i’ll ask other people, it’ll be okay” sluggishly pushing yourself off yizhuo’s bed.

“no no, i get it. you wanna relieve stress, i get it” from what you could understand, yizhuo was trying her absolute best, trying to relate with your problem “we’ve all been there. the company doesn’t allow us to go out and meet other idols like that so it was eventually gonna happen. i mea-“

“it’s not about that, yizhuo” your eyes darken, a desperate sigh emitting from your lips “ah, whatever…” with trembling hands, you held yizhuo’s in yours, momentarily silencing her as you sit back down on top of the smooth sheets of her bed “if you’re not okay with doing ‘this’, then will a kiss be okay?” there was a hint of softness to your voice, the rest shrouded with seriousness “it won’t be enough for me, but it’ll keep me… sort of stable” you shut your eyes as you press your forehead against hers, sharing the warmth “please, that’s all i ask for” 

she whispered “a kiss? i can do that. it seems fun.”ning, inches away from kissing you, smiled sheepishly. her gaze drifted briefly towards your lips before finally shutting her eyes  “and if it’s with you i think i’ll be okay”  

you took this as your opportunity to kiss her softly on the lips. a quick peck really. a surge of energy coursed through your veins for half a second before coming to a stop.

that’s all the energy you’ll take from her, and the most you’ll take for the next couple of days “mmm… thank you yizhuo” though it was a sweet couple of seconds before it broke off, the sweetness of her lips left a longing impression on you.

yizhuo asked for “one more kiss?” growing in confidence, she leaned into another, her eyes fluttering shut as she melted into your embrace. though you were unsure, you gave into the moment, savouring her delicate lips. her fingers tentatively reached for your shirt, grabbing you and pulling you in closer. as the kiss intensified, yizhuo’s hands journeyed down your back, directly pushing down so your chests were pressed together “do whatever you want…” her breath hitched as you trailed down kisses from her jaw down to her neck, taking the time and effort to not accidentally leave a huge hickey there. you replied by pushing her back onto the bed, the loose towel that wrapped around body fell apart easily, exposing yizhuo’s pretty tits. she paid no mind, letting you do whatever you pleased. 

“god, you’re so pretty” you climbed onto the bed, straddling yizhuo’s waist as you carefully removed your t-shirt. 

she burned holes through your face, why was she staring so hard all of a sudden? “how are your eyes are pink, y/n” taken aback, she sits up and examines your face. she raised her hand and waved it in front of you “is this thing real?” tilting her head in confusion. 

“it is real- mmh?” a jolt shoots right up through your spine and then down to your core out of nowhere. ning held your sleek black tail, rubbing her fingers against the weird leathery texture, caressing and prodding at your poor flimsy, slightly erect(?) tail, as you let out a soft sigh. “yizhuo…” you mewl pathetically “that- that feels weird”

“does it now?” her tongue darted out, licking the centre of your heart shaped tail with the ever so subtle tug at the corner of her lips “sensitive much” a couple more licks and kisses to your tail and you were pretty much done for. 

time to time you forget that you have some sort of libido increasing, aphrodisiac power. the kiss you two shared may have affected her. well it definitely did. the increase of confidence radiating from the older girl was way different in comparison to her usual self. cause by now you’d expect her to be a little more gentle with you.

flipping positions, yizhuo held you down with her two hands with a devilish look on her face “if it’s sex you want, then i’ll make sure to fuck you till your begging for me to stop” her hand travelled down your tail, stroking it as if she was stroking your dick. never before had someone do something like that to your tail, but my god did it feel so fucking good.

she toyed with it, prodded and poked the tip of it and sucked it with her pretty pink and plump lips. the other hand cupped your chest, fondling over your boobs to get a feel for her own satisfaction “i could get used to this…” being on top of you, she had the advantage to do whatever she desired, and also because you were too weak to move at all “what do you want y/n? want me to fuck you with my tongue or my fingers. you choose”

you chose the latter.

throwing your head back onto the fluffed up pillows, yizhuo waisted no time and went to her destination. not one, but two fingers pushed deep inside of your pussy, stretching you out so good. her lustfully hooded eyes looked down at you, absorbing in the expressions of your pleasure contorted face “how’s it feel? want me to add another for you baby?” 

unable to answer her question with words, you nod eagerly, wanting nothing but her fingers to fill you up. so she did, adding in a third finger since you asked to cutely with that nod of yours. now knuckles deep inside, that same devilish grin spread across her face. you unconsciously buck your hips up, smiling wearily at yizhuo “so.. so deep” your moans urged her to immediately start moving. she started out nice and slow, curling her fingers at different intervals to squeeze out those lovely moans of yours. every thrust, she explored your spongy walls, testing out the waters to see which place hit the best for you. then as time went by, she gradually built up her pace until she came to her desired speed.

three fingered merciselessly pounded hard into your tight cunt, your juices leaking and dripping onto yizhuo’s bedsheets, and the sounds of your wetness leaving the chinese girl in awe. noticing the way your hips began to meet with her speed, her hand that played with your tail slowly slided towards them, holding you down by the stomach “let me do all the work” driven by your moans, she leans down to press a hungry kiss on your lips, then leaving a hot trail of kisses down from your neck and onto your perky nipples.

swirling around the hardened bud on your chest, a guttural moan catches her attention “you like it when i suck on your tits, huh?” her thumb pressed against your swollen clit as she muttered those words, all the while still paying attention to your sensitive tits. she enjoyed the way you tried to wriggle your hips in attempts to move them, and how your hands clutched the sheets with pure desperation. she felt hazy, maybe a little bit tipsy somehow, but all she wanted to do was fuck you until you were screaming her name.

as her fingers continued to slide against your walls, hitting the right spots at an intense speed, you felt a knot form in your stomach. you were so desperate for relief, needing to buck your hips into her palm to get that sweet friction you felt on your clit, but she didn’t allow you to do that; her hand still resting on your stomach to stop you from squirming “yi-yizhuo~” you whined, teary eyes staring at her with a pitiful look “please yizhuo.. r-rub my clit please~”

and who was she to deny you.

though she didn’t do exactly what you wanted, she did something way more better. moving away from your nipples, she lowered herself down onto the bottom of her bed to shove her face right between your thighs. tongue darting out her mouth, she gives a few kitten licks on your clit, savouring the sweet essence of your pussy for a starter. those tiny kitten licks turned into something much more. the tip of her tongue circled against your heat, occasionally wrapping her lips around to give you a quick suck before continuing to lap your soaked folds up to your sensitive clit. 

the stimulation drove your crazy. you never knew that yizhuo was so skilled at this. still thrusting those three fingers inside of your now pulsating cunt, at the hot and wet kisses and licks she left on your clit, she knew - and you knew, that you were on the verge of toppling over the edge. but it wasn’t enough for her “is that good, hm? does my needy baby want me to fuck her harder?” yizhuo somehow had the strength to speed up, fucking your hole as she moans at how well you’re taking her. 

those words vibrated from your core and sent shivers across your spine, leaving goosebumps all over your skin - in which also made you clench around her fingers. 

fuck, it was way too damn good. you felt your legs shaking, jaw opening wide, stomach tightening and that course of hot pleasure travelling through your entire nervous system “close- close yizhuo.. don’t stop” your words came out slurred, a few unintelligible praises and swears being ripped out of the back of your throat as you felt yourself on the edge. 

with one final deep and hard thrust, your jaw slacked open as your orgasm was pulled out from your body, legs twitching and spasming as you repetitively screamed out yizhuo’s name alongside even more praises. for a minute your body fell limp against the bed, exhausted from the mind blowing orgasm yizhuo gave you, and also from the built up stress you had from promotions.

now full of the sexual energy you gained from yizhuo, you spring upwards, patting yizhuo’s head gently “t-thank you… i feel refreshed…” 

the older girl finally sat up after she cleaned you up. wiping her face and chin from the juices that dripped all the way down, she flashed you a smile “with that tail of yours, and those pink eyes, you’ve got to be a succubus… right? to answer her question, you nodded, cheeks red from her straightforwardness. 

“y-yeah. you’re right… wanna go again?”

“only if i bottom next”

[wxstros]

Bonds Forged in Fire

In a world where dragons did not dance and Rhaenyra reigns unchallenged on the Iron Throne, her legacy endures through her three valiant sons, with the Targaryens having bowed to their rightful queen. You, a traveller in this medieval tapestry, have at last discovered the opportune moment to seek solace in Essos, intending to live out your days unburdened and free. No longer are you compelled to mend the fragile bonds among feuding cousins, having already nurtured a brotherhood among the Velaryon and Targaryen youths. Freed from the duty of attending to Alicent, appeasing your father Daemon, or strategizing for the benefit of the realm and its beloved Rhaenyra, you stand on the cusp of true retirement... or do you?

warnings: typical targcest/inc*st. DARK CHARACTERS; controlling behavior, manipulation, gaslighting. cursing. reader is a modern human. dance of the dragons did not happen. canon typical violence. yandere behavior!

pairings: hotd x reader, daemon targaryen x daughter!reader (platonic)

CHAPTER TWO: NO LONGER A FREE WOMAN

Quiet and Commanding. Graceful and Bloodthirsty — you were both the calmness of the sea and it's tempest. In a desperate act of survival, you reshaped the fate of Westeros; a no ordinary feat by all means, and you bore the scars of fabricating this delicate peace.

You sought to end a war before it grew to become one. Tearing the heart of the dragon so it no longer bore heads, you suffered the consequences of your meddling, self-preserving nature, from the curse of Targaryens.

Madness. Delusions. Paranoia..

Paranoia is ever common among people of power, and in your whimsical rendition of the present, you found yourself ensnared in the very web you sought to untangle.

Your knowledge of the succession of events was vital in its formative years; you were the weaver of histories yet unwritten, the keeper of secrets that shaped destinies. In the quiet chambers of the Red Keep, where whispers carried more weight than steel, you stood as a sentinel of wisdom amidst the unfolding of ambition and intrigue.

Once, you navigated the tapestry of Westerosi politics with a sure hand, guiding alliances and decisions that now lay woven into the fabric of a new era. But the future you once knew, predictable as the turning of seasons, now unfolded with unpredictable swiftness.

The absence of war reshaped the contours of power, leaving uncertainties where once there were certainties... and you had become one of it's unfortunate casualties.

"If I may speak, my lady," she began, her voice a whisper that hung in the air like the fragrance of roses in bloom. You turned to face her, your expression calm yet attentive, silently inviting her to share the secrets that threaded through the underbelly of courtly life. A strategically placed informant, a madame you kept in your good graces, for her valuable informations.

With practiced ease, you gestured for her to continue as you returned to your preparations, the delicate clink of jewelry punctuating the quiet conversation between you. The madame hesitated, her words measured and cautious, betraying the weight of the information she carried.

"I've come upon certain... revelations," she finally ventured, her tone laden with the gravity of her disclosure. She recounted, with a waver in her countenance, the princes' preferences— their specific demands echoing through the chambers like whispers of scandal. Each word revealed a world hidden behind closed doors, where fantasies intertwined with the obligations of royalty and it's stifling constraints.

Your hands paused momentarily, the silver earrings poised between your fingers as you absorbed the implications of her words. You feared the unspoken consequences of such desires. One that transcended the boundaries of rank and decorum, casting shadows upon the noble facade that adorned the princes in public.

"They call for you," she had confessed in a hushed tone, her eyes troubled yet resolute. "Not just any women, but those with your likeness. They cry out your name in the throes of passion, seeking to recreate a semblance of what they know in the sanctity of their chambers."

With a nod of dismissal, the madame withdrew, leaving the chamber with a bow of deference. Alone once more, you resumed your preparations, the morning light seeming dimmer now as you contemplated the delicate balance between power and discretion within the heart of the Red Keep. Yet, the madame's parting words lingered, her voice tinged with an urgency that unsettled you.

"Forgive me, if you must call me insolent." she had said, her eyes wide with concern, "Leave this place once you get the chance. These princes... they are not what they seem. Their love is a dangerous thing."

The weight of her warning wasn't missed, nor unrewarded. Leave, she said. And you almost wept at your desire to do so. The thought of escape had always been present, but now it seemed more pressing, more necessary.

The Targaryen madness... a curse that had plagued their bloodline for generations, was not a mere myth. It was a living, breathing beast that lurked within the halls of the keep, a beast that had ensnared even the most unsuspecting hearts.

The tales of their ancestors, the whispers of dragons and fire, echoed in your thoughts.

You had seen the cracks in their facades, the fleeting moments when the mask slipped, revealing the turmoil beneath. It was in the soft utterance, in a mad whisper of devotion.

with me, no harm shall come your way; rhaenyra, whispers.

i would kill anyone who tries to take you from me; daemon, vows.

you must always have me in your heart. it must have only me; aegon pleads.

It was devotion that threatened to consume you. It was in the quiet plea for acceptance. It was in the vulnerable displays, where the attachment grew into something you could no longer control.

never leave me; jacaerys utters with conviction.

tell me you need me; aemond, grips you.

tell me you love me; heleana whispers.

tell me you're mine...

The madness was not just in their blood; it was in their very souls, a consuming fire that threatened to engulf all who drew too close.

As you finished your preparations, you pondered your next step. To outmaneuver the most powerful people in the realm; to extricate yourself from their grasp, required more than just cunning. It required a keen understanding of the intricate dance of power and madness that played out within these walls.

As you stepped into the corridor, the weight of the madame's warning heavy upon your shoulders, you knew that your journey was far from over. The road ahead was treacherous, but with each step, you inched closer to the freedom that lay beyond the reach of the dragon's fire.

The small council was filled with nobles loyal to Rhaenyra's claim. People who were wise, honest, and unbearably scheming. Aemond was among the council, a concession to allow for unity and to placate those who supported his family. Yet, his presence was more than strategic; Aemond had always been smart and decisive, qualities that made him a valuable asset in matters of governance and warfare. His sharp mind and keen insights often cut through the labyrinth of political machinations, bringing clarity and resolution to complex issues.

Jacaerys, the crown prince, also held a seat on the council. As Rhaenyra's eldest son, it was imperative that he learn the intricacies of rule and the delicate balance of power within the realm. His participation was both an educational experience and a symbol of continuity, showing that the future of the realm was in capable hands. Though Aemond and Jace had a fraught history, they had reached a tenuous truce, understanding the necessity of cooperation for a shared cause. Their interactions were civil, even if not genuinely friendly, a testament to their shared commitment to the greater good.

Aegon, noticeably absent from the meeting, was occupied with securing an allegiance with a rich noble visiting. His transformation from a reckless youth to a responsible leader was a surprising deviation from the expected path, proving that even the most unlikely individuals could rise to the occasion when the realm demanded it.

Where there was once dignified discussions had unravelled into a heated one...

"A marriage allegiance, to the North?" Daemon repeats incredulously, a frown marring his features at the absurd suggestion from one of the lords in the small council.

The man, while relatively small in stature, held his stance despite receiving hostile glares from multiple pairs of scathing gazes. He was certain they wished to command his head off, but the loyalty to your cause remains in him. "The princess is of the right age to marry; it would strengthen our ties with the North and ensure their loyalty," the lord persisted.

Aemond tensed, repressing the urge to draw his sword and cut the insolent bastard's tongue for his brazen suggestion. His dear, sweet cousin, would not debase herself to a mere wolf when she had the blood of a dragon coursing through her veins!

Jace had a similar, quiet indignation. You would not marry to distant mountains, let alone to a foreign man. It was one thing to share your affections among their family, an entirely different one, should it be directed to another entirely.

Rhaenyra, at the head of the council, was first to voice her dissent, her expression calm yet resolute. "The realm is at peace. What need have we for an alliance with the North? We do not need to complicate matters with alliances that may bring more harm than good."

"Peace reigns now, the future is uncertain. Strengthening our ties with the North ensures stability in times of unforeseen turmoil. The marriage alliance is a precautionary measure, one that could safeguard the realm," the lord insisted, gathering murmurs of support around the table.

Daemon slammed his fist on the table, his voice booming. "We have dragons! We should be the ones feared, not groveling for alliances like beggars. The North should be seeking our favor, not the other way around. This talk of marriage is a distraction, a needless concession."

"We do not need to rally more support. Our house is strong enough without resorting to such measures," Jacareys adds, stoic though his eyes blazed with unspoken fury.

The defiance in the room was palpable, a wall of resistance against the idea of your marriage to a northerner, the famed Cregan Stark warden of the North.

Every time the notion of marriage was presented, they always had an excuse, a reason to dismiss it. Their hatred for the idea was unmistakable, rooted in their desire to keep you close, to maintain the unity of the family within the confines of King's Landing.

You never much bothered to disagree. Marriage was never your priority; you were trying to stave off the extinction of the Targaryens, where could you find the energy and time to please a husband?

However, this time, you decided to break the pattern.

"I agree," you said, your voice steady and calm. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to you in shock.

"You what?" Daemon's voice was low, dangerous, a silent threat hung in the air as if begging you to repeat your agreement.

"I admire Cregan Stark," you continued, ignoring the rising tension. "He is known to be handsome, domineering, strong, and capable. Such a match would be beneficial for our house."

And he lives in the desolate cold. Far from King's Landing. Come winter, and no dragon, however mighty, could cross its threshold.

Rhaenyra was speechless, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find words. Daemon's face turned a deeper shade of red, his anger barely contained. Aemond and Jace looked as though they were on the verge of losing their composure, their fists clenched tightly.

"You would leave for the North?" While emotionless and composed, Aemond was anything but.

"This is absurd. You can't possibly mean this," Jace added, his tone equally tense.

You met their gazes with unwavering resolve. "This alliance is strategic. It ensures the realm's continued prosperity and stability. It is a decision made for the greater good."

Daemon's expression darkened, his frustration palpable as he struggled to reconcile his paternal instincts with sound reason, and not violent tendencies. He thiught it much easier to wield a sword and conquer cities.

"Whoever wove these tales, planting fairy-tale notions of a prince charming into my daughter's head, is a deceiver. They think they can trick her, make her believe in an idyllic fantasy. My daughter is naive and innocent in their eyes, easy to sway. But I will find this manipulator and have his head for daring to poison her mind with such nonsense!" He uttered, voice laced with venom, a final threat to whoever disagreed with his judgement— Daemon thought you naive, and gullible to suggestion, believing it was not your own will, but a treacherous cunt's ideas.

Afterall, you would never desire to leave him; your poor father... and the rest, whoever they may be. He still has no idea which was whom; he kept a tally of one or two silver haired kid, and the rest were lost to him.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, her composure returning as she placed a hand on the table, grounding herself.

"We must weigh all options, think of the ramifications. A marriage... it is not a decision to be taken lightly."

Despite her words, you knew her mind was already made up. She had always been fiercely protective, and the idea of you leaving King's Landing, leaving her side, was something she could not easily accept.

The path to freedom was fraught with peril, but you had come too far to falter now. Your nod to the Arryn lord, was subtle— indicating he back down from his duel of wits. It was an issue for another day. Rhaenyra had made it so.

With a determined breath, you resolved to tread carefully, to gather the strength and allies needed to break free from the chains that bound you.

The Targaryen curse was a formidable foe, but you were no stranger to battles fought in the shadows.

***

do comment if you want to get tagged! 💗☺️

[the-xolotl]

Rising With the Sun

Alastor x fem!Reader

ᯓღ Small gift for @denki-69 ~

ᯓღ a/n: pulled this out of my ass in the first 30 minutes of me being awake (so like an hour ago). enjoy my somno thoughts.

SUMMARY: Alastor finds himself in a predicament and dilema about having morning wood right next to you. But things work out in his favor.

ᯓღ CW: somnophilia, thigh fucking, morning sex, cnc, established relationship, no use of y/n.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED ON SIGHT. Thank you⟢

Alastor himself is not a very sexual being. Sure, as a sinner of flesh and blood he’s still susceptible to carnal desires and temptation, he still has his needs, but those seem to only make themselves known during his ruts or once in a blue moon any other day of year. However, ever since he had began to date you it seems as if finally having someone to share a bed with had kick started a drive he didn’t think he had. Which lead to mornings like this more and more often; waking up with a raging hard on, especially after having dreamt of you being split on his cock. You had become his every waking and sleeping thought, you plague his mine day in and day out, you have become the object of all his desires.

It’s still just past twilight, Alastor tossed and turned a little on the bed even as he attempted to not wake you up out of curtesy. It’s hard, he’s hard. The tent in his sleeping trousers is so bad this morning in particular it had bother him enough to wake him up from slumber, and he was already humping your ass when he had. He’s currently in a struggle of not letting such salacious desires dictate his action. He had more decorum than that, he’s a more composed man than stooping to the level of using his sleeping lover for his own selfish, debauched needs.

However, it is your fault even if unintentional— in his mind at least— for his quite large predicament. But wanking off next to your sleeping body also felt too dirty. He struggled with himself as he lays on his back burning holes on to the ceiling trying to figure out what to do. Release by his own hand is no longer satisfactory but he doesn’t want to wake you up, on the other hand you’re quite literally right there. He groans softly to himself, why had you made him into this creature, how have you managed to turn him into this beast. He misses the warmth of your ass against him and his resolve is cracking.

Slowly, he shifts his position while carefully and ever so gently turning you over on your stomach and removing the blanket from you entirely. He panic froze for a split second when you stirred in your sleep, seeing as you didn’t wake up he continued on to undo his sleep trousers and pulling himself out. Hard, warm erection bumped against your still clothed cheeks, he let out a low hiss as the moment. He slowly thrusted his needy length between your cheeks, pressing down getting friction from the fabric. He felt like a goddamn animal but wouldn’t— couldn’t— deny how good it felt.

The demon’s moans are low and grumbly, his radio filter still off, he gets lost in the steady rhythm of his hips against yours even going as far as putting his cock between your plush thighs and using them as a means to make up for not being inside your tight heat.

But the pleasure didn’t last very long. He had been so distracted in chasing his own release with eyes closed and head hanging low that he didn’t realize the hand moving under him until it wrapped itself around his throbbing cock. Alastor is horrified at the realization he’d woken you up and is caught red-handed in the compromising position of using your body for himself in a vulnerable state. Shame and embarrassment wash over his very soul, but that doesn’t last very long either.

He must have shown it on his face because Alastor’s eyes flew open at the sound of a giggle and the feeling of delicate fingers languidly pumping his erection. “Do you need help, deerling?” your voice is still heavy with sleep but there’s lust swimming in your eyes and the smirk tugging the corner of your lips is mischievous, “My body is yours to use as you please,” you whisper, your hand leaves his cock in favor of using both to shove your bottoms down enough to reveal your already dripping pussy. He could see the glistening of your folds in the dim light and his cock twitched.

“Do whatever you want, I’m still sleepy,” is all you said before getting comfortable again and closing your eyes to possibly fall back asleep. Alastor is dumbfounded for a moment, in all honesty you had left him at 0. But he also won’t squander such an opportunity. Teasingly he rubs his redden tip along your slick folds catching your dripping juices to spread them over himself. He let out a low, reverberating growl. You felt so fucking delicious, how did every time manage to feel better than the last?

He can’t be bothered with prep but is carefully sinking into your searing heat in no time. His length stretching you open inch by inch and yet you have gone back into a deep sleep. Alastor is so overtaken by the pleasure he’s hunching over your sleeping form gripping the sheets for dear life, talons slightly ripping the sheets. Moans and groans begin to slip from him, he’s moving your shorts a bit further down and spreading your legs to better accommodate him because he wants as much of his cock inside you— he needs his whole weeping erection inside you.

The radio demon has to fight to keep his noises of pleasure to a minimum but it’s hard when you got his thick length in such a vice grip and you’re simply overflowing with wetness between your legs. His head bows down to meet your back, his forehead pressing between your shoulder blades as his arm wraps around your middle lifting you up from the bed to better fuck into your sleeping body. He’s panting like a goddamn animal in heat, he’s fucking you so gently even if he is pulling out to the tip and then sinking back in but it’s too much. He’s over sensitive in the morning and the fact that you’re unconscious while he’s using you as his personal fleshlight has his cock twitching and throbbing. He’s embarrassed to say he won’t last very long anymore. His impending orgasm is just over the horizon, if the size of the formed knot is anything to go by.

He’s whispering sweet nothings and indiscernible nonsense into the flesh of your back as he punches his knot inside you, spilling hot cum into your womb, even letting out a few whimpers of your name like a prayer. This did wake you up again with a loud moan and pushing your hips harder against him to instinctively milk him. You were still half asleep but that doesn’t mean you don’t want cock. He collapses on top of you as you grind back into him, still heavy with sleep but needy for your boyfriend’s massive cock.

“Good morning, sweetness, did you have fun having me for breakfast?” you twisted your head around to plant soft pecks on his cheek with a cheeky grin.

© 2024 the-xolotl — all rights reserved. do NOT alter, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

Do you accept orders? could you do a story about Dom!Viktor x Sub!Reader x Switch! Jayce, on the day of the ball, the reader wears a dress that made her look more beautiful and cute than usual and was therefore drawing people's attention at the ball to she , would the boys be jealous or possessive? Would they punish the reader?

- 🌸

Hi anon 🌸!! I'm not taking requests for fics currently, because I've got quite a few ongoing projects, but you can check my pinned post or my header description to know whenever I am 💕! But I just HAD to blabber about that idea for a second because I LOVE jealous shenanigans

Viktor and Jayce both strike me as the jealous type, but in two very different ways.

Viktor is the more silent, envious type of jealous. He has too much self-respect to just throw himself in front of you dramatically. So, he watches. He overanalyses every look anyone gives you, any kiss of your hand that seems to last a second too long. He’s methodical, following you around like a shadow the entire night with a falsely polite smile plastered on his lips. It's just one night, he tells himself, one night of pompous nobles leering at your cleavage and showering you with compliments. In the end, it won't matter, because you'll be in his bed when this is over, not theirs.

He won't outright tell you he was jealous, because he's embarrassed at the idea of seeming childish, but boy, will he still let you know. Expect bite marks on every visible inch of your skin and the imprint of his pretty fingers around your neck and thighs. He'll probably edge you a few times, have you beg and moan his name in tears without letting you cum, just to feel like he's the one in control again. He's willing to admit he's a little petty when it comes to you.

Others might not know it was him when they see your smeared makeup and strategically placed bruises tomorrow, but you will, and that's really all that matters to him.

Jayce is the visibly possessive type of jealous. Is some diplomat telling you a funny story? Jayce doesn't give a damn about decorum. His hand will quickly wrap around your waist to pull you closer to him and he'll enter the conversation with a megawatt smile as if he's always been part of it. But his hand will stay firmly in place for everyone to see what's off limits. In fact, it would be almost impossible to find him not touching you in some way, whether that be by gently replacing wayward strands of hair or wiping away imaginary stains of wine around your lips. He can't help it, especially when he sees others look at you with the same desire that he has for you. He has to show that you're his.

Jayce will be especially talkative in bed after that, constantly mumbling your name under his breath as he fucks you, repeating the word ‘mine’ over and over again. He's very petty about it too, asking if you liked having everyone's attention on you, if you got off to strangers undressing you with their eyes. If he’s gotten really rilled up, the usual “baby” and “princess” might become a “whore” or “slut”. Always his whore though. Nobody else's. He doesn't say it to be mean, in fact he tends to feel bad afterwards, but he needs confirmation straight from your lips that you don't care about them. That the only one you want to ruin you is him.

If you oblige, you are getting fucked raw on the closest available surface for a solid three rounds. You're too tired for another one? That's alright, he’ll pump his cock in his fist right above your entrance, and only push in when he's ready to cum. He'll fill you until he’s satisfied no one could look at you and doubt for a second who fucked you that good.

[tricksh0t]

★ like an animal

☾ kraven x top m reader

𝘱𝘳𝘦-𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ i wrote this with kraven and reader being lovers roleplaying in mind, with some kind of chasing kink as foreplay, but it's not pictured and intentionally left vague

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 680 words

cw: dubcon, sex in a forest, vague descriptions of the reader (he can be something animal-related like Kraven, or its just his physique), big d, against a tree

Kraven was–is the perfect hunter.

That's what makes this feel so wrong. The tree bark scratches against his back, the grass blades dig into his feet, and even his own body betrays him, the skin of his thighs is chafed.

He's a lion, kings of the savannah.

You? You're a bear, king of the forest.

It's a thing of pride, being a lion, being Kraven: being at his physical peak, strength and agility.

Being a bear, however, is having strength that comes with size. It's not about having the strength so much as using it for survival.

Besides, a lion is nothing without his pack, but bears are solitary animals.

Kraven fights your hold, managing to lift his arms from the bark only temporarily. Your head snaps forward in a bite, teeth clamping down just short of his nose. You could've very well bit him at this distance, but you didn't. It's discipline.

Kraven's fight quiets.

You try to turn him, to shove his head into the bark, to take him from behind. He slams his foot down onto yours. That, he will not have.

You huff out of your nose, it's a sound of compromise, a fine.

Kraven is a lion in a forest, a treat for a bear, by all means. You'll do well to savour him, save the very last bit until there's no decorum left to appreciate.

There's none of that, though, as you're eager.

This should feel wrong, wrapping a willing leg around your back to press his ass against you and to feel your cock deeper inside. The bark pricking like needles into his back should only feed his need to fight your hold, and your distracted, wandering hands should be incentive enough to push you off; but they're not.

It's not so much about it being a bear's cock than it is about it being yours: thick, long and heavy. It's easier to appreciate things with his mouth, like the taste of salmon. Kraven'll have a taste soon enough.

For now, you fuck him like an animal, the bear you are. It's good, raw. Between your cock and his hole, there's only spit. That's the way it should be, he thinks.

There's nothing manmade about either of you except your woman-borne bodies and aged, old scars. It's natural.

Kraven wraps his evidently free arms around the thick of you, nails digging into your ample back to pull your chest against his. He needs this intimacy, the feel of your muscles against his. It's sweaty and sticky, but it's a primal need to have you against him.

Except this is anything but. He won't take, and that's not why he needs to have you.

It should feel wrong in this way too, as a lion. This kind of fucking will be fruitless, nevermind the fact he's the one being fucked, because it's too good to protest; and therein lies his desire, the pleasure.

It should feel wrong, because it's out of his nature. The predator has become the prey.

"Fuck." A little gasp escapes him as your intertwine your fingers and push them above his head.

It's loving him as much as it is restraining him, intertwining your fingers and yet keeping his touch away from the rest of you.

Now there's nothing to think of except the way your cock fucks into him.

"Does that feel good, little lion?"

"Yes." Yes, your cock feels good. The length and girth of the thing make him feel like you're up to his throat. You don't ask him to, but he says it again, "Yes!"

You fuck him like an animal, hard and fast in and out of him with the only purpose being to finish. No technique, only instinct, yet it has him rolling his eyes back anyway.

You could go on for hours, he's sure, and he'd let you. He's not even thinking of escaping, anymore.

Sergei's not in his right mind to think about what's right or wrong, not now.

𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵-𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ kept lookin' at him the entire movie like 'fuck he's hot'

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

I'm Yours - Sanji x Fem!Reader

Here's a blurb I wrote on a whim last night! Life's been so busy, and I have a small case of the blues right now, which is why I have so many drafts but haven't been posting. I barely proofread this, and it's not my proudest work, but I think I'm just overthinking it. I'll probably edit it a little like I always do. Hope you enjoy!

CW: NSFW! Dominant-ish Sanji, gendered terms for reader, "pretty girl, etc", implied jealousy, slightly dominant reader at end? just a little?

~1.3k words

----

Sanji pushes you back against the wall of the kitchen, his hands pawing helplessly at the buttons of your shirt that protect your skin from his eager assault. His lips connect with yours in a sloppy, heated mess, the taste of nicotine distinct and bitter on your tongue. Teeth gnash against one another until the cook finally withdraws from your lips, a line of saliva tethering you both as he moves to pepper hungry nips at your neck.

“Angel…” He murmurs, his tongue lapping where your jaw connects to your neck. “I can’t breathe without you.”

You’ve never seen Sanji like this - ravenous, desperate, bold. His erection presses and grinds against your leg with a force that has your back pressed firmly to the wall where he’s trapped you. You’re not sure what started this, why tonight he’s decided to pull you aside and ravage you, but you’re in no position to stop the hands that worked so hard to open up the path to your now exposed chest. Ordinarily, sex with Sanji is slow, romantic, perhaps cherished. It’s as much a joining of souls as it is bodies, a spiritual union that binds you together by love and desire. You’ve been reduced to a helpless puddle, brought to the shaky state of euphoria so many times by the way he caresses you so gently, whispering sweet nothings into your ear with every careful ministration of his body against yours. Tonight is different, though. Your boyfriend is, bluntly, a horny mess and you’re just as turned on by it as you would be otherwise.

“Sanji…baby, what’s gotten into you?” You breathe, your voice shaky. You can feel his hands work with expert precision to undo the buttons of your pants, not wasting a single moment to expose more of your skin to him.

“Just need to be inside you, my love.”

There’s no decorum this time. No bells, whistles, or languid motions meant to undo you slowly but surely until you’re sunk into a state of pure bliss. Sanji’s movements are laced with a sense of urgency, his words deep and throaty as he slips a hand down the front of your panties. The confusion you feel from this show of desire doesn’t last long. The moment his fingers begin to swirl on your clit, they rub smooth, fast circles against it. Your head falls back against the wall, a soft ‘thud’ being the only sound heard aside from the heavy breathing filling the room.

“Sanji…” You moan, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasurable movements start to make you feel so vulnerable, your sex soaking through the material of your thin panties.

Sanji tuts, and you feel a hand on your jaw, firm but somehow still careful, pulling your face upright. Your eyes open in surprise, finding Sanji looking at you with a glazed-over, almost predatory glint.

“Come on, gorgeous. Watch me while I make you come on my fingers.”

Your face heats up in a way that’s unfamiliar to you. He can hear the way your breath hitches at his words, and a small smirk rises to his lips. His fingers slide further into your folds before two of them find their way into your aching, swollen entrance. There’s no warming up needed, and with little resistance, his fingers work to pump into you. Sanji grinds his palm against your clit, using the the limited space in your underwear to give him better leverage.

“Already so wet for me. My needy, pretty girl.” He praises, his smirk widening as his fingers curl and scissor inside of you. “Getting her nice and ready for my cock.”

Your eyes widen at his words, and before you can get a chance to question him, pleasured gasps begin to leave your lips. You can’t take your eyes off of him, not for a second, and you can feel your velvet walls clench around his fingers at the sight of his devilish smirk.

“S-Sanji…” You whimper, unable to control the way the pleasure is building up in you. With every brush of your g-spot, your pussy seems to clamp down on his fingers more, making it so much harder for him to move his fingers. Sanji doesn’t relent, though, instead continuing to guide his fingers and pump them into your throbbing cunt.

“Beautiful, mon ceur. Breathtaking.” Sanji says, his voice low and breathy. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, his arousal clear by the way he grinds his clothed cock against your thigh. “I love watching you fall apart for only me.”

You can’t take it. His palm grinding into your clit, his fingers deep in your pussy, his praise - it’s all too much, entirely too good, and the heat in your gut swirls inside you like an inferno. Your hands grip at his shoulders, digging into his shirt as you feel the rapidly approaching climax start to take control. Your hips buck against him like a woman possessed, desperately seeking the friction that’s threatening to overwhelm you.

“Please…Sanji, honey, I-”

“Come for me, angel. Ride my fingers and tell me that you're mine.” Sanji rasps, his eyes intensely locked on yours, as if wanting to see the exact moment you tip over.

"I'm-...Sanji, I'm yours, I'm-!" You chant, breathless and desperate as that pleasure builds so deep inside of your core with every brush of your g-spot.

Your face contorts slowly, your mouth dropping open as your orgasm hits you. A white-hot euphoria fills your veins as you buck helplessly against his hand, clutching and keening from the effort. Sanji doesn’t let up, his fingers coaxing as much pleasure out of you as possible as you whine for him. Slowly, once he feels your walls fluttering in that perfect way, he extracts his hand from your panties and pops his fingers into his mouth. He hums, closing his eyes to savor the taste before finally setting his hand back on your hip and meeting your gaze again.

You’re panting, sweaty, and nearly slack-jawed.

“What the hell was that?” You finally ask, a breathless laugh leaving you.

“Mosshead wouldn’t stop looking at you during dinner. And then he pulled you aside when the meal was done.” Sanji responds, giving you a shy smile. “I’m sorry, angel. I just couldn’t stand it.”

Your mind works hard to retread through the events of that night, and as the cogs turn in your head, a sudden realization makes your heart pound, and a small laugh slips from your lips.

You quirk an eyebrow at him, an almost devious smile rising to your lips. “Oh, so that’s what this was about? Baby, Zoro was just telling me I had some food in my hair. Apparently it was there after Luffy tore into dinner like the little monster he is.”

The only sound for a long moment that can be heard is the buzzing from the refrigerator. Finally, Sanji lets out a sigh, taking a small step back from you, the tips of his ears turning that familiar shade of pink.

“Well, then…” He mumbles, his eyes shifting to the ground. His foot gently traces the floorboard of the kitchen, one of his hands instinctually moving to his pocket in search of his pack of cigarettes.

You let out a soft laugh, hands moving to pull him by the lapels of his jacket closer to you.

“You don’t have to worry about that swordsman. Or anyone else for that matter.” You assure him, pulling him just a tad closer. “I’m yours, Sanji. Through and through.”

The way Sanji’s eyes light up makes your heart melt, and you swear in this moment that nothing else could ever be more perfect than the way he looks at you.

“I’ll never let you regret it, mon amour. I’m yours, too.” He responds softly, his voice unwavering and steady.

His lips gently press into yours, his hand moving to cup the back of your neck softly, tenderly. Your lips move together before parting, lingering.

“You know, I didn’t mind you being so dominant. It was really sexy.” You mumble against his lips.

You hear him gasp softly when your hand connects with his erection still present in his slacks. It’s not surprising to you that, even in his embarrassment, he hasn’t gone soft. He has an erection damn near every time you both speak, let alone kiss. Your hand gently rubs at his length, and he gasps again when you lean forward to nip at his lip.

“Let me show you just how much I’m yours.”

[stellasdrafts]

Coffee & Confessions - Leon Kennedy

Summary: he regrets what he said. (RE2R Leon x Reader)

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: none really- angst, thoughts of cheating if you squint (not on reader), forced proximity, no use of Y/N, reader’s features are not described but is briefly mentioned as female – self insert to your heart’s desire <3

Notes: Leon may be a bit OOC, still working on characterization. It’s a long one! Kinda let myself go. Hope you enjoy my first one shot! ~Stella

“Don’t you understand?! No! I’m sick of saying no to you!”

His words reverberate through you, pounding in your head incessantly. You feel the wave of burning embarrassment crawl up from your stomach to your face. Your limbs go numb and you’re not even sure how you’re standing upright. There’s a spotlight shining down on you, highlighting your lowest moment in the dimly lit, deserted west office of the RPD. Your consciousness floats somewhere in the shadows above, the bezoar of nauseating dread being the only thing keeping you grounded to this damned blue tile floor.

His words reverberate through you, pounding in your head incessantly. You feel the wave of burning embarrassment crawl up from your stomach to your face. Your limbs go numb and you’re not even sure how you’re standing upright. There’s a spotlight shining down on you, highlighting your lowest moment in the dimly lit, deserted west office of the RPD. Your consciousness floats somewhere in the shadows above, the bezoar of nauseating dread being the only thing keeping you grounded to this damned blue tile floor.

You’re not even processing Leon standing before you, panting and lingering in the weight of his words. Kind, soft-spoken Leon… Even he doesn’t know what came over him. It was a moment of irritation brought forward by an exhausting day, and a girl unfortunate enough to be standing in his line of fire. You hadn’t even realized you had been pushing his buttons. Sweet, sweet you – feeding into an innocent crush on the newest addition to the task force with soft greetings and warm smiles… You don’t recall when humble acceptances of coffee turned into apprehensive ones, then polite rejections.

Sure, maybe those cordial acts of service were your subtle way of flirting and making an impression upon the rookie, but you had never seen yourself as pushy. They were simple acts of kindness, special enough to make him notice that you were going out of your way, but simple enough to pass off as coworker decorum – or so you thought. You had even backed off to a certain degree after finding out that he had a girlfriend. Though, clinging to the selfish hope that maybe things wouldn’t work out between them. Leon isn’t like any man you’ve met before. He’s selfless, caring, funny… There was something about him that kept you hooked, despite your better judgement. He was a real find, and you couldn’t bring yourself to completely let go of him. The guilt ate up at your insides.

Your subtle relentlessness wore him down. Unbeknownst to you, he had been battling torn feelings of his own. He didn’t enjoy rejecting your coffee date offers – though you never used the word date. He’s a smart young man… perceptive. It was part of the job. He didn’t miss your longing stares, the purity of your smiles when directed toward him, and the way your warm fingertips lingered just a moment too long when you handed him paperwork and office supplies. That had grown to be his most used word around you: no. Not because he doesn’t want what you continuously offer, but because he is a faithful man. His relationship feels more like a duty at this point, much like processing perps that came in the station or filling out paperwork after an arrest. That love had lost its spark a long while ago. You on the other hand… He had always found you to be a pleasant presence. There’s something about you that brings a glowing light into his life. A spark, brighter and more powerful than the one dimmed by the woman in his bed.

And now he has to watch as he snuffs out that spark from your eyes.

“R-Right… Okay.” You’re completely taken aback by the bite in his words. You step backwards, stiff as a statue. Your mouth gapes open and closes repeatedly. Never had you expected him to speak to you like that. Tears immediately well in your eyes. You look utterly heartbroken… Maybe you deserved it.

Leon is so caught up in his own tormenting feelings that the realization of having hurt you doesn’t really hit him until he sees the tears in your eyes. His expression drops from frustrated to shocked. This is the first time he’s seen you without your usual effortless smile – it’s the polar opposite of it. “Wait- That’s not-” the officer tries to say something, but the words catch in his throat, a war raging in his mind.

You lift your hands in surrender, still staggering back and blinking back tears. You raise the white flag at his counterattack. “N-No. I understand. I should… I should’ve stopped a long time ago,” your voice breaks.

Leon flinches. His heart clenches as he realizes just how badly he’s hurt you. You with your pure and loving intentions… A sickening feeling of guilt arises within him. His mouth opens and closes, so much like yours had just done. There’s a million thoughts racing through his mind, yet he can’t find the right words. His body yearns to reach out to you, to stop you from walking away and leaving this irreparable fracture between the two of you, but he finds himself unable to move. There’s so much he wants to say – anything, really, but he’s frozen in place, terrified to say the wrong thing again. Terrified to let the emotions swirling inside him take over.

You look away in a futile attempt to hide your crying, to salvage the last bit of your dignity. You quickly gather your things from your desk and messily dump them into your bag. You head for the door at a fast pace, wanting nothing more than to remove yourself from this living nightmare. “Goodnight. See you… tomorrow.”

The man’s body jolts as he registers the slam of the door closing behind you, the sound ringing in his ears. The realization of what just happened hits him like a bus. He could have stopped you. He could have called out your name, said anything, tried to move. But he didn’t. He just stood there and watched you trip over your words, watched you go. He just stood there and watched you take a part of his joy with you.

Tomorrow. He had to make things right with you.

But you don’t let him. Downright humiliated by last night’s incident, you pour all of your efforts into avoiding him. The day turns into the week, which turns into a month, which turns into ten. Ten months without speaking to Leon Kennedy beyond simple task updates at work. Maybe it was excessive, but you were plain embarrassed to talk to him, and when you felt slightly okay again, it felt too awkward and out of place to approach him after the hiatus.

Approaching him is what set him off in the first place, and he had made it clear that he wanted nothing of yours. You realize perhaps you had been pushy, but what’s done is done. It felt bizarre to cut him out of your routine when your heart still yearns for him, despite the shame he’s caused you. Alas, you learned how to live without him: one less warm greeting as you enter the station, one less enchanting smile, one memorized coffee order stored in the back of your mind never to be ordered again.

Your vow of silence is successful these ten months until Chief Irons assigns the two of you to a dreaded stakeout. As if being stuck inside a cold car at night for who knows how long doesn’t sound like hell enough, you’ll have to do it with someone whom you can barely even look at. Wonderful.

The ride to your suspect’s house is as silent as a tomb. That combined with the cold of winter and the feeling of unease circulating around the small space – you both might as well be in one. You can’t say you’d mind being six feet under right about now. Leon parks a few houses down and across the street from the target. He turns off the engine, bathing you in complete silence now, save for your breaths and the occasional crumpling of your coats as you readjust your positions. It’s excruciating how aware you are of his icy eyes on you. You keep your eyes on the house because you’re frankly terrified of looking at him.

“Look out for any movement, particularly women, coming in and out of the house,” you softly remind him of your orders, hoping to entice him into turning his unwavering attention away from you.

“Noted,” he grunts, clearing his throat to fill the silence. “And how long are we supposed to keep watch for?”

Was he not listening while you were getting briefed? You sigh. “Until we see something interesting.”

He lets out a sigh of his own. “And if we don’t?”

“Until the sun comes up.”

This has to be a form of torture. Leon nods absentmindedly, his gaze shifting from you to the house and back. He can’t help but steal glances at you, his chest tightening as he notices how you go out of your way to avoid looking at him. He taps his fingers against the cold steering wheel in a slow, irregular rhythm as he tries his damnedest to keep his eyes on the house. “Guess this could take a while, huh?” he mumbles, his gaze slipping to you once more. The tension couldn’t be cut with a knife, you’d need more of a fucking chainsaw.

You shouldn’t be this upset by it all… Everything happened almost a year ago. You’d both changed. Hell, he wasn’t even with his girlfriend anymore. In theory, you should both be able to behave normally – professionally. But that’s not the case. It’s so strange. You two used to be able to chat and joke around together. Now, neither of you could say ‘hello’ without feeling like you were treading on thin ice. Your heart aches at the thought that you drove him away, that you ruined things between the two of you. You suppose a dark, freezing car with nothing to entertain yourself but the mist of your own breath isn’t exactly great to keep up morale.

Once again unable to stand the silence, Leon hesitates before speaking. “You cold?” he asks quietly, catching on to how you hug your thin jacket tightly around your frame.

“No,” you lie.

But his sharp analytical eyes don’t miss your slight shivering. He can’t help but roll his eyes and let out a half-hearted huff. “Liar,” he mutters under his breath, careful to hide the slight fondness in his tone. This is so like you; brushing aside your comfort to appease those around you.

“Believe what you will.” You tuck your legs underneath you, hoping to maintain at least some of your body heat. You still can’t find it in you to look at him, settling for the perp’s house and his neighbours' holiday decorations.

The young officer’s lips twitch. Why couldn’t you just admit it? Was it really that hard for you to let him help? He sighs again. “Stop being stubborn. You’ll freeze in here. Take this,” he scolds, already unbuttoning his coat.

You shake your head when you notice what he’s doing in your peripheral. “That’s stupid. I already have a jacket. You won’t have one at all if you give me yours.”

He rolls his eyes again, his hands pausing on one of the buttons. “I’ve got a sweater on, I think I’ll be fine. It’s the middle of winter, that excuse of a jacket won’t keep anything warm.”

“I’d feel better if you kept it. It’s going to be a long night.” You clench your jaw.

It was almost infuriating, the lengths you would go to deny any kind of help. He scowls at you, but he can’t deny the fact that part of him craves the chance to take care of you. “I don’t care how you think you feel at the moment. You’re taking my jacket. It’s no good if my partner gets frostbite during the night and we have to call the stakeout off,” he rumbles, already pulling the jacket off his body.

“I don’t think that’s how frostbite works.”

He bites back an amused smile and reaches over to drape the coat over your shoulders. You try to hide the immediate relief it brings – a blanket of his body heat. It smells like him too… his aftershave, you think. It makes your heart ache with memories of earlier this year. How you would’ve done anything for him. How you still would if it came down to the wire… He watches as you bury yourself in the material, practically being engulfed by the puffy thing. The sight alone makes his chest pang with emotion. Seeing you wearing his jacket – he couldn’t think of anything more beautiful than that.

“Let me know if you start getting cold,” you say quietly because you can't bring yourself to say thank you.

Leon nods quietly, his lips pressed into a tight line. The deafening silence returns yet again. He struggles not to say anything. This is unbearable. Sitting in a silent car, with you a mere foot away, and he can’t even speak to you normally. It’s driving him crazy.

“God damn it, why can’t you just look at me?” he suddenly blurts out, breaking the silence.

Fuck. You knew this was coming. “Because we’re supposed to be keeping our eyes on the house.”

“Quit being a smartass. You know we have nothing to do but sit and watch the house for god knows how long. But you’d rather stare at the damn streetlight than talk to me or look at me for even a split second.”

That’s true. You think that seeing him – bewitching as ever even when you want to hate him – would break you. “I’m doing my job. I suggest you do yours.”

Leon clenches his jaw, annoyance flaring up inside him again. You are infuriating, acting aloof as if nothing is wrong. As if it doesn’t bother you at all. “You’re being impossible, you know that?”

You hug his coat tighter around you, wanting it to swallow you whole right about now. “We’re coworkers. I wasn’t aware you expect me to be a certain way.”

The sight of you melting into his jacket just makes Leon’s heart clench painfully once more. He’s torn between your evident hurting, and cold words and attitude. “You’re twisting my words and you know it,” he retorts, narrowing his eyes at you. “We used to be more than coworkers.”

That’s it. You look. And dear god it’s a mistake because things are always more beautiful when you can’t have them. He’s everything you remember – everything you etched into memory all those months ago. If anything, he looks even more ethereal now as the streetlights and holiday lights reflect off the snow and onto his pale face.

“No, we weren’t. Because you never let us be, Leon.”

His heart tightens in his chest all over again as you finally look at him, his breath catching in his throat. It’s almost painful how beautiful you look in this moment. Sitting here in the car with him, wearing his jacket, with the soft glow of the outside lights illuminating the planes of your face. As much as he’d like to deny it, you are right. He is the reason for your coldness toward him now, so how could he possibly blame you for it?

“You really want to go there?” he asks softly, his eyes not leaving your face.

“No, but you seem to be pushing me there,” the hostility slips out.

“Because you’re not being honest. Not to me. Not even to yourself.”

“You think you know better?”

“I think I know you.” He looks deep into your eyes. “You act like you don’t want anything to do with me, but look me in the eye and tell me you feel nothing for me. Tell me and I’ll leave you be.”

You can’t. You couldn’t lie if you tried, not about this. You feel that bezoar of dread return to the pit of your stomach just thinking about cutting him out of your life completely. That’s about the last thing you want. “Why are you doing this? So you can humiliate me all over again?” Your whole demeanour softens, that naïve, lovestruck girl from ten months ago trying to claw her way out of the cage you banished her to.

He hates how hurt you look right now, all because of him. It breaks him. “I-I didn’t mean to hurt you. I know I did, but-”

“You raised your voice at me and told me you were sick of me. Not that you needed some time to yourself, not that you were having a bad day, not simply that you didn’t feel the same, but that I made you sick. Do you realize how fucking damaging that is, Leon?!”

He winces away from your outburst, his mind reeling at the memory of that night. It still makes him nauseous to think about it. He is ridden with guilt – has been for the past ten months. He takes a breath. “I didn’t say I was sick of you. I said I was sick of saying ‘no’ to you… Look, I know nothing I say can make up for speaking to you like that, but please… Just try and hear me out, okay?” He tries to reach for your hand gently, but you pull away. “You don’t have to forgive me or believe me for that matter. I just need to explain myself. You deserve at least that… It’s no excuse, but- but I was already stressed to my limit from things at home… And you-”

He sighs, looking dreamily into your eyes. “God, you made me feel. You made me feel so much that it scared me. I went to work and all I wanted to do was search for you in every room… You were so kind, so- so compassionate. I got attached and at some point, I started to feel guilty. I had my ex at home, but our relationship was rocky and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was like… like some emotional affair. I knew that wasn’t right – that it wasn’t fair to either of you, so I was stupid enough to think that distancing myself from you until I got my shit sorted out would be the lesser of evils… I was wrong. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hated rejecting you every time. I hated hurting you. A-And I guess it stressed me out so much that I just snapped…”

Tears glaze over your eyes. Do you believe him? You thought you were done crying over him. “H-How was I supposed to know what you felt- what you wanted?” You feel the warm tears slip down your cheeks.

He’s quick to lift a hand to wipe your tears. “You weren’t- You weren’t,” his voice is more delicate than you’ve ever heard it before. “That’s on me. That was my fault. You couldn’t have known,” he coos. “But I want you to know now…” You look up at him expectantly through wet lashes. “I want you to know that I wanted this. I wanted you. I still do.”

Your breath hitches. You’re surprised at how unsure you are about something which you thought you wanted more than anything. The hopeful part of you wants to trust him again – trust him with your heart. You remember how you thought of him before that night; gentle, caring, selfless… One mistake didn’t mean that that had changed. It’s not like you had never accidentally raised your voice at anyone before… A weight lifts off of your shoulders. Only he could lull out that old part of you, the one you had so carefully tucked away for safekeeping.

You open your mouth to scramble for an answer when the dark figure of a hooded man exits the suspect’s house. Leon follows your gaze.

“You got something?”

Making up your mind, you extend the hand that you had previously pulled from him. “Let’s go catch our guy, Kennedy.”

He takes it, his face lighting up. “I’ve got one condition.”

“What?” you ask confusedly. Your suspect was right there.

“In the morning, you let me buy you that coffee.”

[littlest-w01f]

Comfort

Sylus x Reader

SYLUS MASTERLIST

LADS MASTERLIST

Summary: You can be a pain in his ass, but when you need comfort, Sylus is always there to make things better

Cw: Fluff. Just fluff. also a little period stuff

A/N: For the new quad banner, I had to. Sylus with cat ears and a tail? Gimmie, pls

"So can you hear from both of these?" You giggled, stroking Sylus's cat ears that twitched under your hand. However temporary, he was moody about the change, if his flattened tail was anything to go by, "Or do only your normal ears work?"

"If you keep teasing me kitten, I'll leave." Sylus rolled his eyes, to hide that he liked you scratching his ears, crimson eyes flashing darkly, "Who'll cuddle you through your cramps then, huh?"

You gave him a sly grin, nearly swallowed by his arms as he held you in your bed, "I'm not the 'kitten' right now." You taunt him with a tug at his ears, which cause him to groan deeply.

"Careful, sweetie." Sylus's deep voice rumbled in a warning tone against your palm as you tugged playfully at his sensitive cat ears, drawing out a low, throaty groan from the tall, imposing figure beside you. His crimson eyes flashed with a mix of annoyance and pleasure, a look that never failed to send shivers down your spine.

"Oh, don't give me that," You teased, Your own eyes sparkling with mirth. "You know full well I love when you grumble at me like some cranky old man."

Sylus's expression softened slightly at your words, though he still maintained a stern facade. He reached up to capture your wandering hand, bringing it to rest over his chest, just above the rumbling purr emanating from within. "As much as I enjoy our little games, y/n…"

You pouted at where his tone was going, "I'm all bleeding and hurting and having cramps. You're supposed to be nice to me, Sy. You're being a bad butler."

Sylus's stern demeanor faltered at the sight of your pout, the adorable way your lower lip quivered ever so slightly. He knew he had no chance against your playful charm, especially not when you were feeling vulnerable.

"Ah, forgive me, My Lady," Sylus said, his voice taking on a more formal, apologetic tone, his tail softly beating against your thigh. "I seem to have misplaced my usual decorum." He joked with a straight face.

He leaned in closer, his warm breath ghosting across your cheek as he spoke. "Perhaps, if you prefer, I could try my hand at soothing techniques more suited to a lover..." Sylus trailed off suggestively, his gaze dropping to the gentle rise and fall of your abdomen beneath the thin fabric of your nightgown.

A soft gasp escaped your lips at Sylus's whispered suggestion, your heart fluttering in anticipation. The idea of his skilled hands exploring your body, intent on easing your discomfort, sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins.

His proximity made it impossible to ignore the subtle vibrations of his purring, the warmth radiating from his muscular form as he leaned in close. The scent of his unique, spicy aroma enveloped you, making your head spin with desire.

"Please..." You had only said the word and his hands were on you, lifting your nightgown to gently stroke your burning abdomen, the energy of his evol providing relief to your cramps.

As Sylus's large, deft fingers began to massage your sensitive stomach, you couldn't help but let out a contented sigh. The heat from his palms seeped into your skin, providing a soothing respite from the gnawing pain of your menstrual cramps. His touch was gentle yet firm, each stroke designed to ease the tension and relax your muscles.

The movement of his tail against your leg was almost hypnotic, its rhythmic sway mirroring the steady cadence of his ministrations. His pointed ears remained pricked, focused intently on your reactions, as if attuned to every subtle shift in your breathing and the quiet sounds of pleasure escaping your lips.

"You feel so warm, sweetie," Sylus murmured, his deep voice a soothing counterpoint to the gentle pressure of his hands. "Like a furnace burning bright within you."

You whined and buried your head in his chest, "My body feels like it's being ripped apart-"

"Shh, it's alright, my dear," Sylus cooed, his strong arms encircling you as he held you close against his broad chest. The warmth of his body enveloped you, a comforting balm against the intense agony coursing through your core. His hands continued their tender massage, kneading and stroking along the curves of your abdomen, working to soothe the relentless cramping.

As you nuzzled into his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his skin, a soft, rumbling purr vibrated through Sylus's chest, resonating against your cheek. The sound was both calming and intoxicating, sending waves of relaxation washing over you. "Just breathe, y/n," he instructed, his voice a low, soothing timbre. "Let yourself drift. I've got you."

"See, you can be a good kitty!" You giggled when his tail wrapped around your wrist, gently stroking the fur with your other hand.

A pleased rumble emanated from deep within Sylus's chest at your praise, his tail continuing to caress your wrist with gentle, soothing strokes. "Mmm, perhaps..." He purred, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement as they met yours.

As you played with his tail, Sylus's hands never ceased their gentle massage, his touch growing more confident and sure as he worked to alleviate the lingering discomfort. The sensation of his chest brushing against your cheek as you nestled into him added another layer of comfort, the softness contrasting with the hardness of his muscles beneath your fingertips.

"You should rest up. I'll be here when you get up." Sylus teased, his voice low.

With a contented sigh, you allowed yourself to sink further into Sylus's embrace, the warmth and security of his presence wrapping around you like a cocoon. His tail continued its gentle stroking, the soft fur a pleasant contrast against your skin as you explored the texture with curious fingers.

As you drifted lazily, Sylus's strong hands never left your abdomen, his touch a constant reminder of his care and attention. The rhythmic kneading and rubbing seemed to melt away the last vestiges of pain, leaving only a dull ache that even the most determined cramp couldn't quite reach.

"You're such a sweetheart," you murmured sleepily, your eyelids heavy with fatigue. "Even when I'm being all grumpy, you always take care of me."

Sylus's chuckle reverberated through his chest, the vibration sending delightful tingles up your spine. It was a rich, deep sound, filled with warmth and affection, a perfect accompaniment to the soothing rhythm of his hands on your abdomen. As you listened, entranced by the rumble, you felt your eyelids growing heavier, the lullaby of his purrs and the gentle massage slowly pulling you under.

"Mmm... Maybe I should start charging for this service," Sylus teased, his voice a low, sleepy growl. Despite the words, there was no real bite to his words.

As Sylus's teasing words floated through the air, you managed a weak smile, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards before succumbing to the pull of exhaustion. His playful remark was the final thread needed to unravel the tangled web of your thoughts, allowing them to slip away into the depths of slumber.

With a soft, contented sigh, you surrendered to the allure of sleep, your body relaxing completely in Sylus's embrace. His strong arms held you securely, cradling you like a precious treasure as he guided you towards the peaceful darkness of unconsciousness.

As you drifted off, the last thing you registered was the gentle pressure of his lips pressing a soft, loving kiss to the top of your head.

As you stirred awake, you found yourself still nestled comfortably in Sylus's arms, his strong embrace a reassuring anchor amidst the remnants of your dream-filled slumber. His tail, once active and playful, now lay still against your waist, the slow, rhythmic stroking a soothing lullaby to guide you back to full awareness.

Noticing the relaxed, peaceful expression on Sylus's face, you realized he too must have fallen asleep while keeping watch over you. The sight tugged at your heartstrings, a testament to the depth of his devotion and the unspoken bond between you.

Gently, you shifted your position, careful not to disturb the sleeping man. As you did, his nose twitched, and his eyes fluttered open, revealing those mesmerizing crimson eyes gazing up at you with a mix of drowsiness and affection.

"No no..." You whispered softly, closing his eyes with your hand, "Go back to sleep."

At your gentle whisper, Sylus's eyelids fluttered closed once more, a soft giggle escaping his lips, his breathing evening out as he pretended to slip back into a peaceful slumber. Your hand lingered on his face, the soft pads of your fingers tracing the contours of his cheeks and jawline in a soothing caress.

His face nuzzled instinctively into your palm, seeking out your comforting touch. A small, satisfied rumble vibrated through his chest, the sound barely audible but tangible against your skin.

Watching him, you marvelled at the way his features softened, the usual sharp angles and planes of his face giving way to a gentler, more vulnerable expression. In repose, he looked younger somehow, the weight of responsibility and duty momentarily lifted from his shoulders.

Your gaze travelled downwards, taking in his form. The sight filled you with a sense of profound peace and contentment, a reminder of the strength and stability he brought to your life.

"Kitten?" He mumbled, waking up from you scratching his ear, his voice thick with sleep and concern, pulling you closer to him. "Is everything alright? Are you feeling better?"

His hands moved to cup your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks in a gesture of tenderness and worry. The crimson of his eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the room, searching your face for any signs of lingering discomfort or distress.

"Yeah... I'm better." You sighed softly, kissing his cheek.

Sylus's expression visibly relaxed at your reassurance, the tension easing from his shoulders as he pulled you closer, one arm snaking around your waist while the other remained cupped around your face. The pad of his thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, a gentle, almost absent-minded gesture that spoke volumes about his affection for you.

"I'm glad," He murmured, his voice still rough with sleep but warm with relief. "You had me worried there for a moment."

"I... I always have bad cramps, I'm used to it." You smiled, petting his tail softly, hoping to soothe him.

At your words and gentle touch, Sylus's tail swished happily, the tip curling around your wrist in a show of gratitude and affection. He leaned in closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he gazed deeply into your eyes, his own crimson eyes shimmering with emotion.

"I know you're tough, my little lady," he rumbled softly, his breath ghosting over your lips. "But that doesn't mean I won't worry. You're important to me, sweetie. More than you could ever know."

His free hand slid down from your face to tangle in your hair, fingers gently soothingly massaging your scalp. The gesture was tender, and intimate, speaking to the depth of his feelings for you without the need for words.

At Sylus's tender declaration, you felt your heart swell with emotion, a lump forming in your throat as you blinked back the sudden moisture gathering in your eyes. His words, spoken in that low, gravelly tone, carried the weight of a thousand unsaid sentiments, each syllable imbued with the force of his love and devotion.

"I… I don't know what I'd do without you," You whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to convey the depth of your own feelings. "You make everything better, just by being here with me."

As if drawn by an invisible force, you leaned in, bridging the scant distance between you until your lips met in a soft, gentle kiss. It was a meeting of souls, a silent promise and affirmation of the bond you shared, the connection that ran deeper than mere physical attraction.

Sylus's eyes widened comically as your fingers found their mark, a high-pitched gasp escaping his lips as he arched into your touch. His ears flattened against his head, twitching wildly as you scratched along the sensitive edges and base of his ears.

"Oh! Oh, kitten!" He gasped, his voice pitched higher than normal as he squirmed beneath you. "That feels amazing!"

Sylus's reaction was utterly adorable, his usually stoic demeanor melting away as he succumbed to the pleasurable sensations of your skilled fingers. His eyes fluttered shut, a blissful expression settling onto his features as he leaned further into your touch, clearly craving more.

"I thouht you didn't like it just now..." You teased, softly taking your hand away.

Sylus's eyes snapped open at the loss of your touch, a look of panic flashing across his face before he realized you were merely teasing him. A sheepish grin spread across his features, his cheeks flushing a deeper shade of blue under his fur.

"Oh, you little minx," he chuckled, reaching out to tickle your sides playfully. "Playing games with me, are we?"

Sylus's fingers danced along your ribs, finding every ticklish spot with uncanny precision. His laughter mingled with your own, the sound rich and warm, filling the room with a joyous atmosphere. As you squirmed and giggled beneath his ministrations, he couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for you, marvelling at how easily you could bring such lightheartedness and happiness into his life.

As Sylus's fingers found their mark, you dissolved into a fit of giggles, squirming and writhing beneath his ticklish ministrations. The sound of your laughter filled the room, a melodious symphony that seemed to delight him to no end.

"You're right, I did say that earlier," He admitted with a roguish wink, his fingers continuing their relentless assault on your ribs. "But that was before I experienced the true magic of your touch. Now, I can't get enough!"

He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered conspiratorially, "Besides, it's much more fun to be the one being teased this time, isn't it?"

"I'll pull your tail." You threatened playfully, giggling uncontrollably.

Sylus's eyes widened at your threat, a mix of excitement and trepidation flickering across his features. For a moment, he seemed torn between the desire to continue his playful assault and the instinctive need to protect his most sensitive appendage.

"Now, now, kitten," He purred, his voice dropping an octave as he slowly withdrew his fingers from your sides. "There's no need for such drastic measures. We wouldn't want to start something we can't finish, would we?"

You simply giggled as he leaned down to kiss and suck on your neck, enjoying the peaceful moment with him as Sylus's lips trailed along the column of your throat, you couldn't help but let out a soft sigh of contentment. The sensation of his mouth on your skin was electric, sending pleasant shivers down your spine and causing goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. His tongue darted out, lapping gently at the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, leaving a trail of damp heat in its wake. You tilted your head to the side unconsciously, granting him better access as your fingers tangled in his silky hair.

[ginnsbaker]

Fic: Right Here, Right Now

Summary: Marrying the love of your life a second time around is definitely sweeter // An ILGOSS Oneshot.

Pairing: Wanda x Fem!Reader | Word count: 1.4k+ | Warnings: None...? does cheese count? | A/N: Did you miss me? Thank you to the anon who suggested this one-shot. This is set in the ILGOSS universe, but can be treated as an independent story about two divorced wives marrying each other again. This functions more like a drabble, think of it like a missing scene in the epilogue. Enjoy!

Masterlist

-

It's been a grueling twelve hours since you last saw Wanda, and you're practically climbing the walls. Your heart's doing this annoying jittery thing, and the more you try to calm down, the more agitated you become. This whole ‘not seeing the bride before the wedding’ tradition is driving you nuts.

Desperate, you send a text to Natasha. I need to see her, you say, barely keeping it together to type a full sentence. I can't wait till the aisle.

Your phone buzzes almost immediately with Natasha’s reply. On it!, she texts back, and you know she's cooking up some scheme. Relying on your best friend to create the perfect diversion feels like your only lifeline.

It only takes a few minutes when suddenly, an ear-splitting sound erupts from outside, jerking everyone's attention away from the primping and preening. Your eyes shoot wide—trust Natasha to choose something as dramatic as a fire or emergency hazard for a diversion. Part of you frets Wanda might be one of the first out there. Nevertheless, the plan works like a charm. Like clockwork, the room empties out, everyone drawn out by the allure of drama and a juicy story.

You’re half-curious about what kind of ruckus Natasha managed to come up with, but that thought vanishes instantly when you hear the other bedroom door open with a soft creak. A second later, a smile gradually spreads across your lips when you hear a set of footsteps, familiar to you as your own heartbeat. Rising carefully from your chair to avoid stepping on the hem of your pristine white dress, you make your way to the door as quickly as decorum allows.

As you reach the stairs, you spot your bride already making her way down. Seeing her, even with her back turned to you, takes your breath away and seals your fate of forever having your heart in Wanda’s captivity. It's hard to believe you managed to be with her the first time. Harder to think about how you almost lost her in your life for good, but here you are, feeling like the luckiest person in the world to have her back again for a second chance.

“Hey.”

Wanda turns at the sound of your voice, and her smile illuminates the space around her, outshining the sun's rays filtering through the windows. A gentle sea breeze teases her hair, softly framing her face. You stand frozen at the top of the stairs, unable to comprehend how everything you’ve both been through, led to this miraculous moment.

“Hi,” she greets in return, nodding towards the commotion outside. “Everybody rushed out. Could be an emergency.”

You shake your head and smile widely, teeth digging at your bottom lip, helpless as a blush taints both of your cheeks. Wanda looks absolutely stunning, and it's like you're suddenly back in college again, seeing her for the first time. You miss a step, almost causing you to fall flat on your face, just like you did back then.

“I…might have asked Nat’s help to get you alone,” you say with a sheepish grin. “I, uh, I wanted to do something. I-If you’re up for it.”

“Sounds serious,” Wanda teases, perching herself on the handrail. She arches an eyebrow, her eyes reflecting a desire that mirrors your own. It takes every ounce of your self-control, and then some, not to sweep Wanda into your arms and forget about the ceremony altogether. For several seconds, you're silent, prompting Wanda to reach out. Her fingers lightly brush against your arm, and that simple touch sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“What’s the plan?” she whispers, as if guarding a precious secret.

Without hesitation, as if the idea has been burning inside you your whole life, you blurt out, “Let’s get married.”

“You do remember we're getting married today, right?” Wanda says, barely hiding her amusement.

You nod, stepping closer to her. “Yeah, I know. But right here, right now, I want to marry you. Just us, committing to each other without anyone else around.”

Wanda's smile softens, and she steps closer. “Just us?” Her voice is soft, almost disbelieving.

You almost back out, feeling a bit silly. “Sounds a bit selfish, huh? Forget I said it—”

“No, don't,” she quickly says, grabbing your hand. “It's not selfish. It's actually really sweet, considering everything.”

You bite back the admission that this impromptu plan was born just minutes ago. Maybe the real reason couples are advised against seeing each other several hours before the ceremony is due to moments like this. Seeing Wanda in her dress, so beautiful, it's hard not to just marry her on the spot, forget the past, forget the plans. Moreso, there's something different about this second time. You're both older, wiser, each with a richer history that stretches far and beyond. It feels more layered, as if you've both fought harder for this moment than for anything else in your lives.

Taking another step down, you move closer to Wanda, holding her gaze. Your own dress trails behind you, its fabric whispering softly with each movement.

“We’re really doing this?” you ask.

“Getting a second shot at being your wife, especially after how badly I messed up… I never thought I’d get that chance again,” Wanda confesses, standing so close you can feel her breath. You tower a few inches over her, yet you feel utterly helpless under her spell.

“If it were up to me, I’d have dragged you to city hall the moment you said yes,” she adds. “But I wanted this moment to be perfect for you.”

And it is, you think to yourself. You almost take her face in your hands, but at the last minute, you decide against it, not wanting to ruin the meticulous work of those who spent hours making her look so stunning–efforts you deeply appreciate. Instead, you guide her hand to your chest, right over your heart, feeling its steady beat under her palm. A small, fragile thing, but it's filled with everything you feel for her.

“Wanda Maximoff, I take you to be my wife,” you swallow thickly, trying your best not to ruin your own make-up. “I am wholly and undeniably yours, and I promise to keep choosing you, every single day.”

You look into her eyes, and there's a whole universe in that gaze. “You're my love, my heart, my home. In this life, or the next. Today, I recommit my life to you, with all that I am and all that I have.”

For a few beats, everything goes quiet, allowing your words to truly sink in between the two of you. Then, you let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding, just as Wanda tries to catch hers.

“And I promise to be true to us, to what we have now,” she replies, her slender frame trembling slightly under the weight of her emotions. You swipe away a rogue tear that slips down her cheek, then kiss her forehead tenderly. Her promise clearly reflects on her past mistakes. Though you've forgiven her countless times, you understand the importance of her saying it out loud.

Taking both of your hands, Wanda looks up at you, her eyes shimmering and full of hope. “I promise to love you, to stay faithful to you, to be yours through and through. You're my heart, my soul, my everything—and I'm going to spend every day proving that to you.”

And with that, you feel every part of you intertwining with hers. You lean in and kiss her, soft and delicate. It's as natural as it's always been with Wanda, as if your lips remember what your minds might sometimes forget.

-

Later, just outside your childhood home, surrounded by your closest friends and family, you still cry when Wanda reads you her vows. She does the same when you call her “My wife”, and then again when you address her using your last name.

The reception, following immediately after the ceremony, officially concludes with the remainder of the fireworks that Natasha had launched prematurely earlier as part of her plan to create a distraction, allowing you to sneak in and have a moment alone with Wanda. You and Wanda spend the rest of the night barely taking your eyes off each other, basking in the presence of everyone you’ve ever loved.

If life has taught you one enduring lesson, it's that the most precious things are never easily won. And you and Wanda, you've proven time and again that you're cut out for exactly that— fighting against all odds, for the love that's worth every bit of the struggle.

[vivs-fics]

Selfish

Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings/ tags: Smut, alcohol consumption, slightly self-loathing Logan, the tiniest bit of angst

Part 2

The quiet moments with you are the ones that scare Logan the most.

The serene, almost scenic view before him makes his heart thump rapidly in his chest. You’re curled up on the bed, the soft expanse of your bare skin gently warming his own. Naked and infinitely beautiful, you lay with all the grace and decorum of a goddess. Logan licks his lips, eyes roaming over your statuesque form, needing to immortalize your visage. He commits this moment to memory, as he does with every other minute he gets to spend with you. Your eyes are closed, your breathing is even as you slumber away in his arms. Last night, he fucked you into the mattress after teasing your cunt with his mouth and fingers for hours. Logan had you panting and moaning, hands fisting into the crisp white sheets below you. He pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you until he was satisfied with his work.

Desire, he was well versed in. Delivering pure, carnal pleasure came as easily as breathing to him. But this: being with you afterwards, the intimacy shared in soft touches and the subconscious intertwining of limbs, the swell of emotion he felt holding you close to him, your scents blending together in the seemingly endless expanse of sheets… this scared the shit out of him.

Logan realizes that if one day his life would flash before his eyes, he would like only to see you. You shaking from pleasure beneath him, coming undone on his cock, dozing off after he strokes your cheeks and cleans you up and tells you that you were so, so good for him. You smiling up at him from a cup of coffee, your eyes lighting up when you talk about something you love. He wanted it, he wanted it all for himself. He wanted you to be burned into his mind, branded into his every thought. But he couldn’t allow it.

If, somehow, he could keep you at arm’s length… Just far away enough to shield your beautiful eyes from the scarred, withered amalgamation that is James Howlett, maybe everything would be okay. After all the pain inflicted upon him, the hurt practically ran through his veins. Ugly, festering wounds pierced him body and soul. Logan didn’t think it was possible to feel this way again. Happy. Contented. He allows himself to hold onto these feelings for fleeting moments, mere milliseconds where he clings to them with all his might. Logan clutches onto the pure light that these feelings emanate and lets them illuminate the dark expanse of himself.

He’s selfish. He knows. But try as he might, he cannot be the good man that you deserve and leave you to your peace. He needs you. He needs you in a way that no one had ever needed anything before, he thinks to himself as his thumb strokes small lines across your cheek.

Logan’s heart clenches in his chest just as it did when he first met you, only now the feeling is greater. The want, the desire to be close to you is infinitely bigger than anything he’s felt before. It stretches out from the hardened, stony contraption in his chest and pirouettes through his body as gracefully as a practiced dancer. The feeling makes his stomach swoop. It makes his fingers itch to touch you when you’re nearby. His hands must always be on you. His thumbs stroking your cheeks as he admires every inch of your angelic face, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as he kisses you deeply, fingers interlacing with your own as he fucks you from above; strong, thick digits squeezing gently on your throat as he pumps you full of his cum. Feeling you under his fingers soothes something inside him that even the bottom of a whisky bottle can’t.

This divine, euphoric feeling you bring out of him encompasses the grizzled man in its splendor and gently lulls him away from all of his inhibitions. You’re a drug Logan never wants to stop taking. He’d burn the world down to see you smiling at him. He’d singlehandedly tear down empires to hear you laugh. He is completely hellbent on you.

So, when you mumble in your sleep and reach out for the warmth of his body, he preens. Even in your unconscious state, you still need him- need him even a fraction of a percentage of how much he needs you. My girl. It plays over and over in his head, it’s a mantra he uses to feed the monster inside of him. The growling, snarling, possessive beast rattles its chains and claws at the bars of the cage Logan has confined it in, just inside his chest. He wants to claim you, cover you in marks that solidify you as his- and his alone. He wants to put his arm around you in public and flash everyone else the biggest shit-eating grin because of it, because it’s him who gets to hold you like that. A part of himself wants to tell you to let him have you, to say that he’ll be so good to you. It wants him to whisper sweet things in your ear and it wants him to stay with you until the morning, every time. The twisted, perverse, caged animal screams to Logan that he should hold you when you’re sleeping and kiss your forehead when he feels the need to. It pleads for Logan to kiss you in the day time, when the sun shines on your smiling face and he feels as if his heart might burst through his chest.

 The beast demands that he claims you, body and soul- that he asks you to be his, and it hopes you agree. God, does he hope. He hopes and yearns and quite frankly, if he were a religious man, he’d pray- pray to whatever god would listen to allow you to be his. And if you, by some divine compounding of all his good karma, said yes- he would fill your pussy with his cum, fuck it into you over and over, and keep doing it for as long as you allowed. Then he’d get you a ring, big and shiny and slip it onto your finger. He’d take you all to himself, forever.

But Logan is acutely aware that these feelings are coming from a bad place- a selfish place- that he finds the strength to tamp them down every time they pop up. It’s like the world’s worst game of emotional whack-a-mole, Logan thinks to himself as his eyes trace over the contours of your face and their angelic beauty in the low light of the morning. He cannot ask any of this from you, he reminds himself. He’s damaged, ruined. He’s seen and lived through far too many things to allow him to be the man you deserve. So, he supposes, this is the best he can do. Staying with you until you awaken and making up some bullshit excuse as to why he can’t stay for breakfast. His heart aches for you, a deep-rooted yearning springs from his chest every time he has to leave you.

He knows it’s coming, it’s the beginning of the end for today. You stir in your sleep, shifting further into his chest. Your lashes flit up and down momentarily, your eyes adjust to the warm light of the bedroom, and he gives you a wry smile, his voice gruff and heavy with sleep. “G’morning, princess.”

“Mm… Morning Lo.” You lift your hands above your head and groan into your stretch. A familiar pleasant simmering ignites in your belly. He stayed. He stayed, and he smells so fucking good, and his hair is ruffled from sleep in just the right way. You sigh dreamily and shift your legs to tangle with his. Your bare cunt kisses the muscle of his thigh, the sensation is delectable. He flexes, teasing.

“Feel something you like, baby?” Logan cups your jaw with his free hand, the other coming up to your shoulder and tugging you even closer to him.

You mumble out a noise of approval, “Yeah, fuck. That’s… that’s good.”

Your eyes flutter shut as you grind your hips with increasing need on his thigh. His pupils dilate, he takes a deep breath in, his cock hardening. He can fucking smell your arousal. It takes every fiber of self-control he possesses not to shift above you, pin your wrists down and fuck you until you’re begging him for release. But you want this- you need this, you need to get yourself off on him. The fact that every part of him can elicit pleasure from you makes pride swell in his chest.

“Hold on, baby. I’ve got you.” He sits up and leans back against the headboard, hands moving to your waist to hoist your body up and onto his thigh. Your legs are on either side of his muscular thigh, he urges you to ride him. “C’mon princess, show me how badly you need me.” His honey eyes bore into your own, an inferno of desire burning behind them.

His hands draw your body back and forth over his leg. Sensing your impending release, Logan takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply. His tongue licks the inside of your mouth, and by God, it tips you over the edge. Your orgasm comes upon you in mighty waves, but it’s nothing compared to the tsunami of earth-shattering orgasmic bliss Logan was about to give you, as he flips you over and slinks down between your legs. His tongue darts out momentarily to wet his lips, his mouth watering in anticipation of tasting you.

 He loves drawing out every morsel of pleasure he could from you. God, he lived to see you cock drunk and fucked out from the things he’d do to you. After giving you a thorough and proper dicking down, the kind where your nails dragged down his back hard enough to leave marks and the sounds of your combined pleasure reverberated in, around and out of your apartment.

He’s half-hard again, just from looking at you half lidded and out of breath.

“Give me ten minutes, Lo… Dear God- I don’t know if my body could handle another round right now.” You huff out, regarding his hardening cock with an air of admiration.

He grunts in response, a non-committal noise that was all too familiar to you in these after-sex conversations. “You okay, baby? I wasn’t too rough?” his head tilts to the side, as it usually does when he was concerned.

You shake your head weakly, “No, not at all. I’m just- uh- how do I put this delicately? Fucked out?”

A deep chuckle escapes him and a cheeky smile lands on his face- a rare, but certainly beloved sight. “That right, princess?” He turns his attention to the floor, seeking out his clothes that had been strewn carelessly across the room in the lustful haze that the two of you were intwined in the night before. Logan feels the urge to stay with you, his heart aches at the prospect of laying with you and kissing you gently, softly. He feels it and has to use the full power of his will to turn away from you.

Your stomach clenches, you know what happens now. You know that he’ll clean you up and make sure you’re okay and look at you with those fucking sad, wet, puppy eyes and you’ll forgive him for leaving when you want him to stay.

“Logan? I’m not sure if you’re busy tonight and I don’t know if- if it’s really your thing but some of my friends are going to Crimson at nine and I know you know the manager through Wade…” You clear your throat and take a deep breath in, attempting to center yourself amongst the nerves of asking him out and the haze caused by the orgasmic bliss he brought to you, “Ahem, and I was thinking, if you want to- we could-”

He cuts you off quickly, “Yeah, baby- I don’t think that’s my scene. You go. Have a good time.” The words almost come out strained, his shoulders are tensed, and his hands work to pull his pants on.

“Right. Of course.” The disappointment is palpable- it sits between the two of you like a screaming mandrake. It demands recognition.

Logan clears his throat, “Seriously, have fun. You don’t need me being there, botherin’ you and bogging everyone down. I’ll call you soon, though.” He feels like he’s gone through a meat grinder. Shredded fragments of an old, withered, freshly ground heart sit in his chest as he turns to leave. It breaks his heart a little more every time he does it. He thinks that maybe he deserves this hurt. Maybe if he keeps hurting, he’ll stay grounded.

To Logan’s credit, he did always call. You began looking forward to the little phone conversations you had. His voice always so gruff and self-assured, it made butterflies erupt in your stomach each time, without fail. This fucking old man was going to be your end.

~

Later that night, you're at Crimson. Your friends are scattered around, drinking, dancing. The linoleum floor is sticky under your shoes. You feel a light squelch when you put your feet down and tension when you attempt to lift them. God only knows what horrors amalgamated on the floor of this club. Dingy and worn down, the wrinkles of the interior are miraged by the blue and purple flashing lights coming from the ceiling. Bodies push against each other on the dancefloor, a sea of intoxicated people move to the music that blasts through the speakers. Raising the glass bottle to your lips, you take a long swig. The smooth chill of the cider provides a refreshing reprieve to the sauna-like conditions that you have subjected yourself to.

You grimace slightly at the constant contact from other people- pushing past you, stumbling into you, elbows jutting into your back and sides, drunken feet stepping onto your toes. ‘Why the fuck did I agree to come here? The prospect of going clubbing always is better than the reality of it- I hoped I would’ve known that by now.’ You think to yourself, jaw clenched, growing increasingly irritated by the people surrounding you. Oh, right. You recall, ‘I’m at this nasty club because Logan Howlett has infested my thoughts and feelings, and I need to flush him out of my system before he makes me lose my goddamn mind.’

A kindling of hurt ignites in your chest. Tiny flickering flames grow to great heights inside you fueled by the all-too-fresh memory of Logan leaving your apartment in the morning, post-fuck, pulling on his shirt and pants before you could offer him so much as a cup of coffee.

Maybe this is a good thing, you lie to yourself. Perhaps you just needed to come out and kiss a stranger for the grip he has on you to loosen a bit. Fuck it.

You feel someone come up behind you and place their hands on your hips. His fingers are spidery and long, they feel out of place. You turn your head and regard him. Not too bad, you think to yourself. He’s on the shorter side, but he has a pretty face. His strong, prominent nose and loose chestnut curls are highlighted in the streaks of cobalt and indigo disco lights that rotate through the otherwise poorly lit club.

As wrong as it was, you couldn’t stop imagining that it was Logan who was behind you- his strong hands guiding your hips and his breath delicately tickling your neck. ‘Maybe I should just call him and tell him what I really want. I don’t want to be in a fucking situationship or whatever people call this. A situationship isn’t even a real fucking thing! Fuck that. He’s over a hundred and isn’t settling right now? What kind of bullshit is that?’ The bold thought appears, rising from the ashes of alcohol previously consumed.

You don’t have time to ride that train of thought all the way because you feel a familiar hand on your shoulder, gently tugging you away from the man behind you. “Logan?”

He’s fucking seething. His chest rises and falls slowly his jaw is clenched and you can see the absolute fire that burns in his gaze. His eyes soften momentarily as he gazes upon you, flushed, a thin layer of sheen sits on your skin from the heat of dancing. The tenderness quickly dissipates as he regards the partially distracted man who is doing some sort of half-hearted fist pumping in lieu of dancing now. Quite frankly, the sight is embarrassing. You shuffle to the side, putting some distance between you and the stranger.

“Hey, bub.” He towers over the brunette who is now positioned to the left of you, his fingers still splayed over the small of your back.

With a clenched jaw, Logan spits, “I suggest you take your hands off my girl before you lose ‘em.” Oh God, oh dear, sweet, weeping God. He’s so fucking hot. His shoulders are squared, muscles tensed. The faint scent of tobacco and musk radiates off him and it sends a rush of pleasure right down to your pussy. The smell is familiar, it’s safe and right.

The stranger lifts his hands in surrender and begs forgiveness of Logan, but he pays no attention to that. As soon as you are untethered, his hand engulfs your own and the burly mutant pulls you into the unoccupied manager’s office. He clicks the lock on the door and closes the dusty, grey shutters.

“Logan, what the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?” Your brows knit together in a healthy mixture of concern and confusion.

To Be Continued…

Hi hi! What'd yall think? I really had fun writing this and hopefully the next part will be out in the next couple of days!

xoxo, Viv

[shirefantasies]

Heyo, saw ur requests were open and wanted to send smthn in!!

Was hoping u could do LOTR characters x crush reader who’s generally pretty outgoing and chill? Maybe gives a lot of casual compliments, kind of jokingly flirting and makes a lot of horny™️ jokes. Still like, more serious when need be but tried to be lighthearted

Also if u want more specific characters then just Legolas, Merry and Pippin would work :))

LoTR Characters Reacting to Their Flirty Jokester Crush

(Old request! Requests still temporarily closed)

Doesn’t say much, but they have a lot of thoughts: Aragorn, Frodo, Arwen, Elrond

(Character).exe has stopped working: Sam, Faramir, Eowyn

Gives it right back: Legolas, Boromir, Gimli, Pippin, Galadriel

“Cut that out” (secretly enjoys it): Merry, Eomer, Haldir

Aragorn mostly just grins or shakes his head in amused exasperation at you. Especially if you choose to make jokes at people who are particularly stoic, like Haldir or Eomer. He'll do the same if you make those jokes directly to him, simply grin down at his pipe or the sword he is cleaning and chuckle. On the inside, though? A part of him wants to tackle you then and there, but of course that is simply your manner... right? Frodo always gives a charming little look of surprise before glancing away. If you are close enough, you might see the flush that rises to his fair cheeks. He bursts into a smile and a faint chuckling breath and if he is not the recipient he glances toward your target, especially if your joke is particularly scandalous. His head is rushing with questions: do you mean it? Are you hiding something beneath your jokes? Why do you make them more often to him? Arwen always offers you a wide grin, sometimes even a playful swat to your shoulder or elbow if you are in her father or grandmother's presence. Occasionally she may even ask what they are to do with you, but when she is alone, the only company her own, she cannot stop the rush of thoughts about your words. Do you really think so, then? Perhaps she should offer you some encouragement at your next meeting... Lord Elrond has seen much in this world, too much to be shocked though he can shake his head at your marked lack of decorum. A thrill still runs down his spine, though, at the way you gently touch him, your whispers and devilish grins, and a tentative smile rises to his lips even as he shakes his head at you. Try as he might, Elrond simply cannot shake off the thoughts that rise to his head, the images your words conjure. He fears that soon he will simply give in entirely, and such a thought does little to quell the anticipatory shivers.

The parting of Sam's lips, the widening of his lovely green eyes, even the subtlest flex and release of his nervous hands, all make your manner beyond worthwhile. It only makes you smile wider how surprised he is, especially when he tells you not to tease so and you ask him who's teasing? There's no mistaking the way his cheeks redden at that! The brief rise of Faramir's eyebrows is all his expression betrays as it remains neutral, pondering, peering at you with interest as if he is waiting for you to continue or letting you try again. Whether that spurs further comment by you or lets you simply escape and breeze away with a mischievous smile, you can decide, but know that the moment you look away Faramir's facae completely collapses, your effect irresistible. No one has made comments so directly to Eowyn before you, your words freezing her in a smile and sending her beautiful blue eyes searching yours as she chews her lip half pensively, half at the rise of other thoughts. She is not your sole recipient and yet she feels desired by you. What a delicious thought. Could you mean it?

Legolas skips not a single beat before the perfect retort falls from his rising lips. You return with another comment and he steps closer with yet another reply. The others, especially Aragorn, are shaking their heads at you, Merry and Pippin grinning widely and elbowing each other at your antics. Boromir grins at your words, trying his best to fluster you with comments equally scandalous right back. The smile rarely falls from his face in your presence and he takes to teasing you, even playfully taking and hiding your things to get your attention. Holding them up high hoping you'll stand against him to reach for them. Sometimes he simply calls out your jokes as soon as you've made them, telling you you clearly have a lot on your mind or even outright asking why you are thinking so. Gimli bursts out into devilish, triumphant laughter at your jokes and always seems to have something to add. He’ll tell you you’re absolutely filthy, and the wild look in his eyes and wide upward quirk or his lips assure you this is a compliment. Whenever he catches that look of mischief in your eyes, he nods and provides you with ample encouragement no matter the target. But especially if it is mischief directed toward Legolas or Aragorn or one of your many scandalous compliments directed his way. Puffing out his chest, he takes it with relish. Rather than use his words, Pippin returns your jokes with acts of his own, always being the first to laugh and pull you into games, dances, and pranks with Merry. He replies with a lot of ‘oh yes?’ and small encouragements, especially to your saucier quips. In addition, he wants to be the sole recipient so he will try little things to get your attention and always be around you. Challenge is presented by none other than the Lady Galadriel, who does far more than smile or dismissively shake her head at your comments. Rather she will dare you to put your proverbial money where your mouth is. “Oh, would you really?” “Why do you not demonstrate, then?” Most often you hear these words inside your own mind, looking over to see her giving you what outwardly looks like a friendly smile, but you catch a different glint in her eyes.

“If you keep that up, you’ll disturb his stance.” Merry appears to be chastising you, but you can see by his smile and the sparkle of his gaze upon you that that is far from the truth. Rather he challenges you to see if you truly can disturb Pippin and Boromir’s training. He asks you what you think you’re doing when you play footsie with him by the fire or whisper puns that would make a grown hobbit blush when opportunity avails, but you notice how his smile never falters. You never thought you would see Eomer, marshal of the Riddermark, flustered and lost for words, that stoic exterior finally cracking, but your first pun that such words as you heard were usually spoken in bed have him speechless for a moment. Finally he speaks, telling you this is no time for jokes, but you catch the faintest smile playing into his lips from the shadows of his helmet as he turns away. In fact, the next time you nudge him and fidget at his side, he simply butts you with his shoulder back. Similarly, Haldir also bids you hold your tongue, but the raise of a single blonde brow he gives you is anything but quelling. In fact, all it speaks to you is intrigue. You feel him stiffen when you teasingly grab his hands and you see his eyes fixate firmly upon your lips when you make a suggestive comment. He starts sitting closer to you, legs resting warmly adjacent to your own thighs, and tentatively returning your gestures like nudges. Absolutely still shuts down ‘in bed’ remarks in front of the others, though. Decorum and all.

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[minnaci]

contents: neuvillette x gn!reader, dirty talk, reader is called neuvillette's mate, implied penetrative sex (reader receiving)

or, let neuvillette say fuck! let him say it!!!!

there's something about hearing someone as straight-laced as neuvillette say fuck... maybe it's the way he says it, all low and rumbly like thunder. maybe it's how the syllable drips from his lips— forbidden fruit, lush with promise. maybe it's the way he offers it like a prayer, a word of worship to your body.

he savors it, gasps it, groans it. archons, he'll moan, so good, my love, so perfect. it's like you were made for me to fuck you. and perhaps a little later, when pleasure has frayed his decorum like flames licking up a fine painting— fuck, take it, that's right, you love this, don't you? i should keep you like this always— well-loved and well-fucked, luxuriating in your own decadent satisfaction. i'd keep you spoiled rotten, fucked silly, a vessel for my pleasure and my seed... my beautiful mate...

there is a time and place for making love. but when he looms over you, eyes wild with barely restrained arousal, twitching and throbbing against your soft skin... a heavy, aching desperation hangs between his legs, dripping with desire... well, there's nothing he can do but fuck you, is there?