#god colouring this was more painful than it should be

[gattaxa]

COWBOY KATE BISHOP in MARVEL ANIMATION'S WHAT IF...? S03E06 — "What If...1872?"

"The Hood left my family's homestead the same way after he got through with it. No survivors. And no trail left to track..."

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Perfect Size

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is described as short, name-calling, swearing, Daemon being a horny menace, soft!dom! Daemon, talk of impregnation, talk of pregnancy, pregnancy, smut

Summary: It was Daemon’s life mission to remind you of your size difference, in every aspect of your shared lives.

A/N: This is part of the wonderful @targaryen-dynasty 3K celebration, congrats by the way!!!! I had so much fun with this prompt. Enjoy everyone and enjoy the other wonderful and talented writers' fics. 3K Celebration Masterlist

My masterlist

The gods make humans in their image. They make them grow until they see them as perfect. Or so your Septa used to say whenever you were frustrated about your small stature. And it was no help that the greatest rake of the realm, Lord Flea Bottom, the Rouge Prince himself, made it his life’s mission to remind you of how small you were.

As children, you had been a bit taller than him. He had a problem with it. The need to be bigger than a stupid girl was great. His growth spurt came and he nearly towered over you, looking down at you with a smirk on his lips. “How is the weather down there?” He would often tease. “Just fine.” You would retort back. “I hope your small brain will get enough air up there. A shame if you lost more of it.” Was your sarcastic comeback.

The older the two of you got, the taller he would get and you would only grow a few inches if you even grew at all. First, he was slightly lanky. His muscles had yet to grow. He would remind you of a newborn horse whenever he would stumble over his two long feet as he trained with his sword. Often giggling to his dismay.

“I will cut your head off, and then you will be smaller!” He would shout in anger when he saw you snickering. Daemon’s temper seemed to grow with every inch he gained. You enjoyed it immensely when it would rise because of you.

As young adults, it was fairly certain that you would grow no more. If you stood behind one of the large dinner chairs you could easily hide behind them. Everything seemed to dwarf you.

Daemon prided himself in the knowledge that he was taller than you. Towering over you like the Hightower in Oldtown. And he never passed down the opportunity to remind you. “Shouldn’t you be with your nurse, little one? I think you got the wrong room. The nursery is that way.” Or other things.

You would glare at him. Often kicked his shin when no one was watching. He would yowl in pain. Jump around and hold his leg. “You little pest.” “Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds.” You teased back.

But there were the times he would call you more affectionate words associated with your small stature.

“Why the sour face, my little love?” He mumbled into your ear as he stepped out of the shadows. He had been hiding from his grandmother and her attempts to put boring and plain noblewoman under his nose.

A huff of annoyance escaped your throat. “Mother forced me to wear this ridiculous gown.” You seethed. Your teeth bared like a wolf snarling.

Daemon found your discomfort rather amusing. You looked like a pretty doll all dressed up. Your hair braided into the style of the land you came from. The gown so unmistakably the colours of your house, shining in the light of the candles.

"Oh, no - you're a lady and you have to wear pretty dresses and jewels and oh no, how horrible!" He teased you lightly. He leaned his head on top of yours. A habit he adopted quite recently. Loving the way you fit under him.

You snorted, very un-ladylike. But he was used to your characteristics. You were not one of those up-tied, boring wenches who tried to turn his head. He would rather gauge his eyes out before he gave them a second of his attention.

His attention was only worthy of one woman. And she was right literally under his nose.

He leaned down, just next to your ear. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive shell. “Do you think it would fit?” You could feel the smirk in his voice. You turned to him with a confused look on your pretty face.  It stayed that way until you felt something. You felt it, him. Hard as a rock, pocking you through the fabric of your wedding gown.

Your face grew hotter than the flames of Caraxes. Your body stiffened as you felt him softly rub against your buttocks. He only laughed lowly. His chest vibrates, sending chills up and down your spine. “You scoundrel!” You lowly scoffed. Your heart beating faster.

Not from his antics. Oh no, you were used to them by now. About the whole banquet finding out about Daemon’s little innuendo. “Oh, little love. I am your scoundrel now. It was ordered by the Queen herself.” He chuckled darkly.

She hit his shoulder lightly. “Stop it!” You tried to reprimand him. But your words fell on deaf ears. “Oh, my little love. How funny you will look with my seed growing inside you.” He began to whisper his lewd words. “You probably won’t be able to walk, so large your belly will grow.”

Your body grew hotter and hotter. It didn’t help that he had you pressed to his chest. His erection pressed against the cheeks of your perfect ass. His hands wander lazily over the front of your dress. Stopping over your belly before wandering further down.

“Oh my little love, will it even fit in your little tight hole? Or will I have to mould your little cunny so only my cock can fit inside?” Your breathing hitched at his dark, lustful words. Daemon’s predatory smile grew at your body's reaction to his scandalous words whispered so softly into your ear.

He often wondered if he was unfair to his wife. She was small, her body had nearly strained from the weight of the beautiful two children she had already given him.

He was right at their wedding feast. Her swollen stomach looked too large for her body. It hadn’t been long before the first signs of pregnancy made themselves known.

From the small bump only three moons after they conceived. He still can remember how his hands could cover it until she was seven moons pregnant. She had been ordered to rest. To not exhaust herself too much.

Daemon, looking at the image of her laying in their bed, their little one nestled in her belly. The sight did things to him. Things where his darkest desires seemed light in comparison. Oh, how he had spent his days behind her, driving himself into her tight cunt instead of sitting in a boring small council meeting. His wife and unborn child needed him, and he needed them.

“Another one?” You looked at him from where you stood. Children’s toys in your arms as you helped your daughters clean the room for the day.

Daemon just shrugged. “Why not? Add another one to our hoard. What about you girls? Do you want another sibling?” He crouched down so he was level with Alyssa and Visenya. Both girls looked away from their task to clean up the solar, screeching with joy as their father spoke to them.

“They are tots, Daemon.” You protested. Picking up more of the girls’ toys. “They will agree to anything if you say it with enough enthusiasm.” Daemon chuckled. “Oh, I think they know what I am saying, elillus (honey).” He smirks softly. His eyes roamed her body without shame.

“It has been so long.” “It has only been a few hours. You had me in the morrow.” You snapped back. Cleaning your daughters’ toys from the floor. Putting it into the chest designated for their toys. “I did not mean our coupling, prūmȳs ñuhus (my heart). I meant another child. The girls are six and four.” He mumbled gently.

She looked up at him sitting in the armchair at the edge of the carpet where the girls were playing moments ago. His violet eyes were dark as he watched her like the hunter his prey. “I don’t know, valzȳrys (husband). You heard the maester's words after Visenya’s birth.”

Daemon saw the change in demeanour. He nearly had you, only a small push. “It is your choice, ābrāzȳrys (wife). I do not want to force you.” He stood up, kissing your forehead before helping you with cleaning the toys up.

You were tossing and turning in bed. Nothing seemed right. Thoughts swirled through your head. So many voices at once.

You wanted to scream. But you would only wake up your family.

“Tell me what is keeping you from sleep, ābrāzȳrys (wife)” Daemon's gravel voice rang through the room. He sounded tired. His back turned to you.

“It’s nothing.” You whispered. “Bullshit!” Daemon groaned. Turning to face you. “It feels like I am sleeping next to a bloody sack of kittens. What is it.” He tiredly glared at her. Knowing full well what was going on.

“You’ve gotten into my head, you menace!” You growled out. Pouting at him. His usual smirk grew on his lips, a soft chuckle escaping. “Apologies for that, ābrāzȳrys (wife).“ „You are not sorry, Daemon.” His grin widened more. “You know me so well.”

A huff escaped your lips. “Why must you torment me so?” Daemon sat up on his forearm, looking down at you. Your hair was splayed out in a messy halo. A bright smile adorned his face as he saw the light, tired glare and the pout on your lips.

“Oh, little love, I vowed to be the bane of your existence since we played with the small dragon figurines our daughters’ play with now. And ever since it was announced you would be my dear lady wife I swore to torture you even more.” He softly nipped at your collarbone, his large hands coming to rest on your rips, just under your breasts.

“Let me help you with your decision-making. Let me enter your little cunny and stay there when I cum. Let my seed fill your womb once more.” His imposing frame loomed over you. Covering you like a blanket.

“What if the maester is right?” “The maesters are cunts who want to see me unhappy and you in doubt. They told you after Alyssa you could not carry another child. Two years later they said the same after Visenya.” He kissed your shoulder gently before his expressive violet eyes stared at you. “What is your body telling you?”

You bit your lip gently, A small rumble going through Daemon’s chest at your gesture. But he restrained himself. “I want another one.” You whispered gently.

A smile broke greater than before out on his lips, his dimples showing. “I will not let anything happen to you. The moment your body is resisting, I will get you moon tea or whatever is necessary.” You nodded gently.

His eyes darkened with lust. “Now before we can even discuss the pregnancy, we must make it happen.”

He lifted himself so his arms were on either side of your head. “Oh my sweet, I longed to fill up your little cunny. Seeing it overflow with my seed. Stuffing it back in.” He laughed gently as you shuddered.

With haste born of his pent-up desire, he ripped all of your clothes off your and his body. You gasped softly, scolding him for literally ripping your nightgown. “I never liked it anyway.” He mumbled against the skin between your breasts. Slowly moving down to your stomach.

He worshipped your body, caressing your thighs and hips. Squeezing the flesh around them, even gently nibbling on it.

He kissed each and every lightning-bold-like scar. Mumbling with every kiss a small thanks. These were the marks of his children. Evidence of your brave sacrifice.

He went further down. His lips ghosted over the soft locks, his eyes watching you heave out breaths of anticipation.

A loud scream ripped from your throat when you felt his tongue plunge deeply into your wet core. The eagerness of his lapping overwhelmed your senses. His nose ever so lightly brushed against your pearl. Teasing it to shoot lightning throughout your body.

You came undone. His tongue, nose and two of his digits working in tandem to torture you. And it worked. Your back arched off the bed. Loud cries of his name and pleas for him to stop accompanied your downward spiral into the abyss of your pleasure.

He stared down at you hungrily. His vibrant eyes were dark with lust. He looked every bit the dragon he ought to be. “Little rabbit.” He growled out. “Sweet, little rabbit. Trapped beneath the large dragon.”

He leaned down again. Like Caraxes would decent upon his pray, Daemon came down upon you. Devouring you once more.

He held your thighs wide open as he ploughed into you. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin rang through the room. His large hand wrapped around your delicate neck, softly pressing against it. Your breathing coming out in small pants.

“You should see yourself, little darling. My large hand is like a necklace on your throat. I can nearly wrap it around.” He chuckled darkly.

His words elicited shivers to run up and down your spine. This action causes your body to tense slightly. Daemon roared as he felt you squeeze his cock. “Seven fucking hells, woman! Do you want to kill me?!” He panted out. Driving his cock deeper inside you. The stretch is a familiar pain. But not too unpleasant. He had prepared you for him. And he would hate for you not to enjoy your coupling.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, sensual kiss. It was so different from the way his hips moved. So slow and loving. “I am not hurting you, am I, my little darling?” He whispered. You shook your head. “Nothing I am not used to from you.” He grinned, nipping at your lower lip, “That’s my good girl.” He whispered.

He picked up his pace. His hands on your thighs clawing into your skin. His knuckles are white. He groaned and grunted, looking down at you with an intense stare. Your own moans and cries mingle with his. Creating a symphony of pleasure.

He came with a roar of your name, his face buried into your neck. Panting heavily next to your ear. Your own climax is triggered by the feeling of being filled with his potent seed. Both your eyes closed in bliss.

He stayed inside you even as his member softened inside you. The grip on your thigh remains tight. Like he needed to be grounded by you.

Your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, softly caressing his head. He hummed gently, letting you know he loved what you were doing. “Do not dare to stop.” He mumbled gently into your neck. You continued with your caress. Softly petting him like he was a dog.

He fell asleep like this. His spent cock inside you, keeping his precious seed inside you. His body acted like a blanket. Your hand in his hair.

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[inkdrinkerworld]

same bday anon- i have a yelling req !!!

remus yelling at reader pre or post full moon and the other marauders don't say anything bc they're shocked, but reader thinks it's bc they agree? and then after a while they all make up and just cuddle<3 ofc if u don't wanna it's all good !!! ilysm baby !

I did it more along the lines of Remus having chronic pain than a werewolf thing :/ I hope that’s okay

You’re kneeling before Remus’ slouched body on the sofa, hand in his hair as you try to coax him to move.

“Remus, c’mon. You can’t lay like that, your bones will ache.”

You’re trying to get your ailing boyfriend to find a much more comfortable spot, his body sore and tired and the chill moving through the air wasn’t helping so much.

Sirius and James are in the kitchen- a bad idea but you’d wanted to try to coax Remus into some stretches and maybe a massage before they finished the potato and leek soup for supper.

“I can lay like this all I want, dove. It feels good.” There’s a snark in his tone, but you don’t let it get under your skin. You know how much pain he’s in when he has a flare up like this, so you brush his tone aside.

You run your hand down his cheeks, “Please Rem. I don’t want your knees to lock or your back to twinge.”

You’re as gentle as you can be, patient and understanding but you can see in your mind’s eye that way Remus wobbled and fell to the floor the last time his knees had locked.

“I’m a grown man damnit!” You flinch back from him as his tone shifts, your hand dropping from his face as you sit back on your heels on the floor. “If I want to fucking lay like this for the rest of the night I can.”

Remus’ outburst has gathered the attention of your other boyfriends, and you want terribly to respond to his words, but you can’t.

He sounds so upset and he’s so loud and you feel your chest constrict as you stare at him.

“I don’t need you hovering for gods sake! Go be a nuisance somewhere else.”

Remus speaks with such venom and he looks at you with just heat and anger in his eyes that it’s impossible not to believe this is how he really feed about you.

James and Sirius stay silent, shocked by Remus’ words just as you are- but their silence makes the shame burn hotter in your chest.

This is how they all feel about you.

“You don’t get to be mean just cause you’re hurting, Remus.” Is all you say as you stand, walking towards the front door when Sirius springs into action first.

“Poppet, where’re you headed?” He’s almost beaten you to the front door but your hand touches the handle first.

“I’m going for a walk. I want to stack stones by the river.” Sirius knows what it’s code for. You don’t want to say something mean back to Remus, you want to be kind even if he’s being an ass.

Sirius makes to grab your jumpers. “I’ll come with, you shouldn’t be alone.” You shake your head.

“You don’t have to pretend you care, Siri. It’s okay if you and Jamie agree with him. I just want to be alone.”

“Agree with him? Poppet we,” but you’re already out the door.

James glares at Remus who simply sinks into the sofa.

“You can be a real piece of work, Moony.” James says, hoisting his boyfriend out of the position he’d been in and stretching his legs long on the sofa instead of over its back.

Sirius moves to the living room again, “She was trying to help. Now she’s gone off to stack her stones when she should be tearing you a new one.”

Remus scrubs at his face, heat colouring his cheeks red. Sirius doesn’t let him off the hook. He can’t believe how callous Remus has been.

“Thinks me and James share your fuck off stupid sentiments when you don’t even believe what you said.”

James stops him from saying any more. “I’ll go look for her while you stay with him.”

Remus shakes his head, hissing as he stands; his knees shaky and weak. “I’ll go.” Sirius wants to stop him, but James knows if Remus doesn’t go do it now he’ll spend the entire time he’s home worrying himself sick and then won’t be able to face for days.

Sirius slaps his hands to his thighs, “Fuck off, we’ll all go. I’ll turn off the hob.”

They find you after you’ve already made four stacks of rocks, some with tiny rocks, some with huge slabs of stone.

Remus�� chest tightens as he spots you, your knees to your chest, toes wet from where you’re sat.

“Dove,” Remus starts to say as he stops right beside you. “I was an ass. I didn’t mean what I said.”

You just hum, looking at your stacks and trying to find more rocks for another pile.

“I hate when I can’t do the things I want because it’ll make me hurt and it was wrong of me to shout at you for just trying to look after me.”

You look at him when he crouched down, his knees cracking so loudly you’re worried he’ll topple over.

James steadies a hand on Remus’ back while Sirius procures a couple stones for you. His palm flat as he shows them to you, a little smile on his face when you take them.

“You said I was a nuisance.” Remus cringes as he heads the words back. He really can’t believe he’d been so mean to you.

“I didn’t mean it, dovey. The pain is no excuse.”

“Do you all think that?” You ask nervously, “You didn’t say anything when he said it.” You gnaw on your bottom lip, worrying it to all hell as you look between James and Sirius.

“You’re not a nuisance baby,” James says first, hurt that you’d even thought it was how they felt about you. “I know us not saying anything made things worse, but it was just shock; not how we feel.”

Sirius turns your face up to his, pinching your chin to keep your eyes on him. “You walked out before I could finish. None of us think you’re a nuisance, you’re the best damn thing that happened to us. Come home.”

Sirius is hard to have a stare off with, he doesn’t back down. But it isn’t that that does you in.

“Please dove. You can boss me around till the end of time, just come home and out of the cold.”

Remus sounds so chock full of remorse and when you look at him you find his eyes glassy. “Okay,” Sirius helps you stand, and you receive kisses from all three of them before you the river bed.

[girl-lostconnection]

I don’t know what came over me but there is something about retired John Price and his big hands and him getting softer around the edges after all the battles that makes me feral

Continuation of this I wrote a little while back.

John’s hands are scarred calloused things — hardened from years of battle and manual labour, spent in more ways then one, joints aching every time the rain clouds are coming to hover over the village.

John feels the upcoming storms better than any sailor does, knows how soon the waves would roar and clash with each other by the way his left wrist throbs with dull uncomfortable ache, sharp pain lacing towards his fingers when he moves it.

You watch him carefully, always in the corner of his own vision — pretty little thing, eyes too big and teeth too sharp.

You with your rows upon rows of glistening pearls, shining in the morning sun like you just got out of the water, toothy smile as a greeting to John smoking a pipe on his porch.

The sea breeze is always salty and that the only explanation he has for why his mouth starts salivating at the sight of the wet fabric of your shirt clinging to your skin. John sits on the steps of his cabin and rasps out “morning, luv”.

Voice too low to be appropriate, eyes glued to you without the hint of shyness in them. John is an old man, love, he’s seen too much, he’s lived a life.

He’s not going to be ashamed that he appreciates the view of a gorgeous thing like yourself in wet shirt.

You just smile at him, a little wider than maybe necessary but god, does he look delicious. Long legs and strong hips, arms big from a lifetime worth of battles, chest broad with curls of hair peeking through the unlaced cut of his shirt.

He looks good enough to eat.

Your tongue traces the sharp edges of your teeth, eyes roaming him with the same shameless interest.

Well, maybe you should?

John watches you go about your day, meets you at the small shop you hold at the edge of the village — selling freshest fish, small jars of roe and crates filled with water and shellfish.

John watches you, dexterous fingers uncannily good at deboning the fish, your smile widening when you catch John watching — blood and scales clinging to your skin.

John visits you few times a week, chats you up, eyes heavy with satisfaction when you silently laugh at one of his jokes — shoulders shaking, face flushed with laughter.

You bring him your best fish and scallops, show how to properly salt and store the thing. You get him ready for winter, touches lingering here and there, feeding him with seafood.

John is not one to ever say no to someone this beautiful taking liking to him, but still it feels a little new to be on the other end of care. To have someone hop onto his doorstep with herbs and seafood, with ointments for his joints and salted fish.

With smiles and sea salt in small jars.

Smoked and blended with herbs, colourful and coarse.

John takes everything, eyes softening when he sees it’s you, hands carefully accepting your gifts, stealing away small touches of your cool fingers.

You smile wider when he does, clicking your tongue in satisfaction.

A well-fed mate is a happy mate, after all. And you are determined to keep him very very happy.

After all, better he gets some size on him before you sink your teeth in.

[burningembers91]

The Gangster's Wife - Hwang Jun-Ho x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

Sleeping With the Enemy

Please note that this storyline will deal with situations depicting domestic violence.

Synopsis: As your relationship with Hwang Jun-Ho deepens, your husband becomes suspicious

It was getting late, the sun beginning to set in a blaze of colour that stained the sky red. You shouldn’t be here, you should be at home, playing the ever-doting wife, waiting for her husband to return. But you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, couldn’t seemed to tear yourself away from the man nestled between your thighs. Hwang Jun-Ho traced the most exquisite circles over your clit with his tongue, his fingers softly stroking your sensitive core. Your fingers entwined in his hair, holding him in place as you arched your hips further into his touch; you couldn’t leave yet. Every day you spent with him, you found it harder to leave, found it harder to return to a man who didn’t love you like Jun-Ho did. Your ragged, shaking moans intensified, culminating in a sound that would bring a God to his knees as you came.

His lips trailed their way up your body, his tongue tracing a line from your breasts to your collarbone. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he pulled you close, taking in every inch of your perfect features. “We need to get you home,” he whispered, peppering a line of kisses along your jaw. He didn’t want you to go, he couldn’t keep you safe when you were at home. He spent every moment apart from you worrying for your safety. He wished he could take you somewhere far from the city, somewhere where no one could hurt you. “Five more minutes,” you begged, “please. I need you one more time.” Jun-Ho could never resist you, could never deny you anything. He made love to you again, his lips swallowing your moans as your trembled against him.

He dropped you back at your designated meet up spot, leaving you to take a taxi home. You would pretend you’d been out all day shopping, your arms ladened down with bags of designer clothes and accessories. “Until next time,” you smiled sadly. You never quite knew when you’d see him again, your meets up depending entirely on your husband’s schedule. He’d been spending more time at home lately, hosting more meetings in his office. You’d grown worried that he perhaps suspected something, that he was keeping a closer eye on your because he knew you were up to something. You knew you should care about getting caught; your husband was a dangerous man who wouldn’t hesitate to inflict on you a punishment far worse than death if he found out you were cheating, but you were powerless to resist the detective who’d been assigned to your case. You never imagined that by going to the police for help, you’d have fallen so maddeningly in love with the man tasked with bringing down your husband.

The taxi ride home felt like an age, your mind whirring with thoughts of Jun-Ho. You longed for the day when you didn’t have to sneak around, when you didn’t need to be apart. You’d spent so long being mistreated by your husband, and Jun-Ho had showed you love that you never knew was possible. What you had with him, that was real love. What you had with your husband was built on a foundation of fear and intimidation. You’d spent too many years cowering in his shadow, locked in a vicious cycle of beatings, apologies, expensive gifts and then more beatings. You knew you were doomed to repeat this nightmare until you died of old age, or he killed you. That was why you went to the police for help, not because of the harm he was doing to the others, but because you were scared of dying. Of course, you hated the way he prayed on innocent victims, the way he took whatever he wanted regardless of the pain he inflicted. But you were terrified of having your life cut short. Of having it ended by someone who was supposed to love and protect you. That was no life for anyone. Now that you’d experienced what real love was supposed to feel like, you were more determined than ever to get out.

You arrived home, dropping your bags in the hallway before padding through to the kitchen for a glass of wine. You didn’t notice your husband, not until you’d taken a large sip of Sauvignon Blanc. He was sitting at the kitchen island, silent and unmoving. “Where have you been?” He asked quietly. He had such a presence about him, such an ominous aura and you could feel your hands start to shake. “I was shopping,” you lied, not daring to meet his eyes.

Pushing himself off his stool, he casually walked over to you. The tension is in the air was palpable, the fear rising through you like a wildfire. “Why is your lipstick smudged?” he asked, running his thumb roughly over your lips, smearing the berry-red colour down your chin. “I had a burger for lunch. Must have smudged while I was eating.” You closed your eyes against the fear, hoping that if you kept them closed long enough, he’d just leave you alone. Instead, he pushed himself into you, enjoying the terrifying hold he had over you. “I can smell his cheap cologne,” your husband growled, backing you into the fridge with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. He didn’t say another word, leaving you to tremble in the kitchen like a scared little mouse. He’d come back later, when the fear had really set in. He’d show you what happened when you disrespected him.

You stood on the cold tiled floor, clutching the countertop for support. Your head span, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Grabbing your phone, you sent two words to Jun-Ho. Two simple words that made every ounce of colour drain from his face. He knows.

[propertyofwicked]

speed demon - LN

warnings: speeding + dangerous driving, references to sex

short fluff :) fewtrell!reader -> can be read as a stand alone or an extra to the secrets series!

my take on a BTS of the quadrant athletes video with willne and bambinobecky :) p.s hey caitlin i know ur reading this

lando’s girlfriend was a concerning driver. growing up in the english country side, especially with her racing-mad brother max, she became very accustomed to driving at insane speeds down backroads, learning where the swerve potholes and where all the cameras were. honestly, put her in an f1 car with a good song and watch max verstappen crumble.

her brother and his friend could speed around race tracks, y/n preferred real roads.

the only flaw in her driving ability arose when lando, who notoriously hates being a passenger, sat to her left, gripping any hard surface he could as his girlfriend threw her car around a corner.

“y/n, angel, you know i love you - but why do you drive like you had somewhere to be 10 minutes ago?”

“this is a good song,” she answered with a shrug, which only confused him further, yet she slowed down, glancing at the man besides her, “it’s got a good bassline. you literally drive at like 200 miles an hour and yet you’re getting stressed about me going 80 on an empty road?”

“the difference between you and me is that i wear a helmet when i drive that fast.”

“no one is stopping you from putting a helmet on in my car, lan.”

“erm, i think the national speed sign meaning 60mph should be enough that i shouldn’t need to wear a helmet in your car y/n.”

“god you’re so dramatic, lando - has anyone ever told you that?”

“yes. you. the last time i complained about your driving, you little speed demon,” he said, finally laughing quietly at the situation.

in fact, they were late. they were supposed to be at a quadrant shoot in 10 minutes, but still needed to pick up will and becky from the station near to the warehouse they were filming in. when they finally reached the station, lando jumped out of the car to meet them, leaving y/n to sit in silence, queuing a few songs for the short journey to the shooting location.

“y’alright y/n?” will asked, climibing into the back seat of her car, becky climbing in from the other side.

“i’m good, thank you will. how are you?”

“im good, however i’ll let you know how i feel after ive experienced your driving,” he joked, earning a guilty chuckle from lando who was buckling himself back into the passenger seat. her hand rose, slapping his arm lightly.

“hey! my driving is not that bad.”

“let them find that out for themselves, angel,” he responded, dramatically rubbing his arm, feigning pain. she ignored him, shoving the car into gear before jamming her foot onto the accelerator, the loud engine loud enough to wake the dead.

when they did arrive at the shoot, will had gone silent, his face paler than usual. becky was still smiling and chatting, but her face conveyed the same level of fear as wills. the group of them walked into the warehouse, where max was already waiting.

y/n walked up to max, taking him in a small embrace before stepping back to let him greet the rest of the group.

“will? you good man? you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” max said, taking a step back to look at the man a second time.

“yeah, yeah, im good,” he responded, smiling sheepishly. y/n absentmindedly played with her car keys, the jingling of her key rings raising max’s attention.

“lando let you drive? jesus, no wonder will looks like he needs a fresh pair of trousers,” max laughed, doubling over.

“why does everyone think im such a bad driver? i have not crashed once. never. not a single crash. the same cannot be said for you or lando, max,” she exclaimed, beginning to feel offended at the accusations.

“in all fairness, lando warned me. i thought he was joking when he said she loved the accelerator more than she loves him,” will replied, the colour coming back to his face as he smiled. max shook his head at his sister again, before directing will and becky round to the sofas, running them through the plans for the day.

y/n felt a warm pair of arms snake around her body from behind, lando’s head coming to rest on her shoulder. he turned his head to look at her, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek.

“im not actually a bad driver, am i?” she mumbled to him.

“no angel, people are just jealous of your sheer ability to drive at dangerous speeds and do it safely,” he responded, he meant to be sincere but y/n could feel the sarcastic undertones.

she shook her head at him, pulling away from his embrace, but his hand reached out, latching onto hers, before pulling her back into him. this time her chest melted into his, her head tilting to glance up at him.

“i hate this scarf,” she announced, but stretched her neck up to presses soft kisses along his jaw.

“ouch. why? i like it.”

“’cos it covers your neck. i love your neck,” she said, smiling up at him again.

“i know you do angel. your love for my neck is the reason i have to wear a scarf for the shoot today,” he said, laughing, his hands moving from her back to push loose strands of her behind her ears. a blush rose up her cheeks at the memory of the night before, as her fingers moved to pull the scarf down slightly looking at the bruises beginning to darken on his skin.

she hadn't meant to, but she had found herself on top of him last night, legs straddling him as his pushed up into her. with max only a room over, she needed to find an outlet for the noises she wanted to make and his neck fell victim.

“whoopsies. but im sure the lando girlies would love to see you with hickies.”

“i’m sure they would,” he said, grinning at her still and nodding slightly, “im sure your brother would love it to,” he added sarcastically, glancing over to the man in question who was now handing becky a script.

she tutted in response, pulling his scarf back up to covering his neck. lando’s head tilted down to look at her again, using his hands on her jaw to pull her face up closer to his. his lips pressed soft kisses to her forehead and cheeks before finally planting a soft but quick peck to her lips.

“lando did you want to stop getting it on with my sister and come and do your job?” max bellowed from across the room, pulling the two apart.

lando decided he should probably drive the two of them home that day, and let max take the others back to the station, but the moment the car moved off from where it was parked, he stalled the engine.

"formula 1 driver but can't drive a manual without stalling it. that's embarrassing - now who can't drive?" she joked, laughing at him as he restarted the ignition.

"still you," he replied bluntly, his foot slamming down on the accelerator sending the car flying across the car park.

"please don't destroy my car," she begged quietly at the sound of her engine about to take off, "a man i quite like bought it for me and id hate to make him angry when he has to buy me new tyres."

"ill just buy you another car," he joked as he returned to the speed limit of the road ahead, his hand moving from the gear stick to rest on her thigh, grabbing lightly at it.

"you're not a bad driver, you know that, don't you angel?" he said after a few minutes of silence. he'd admit that she wasn't the best driver, but she was still skilled even if slightly reckless.

"i know," she said, her voice still heavy with the annoyance from everyone's teasing.

"you would be great at karting, you know?"

"stop it - i spent my entire childhood trying to avoid karting please do not bring it into my adulthood," she begged, albeit jokingly.

"why did you avoid it? im sure max would've loved to race with you," lando asked, glancing to his side to look at her face, her head leaning on the door panel.

"it was max's thing, i guess. i didn't want to do what he did. i wanted to be my own person. i still do," she said with a shrug. lando's hand moved from her thigh to grab hers, pulling it up to his face to press a kiss to the back of it.

"i'm glad you're unapologetically you. i don't think i could cope with two max's in my life. or two of you for that matter."

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY ELEVEN: wax play with sukuna

kinktober masterlist

what a fuckin dweeb he is. another short one i apologise

sukuna doesn't know how to be normal about wax play. you've taught him the ins-and-outs, shown him what body-safe candles to buy and how to drip them so each searing splatter against your skin feels more heavenly than the last, you even tested it out on him first—let him feel the melted wax against his chest and abs for a taste of what you'd be in store for.

but no, he insists on being weird about it. he will melt down ten candles and pool them together in a bowl so he's got a larger canvas to work with. and then he ties your naked body down to the bed, dips his entire hand into the wax and drags his burning palm down your body.

he will cup his hand under the wax, pool as much of it as he can into his palm and then lift your knee so he can watch hot wax run down your thigh. he always picks the candles with the red wax too, and you doubt his favoured colour is a coincidence—not with how crazy the sight of it against your skin drives him.

and sure, you can't think of much at all when his cock is buried so deep inside of you hat you're seeing stars. but sukuna will coat his hand in wax and bring it, still dripping, to the side of your face to direct your gaze to him. his red-coated thumb pushing at your lips—he'd force a few waxy fingers into your mouth if you'd let him. god he loves the sight.

sometimes he just gets you to do the same, to coat your smaller hand in wax and wipe over his body, his face, his cock. to be covered just as you are, both coated in what should be painful but is instead narcotic... it sends him thoughtless.

and so he, in turn, sends you thoughtless with his cock as he drips hot wax over your body. rubs it into your skin with heated hands and watches as it pools in the dips and shapely parts of your frame. makes you cum as he pours it over you, in hopes that you'll eventually link the scalding red with blinding pleasure.

but of course, because he has to make it weird, he will try and lick it off you after.

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@xixflower

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Metanoia ;

Aemond Targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter III : The Pandemonium.

Summary: Aemond conjures up a plan to get his revenge on you but he faces an obstacle; his own self.

WARNINGS: Violent thoughts, plans for revenge, Aemond in unhinged, a little graphic but not too much + not proof read.

A/N: divider credits to @cafekitsune

<- prev // masterlist // next ->

How could he be so foolish? How could he forget what has happened? Was he willing to put his differences aside all because you woke up? No. He couldn't. He can't.

He despised you for what you had done, sure he may have liked you when he was young, sure you were the only one that was ever kind to him but it did not change the fact that you were the reason why he is blind in one of his eyes.

You chose to protect your brothers over him, of course you did, what did he expect? You were a bastard too just like them.

He remembers the way his mother was humiliated in front of everyone, all because of you.

It was your fault.

You.

You.

You.

He scoffed, was all he could think about is you? Now that he noticed it, you had never really left his mind, you had always been in his thoughts one way or another, infiltrating his body like a parasite, taking control over his mind.

He did not understand himself, why does he hold such sympathy for you when you had done nothing but hurt him more than anyone could ever imagine.

Had it been luke that took his eye out, he would've fed him to his dragon, so why does he excuse you? Should he feed you to his dragon? Vhagar could definitely use a meal.

Yet the thought of losing you terrifies him, he would never admit it, but he cannot imagine a life without you, it was as though your existence was granted just for him by the gods, if that were true, why were they so cruel? Making you be the one that did such a harm to him?

He gritted his teeth.

He felt uneasy.

He felt nauseous.

What is happening to him?

The night began to fall slowly, the sun retreating down, out of vision, he paced the room anxiously, all of his thoughts were driving him insane for the past few hours, the same question bothering him over and over again, he itched to do something.

Was it truly your fault? You were the one that encouraged him to go pursue vhagar, yet you were the very same person that he had to lose an eye to for the sake of gaining a dragon.

How ironic.

He hated it.

Perhaps you were worried that he would've actually hit jace with that stone, he wasn't going to, it was just to scare them off, yet you weren't able to tell, nobody was able to tell, he wasn't as cruel as everyone paints him out to be.

You should've known this, you knew the most, so why didn't you understand him?

The cut of betrayal and heartbreak was more painful to him than that of his eye back then, his stomach churned while the master stitched him up, while you stood there in horror as you watched his eye be taken out.

He remembers your expression clearly of guilt and horror.

You deserved to feel that way.

For what you had done to him.

He kicks the table in front of him in annoyance, making all the contents on it crash onto the floor with a loud thud, he breathes heavily, not wanting to recall any of the incident anymore.

His hands trembled, he stared outside the balcony, watching the sky turn dark blue.

The blue almost mocking him as the colour stood for justice and he got none.

He wanted justice.

He turns around, facing the room once again and sees his dagger laying on the bed.

He mouths quirks up into a smirk.

He knew what he was going to do.

---------------------------------------------

You paced around your room, wondering what the earlier incident with Aemond was, questioning why he had suddenly changed his behaviour, almost wanting to poke your eye out.

Besides, you realise how your own body gets extremely anxious when he is around, it's as if your body is extremely afraid and threatened by his existence.

The dinner was tonight, the infamous dinner where Aemond implies that your brothers are bastards in front of everyone, that essentially ends up with a fight.

You wonder if it would be different since he is betrothed to you now, maybe out of respect he wouldn't do that toast?

The maids get you ready for the dinner, dressing up in more comfortable clothes for the evening and you stay put, hoping that everything will go smoothly.

You were dead wrong.

You realised as you watched Aemond push Jace.

Why would he do this?

Alicent murmurs something to him, grabbing him but he yanks his hand away from her, “I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family mother, hmm.”

“Though..” He pauses and turns to look at you.

“It seems my niece and nephews aren't as proud as theirs.” He taunts openly.

“What the fuck.” You voice out loud and Aemond is shocked at your words, “I appreciate you looking out for my family uncle, even though you are missing an eye.” Those words of frustration leave your mouth.

And the entire room falls silent.

Alicent turns and glares at you, and Rhaenyra hushes you.

What?

“Oh shit, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean it.” You quickly realise what you said, you lost control of your body once again, Aemond takes a deep breath before storming off.

Fuck, you messed up.

How could you make fun of him for such a sensitive issue?

You immediately rush after him, chasing as he strides through the hallways quickly, “Aemond! I didn't mean it!” You yell out, the passing by servants staring at you confused as you run quickly.

You grabbed his forearm, halting him.

He yanks his arm harshly away from you.

“Don't. Touch. Me.” He grits his teeth, you blink, taken aback, feeling guilty of bringing up such a sensitive topic. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean it.” You apologise once again, looking down.

He stays quiet before letting out a scoff.

“You-” The servant passes by, bowing to you both before leaving. He realises that this place is too public and pulls you to the side. “You're ironic, considering what you've done yet bring it up so insensitively.” He whispers, voice laced with anger.

“What?” You're confused.

He grabs your cheeks harshly, pushing them together. You stare at him wide eyed. Your eyes are beautiful.

He notes.

His mouth quirks up into a smirk, reminding himself of his plan later.

Your body begins to shiver out of your control, the feeling of anxiety gnawing in your stomach.

Surprisingly, Aemond pushes his lips against yours, capturing yours with his, you were confused, he was mad at you a moment ago, why was he kissing you now?

It's not like you minded it, but it was out of character, but you’d rather take this than to have him kill you cause you offended him.

His hand left your cheek and wrapped around your throat pulling you further into the kiss. He was being rough, teeth clanking against yours as he devoured you.

You kissed him back, trying to match his rhythm so the painful grazing of his teeth against your lips can be less impactful. The hallways fill with the echoes of your smooching, the wetness popping everytime Aemond pulls back to breathe.

Aemond wasn’t kissing you because he likes you or anything, or it wasn’t like your lips were distracting, he is doing this so he doesn’t end up hurting you now, yes definitely, that must be the reason; or at least that's what Aemond convinced himself to believe.

“Y/N- Oh my goodness!” You immediately pull away upon hearing the voice and turn to look at the direction the voice came from, feeling embarrassed when you see Rhaenyra standing at the end of the path alongside Alicent. They both probably rushed out of the dining room to check in on their respective children. Well only to find them practically devouring each other's faces.

Aemond looks annoyed, feeling upset that they were interuppted.

Wait, why was he feeling upset?

He coughs, leaving immediately, forcing you to face both of them alone.

“Uhm i-” You stumble over your words and Rhaenyra furrows her brows, “Good night mother, and your grace” You bow to both Alicent and Rhaenyra and leave hurriedly as well, none of them make an effort to stop you. Instead looking at each other in awkward silence before bidding goodnight to each other as well.

You rush to your chambers hastily, face feeling like it's on fire after the moment you just shared with Aemond, the anxiety still existed in your gut but you felt weirdly comforted by the kiss. You open the door, rushing in and face planting onto your bed before squealing into the sheets, gripping them tightly.

You kissed Aemond Targaryen.

You just kissed Aemond Targaryen.

You began to giggle like a woman gone insane, punching the sheets to get the excited feeling out of you while rolling on the bed.

You tried really hard to fit into the world, not wanting to make a big deal out of anything, keeping yourself fan behaviour within, contained and locked so you don't seem weird, but you couldn't contain the excitement now. This single handedly made you forget what happened moments prior and focus on the moment itself, you touched your lips feeling how warm they were and you couldn't hold back the smile that bloomed on your face at the thought.

For as long as you can remember you loved Aemond as a character, being his biggest fan. You got to experience something that nobody ever will. Should you be thankful? You didn't know, but whatever it was, the encounter left you feeling all giddy.

Your eyes begin to close automatically, unable to keep open, you shift into a more comfortable position and let the sleep succumb you.

In his room— Aemond grabbed the dagger, shoving it in its sheath before sliding a mural to the side, revealing the hidden passages in the red keep and descending down the stairs and to your room.

He pulled the wall of your chamber and it opened instantly, he looked around the room, checking for another person, making sure he was alone before stepping out of his hiding and into the room itself.

He walked like a predator towards its prey, staring at your unconscious body that was sleeping soundly, he stood by your bed studying your frame as he loomed over you.

Your hair fell messily onto your face, a strand getting stuck to the corner of your lips, his hand came up to your cheek and tucked the strand away and onto your ear. He caressed your face fondly for a moment before snapping himself out of it.

What was he doing?

He quickly pulls his hand away as if he touched fire and grabs the dagger instead, taking it out and pointing it at your eye from above. Your eyes were closed shut, eyelashes brushing your cheekbones as you took gentle breaths. You were fast asleep, stranger to the threat lurking in your room.

He lowered the dagger slowly, planning on whether to shut, stab it from above or slice it upwards your face; leaving a scar just like his. He tilted his dagger deciding he was gonna do the latter and pressed the metal to your skin.

He didn't put pressure yet.

His heart pounded heavily, his breath going out of control as he couldn't breathe, his head began to spin. He didn't want to do this.

What?

Why did he not want to do this?

He clenched his eye shut, scrunching his face in anger wondering as to why both his mental and physical state of his being betraying him. Why did he not want to hurt you? Was that not what he was after?

He planned meticulously for this moment, he might not ever get a chance to do this, so he should seize this moment immediately. Yet his heart ached as visions of your shared youth flashed in his memory. He exhaled, body visibly shaking, resisting from digging the blade deeper into your skin.

He yanks away the dagger from his hand, throwing it sideways across the room, it lands in the corner. He stares at his own hand wondering why his body acted out of his accordance.

Or maybe he was the one acting out of accordance to himself. He grabs his chest, his heart aching at the mere thought of wanting to hurt you himself, what is happening to him? He steps back from his place, staring at your still sleeping body.

He feared this.

He had always feared this would happen ever since the incident.

Hating you was easy when you weren't in front of him, but he could not anymore because you were in front of him now.

You were something precious to him, no, you are something precious to him, he couldn't bring himself to hate you or hurt you, it felt conflicting, he felt weak, he felt like a hypocrite, he felt disgusted at himself, how can he forgive you? How can he ever forgive you? What you did to him was irreversible damage so why is it that he feels guilty about hurting you?

Perhaps he already knew the answer.

That is correct.

He doesn't need to forgive you.

He had already long forgiven you.

Just the mere seconds after you slashing his eye out, as he fell to the ground clutching it in pain, blood seeping through his fingers, regardless of the excruciating pain he felt;

He forgave you that instant.

He didn't want to admit that to himself, for it would make him look like a moron.

He was a moron. A moron in love.

A moron still in love.

He turned on his foot, immediately leaving the room, closing the wall loudly behind him in anger as he rushed back to his own chambers.

After a few moments, you woke up sweating, immediately sitting up as you processed the dream you just had, unaware of the fact that Aemond was ever in your chamber, but rather waking up because of the dream.

No, it rather felt like a memory.

Is this a memory of this body?

Your eyes widened, now realising why Aemond had lashed out at you, why Alicent glared at you, and why Rhaenyra hushed you.

It wasn't Luke who took his eye in this universe.

It was you.

You felt so stupid.

TAGLIST !!

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[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 11

Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader + outdoors/public

How are yall spending your weekend? Im gonna spend it doing absolutely nothing, i hope. This kinda goes along with the vader prompt from last year, which you can read here. But it can still be read as a stand-alone, i think?

this has some dom/sub vibes between the reader and Vader, that just came as i wrote this. enjoy.

2024 kinktober masterlist

Being Darth Vader’s imperial officer came with its benefits and drawbacks. Being so clearly marked as Vader’s, in a special uniform that fit his colour scheme awoke fear in those around you, and garnered you much respect. It also meant you didn’t have to fear your superior in the same way, especially after you had started frequenting his quarters so he could “make sure your uniform was up to code”.

Most times it ended with you on your knees with him in your mouth, but on days where his pains were at the worst, Lord Vader simply used the force to have his way with you instead. You couldn’t see his face, and there was little chance you ever would, but you had a feeling he was smiling. At least a little, as you writhed and gasped on the cold metal floors of his chambers, as he played you like the little tool you were to him.

Sith did not love, it was not in their nature. But Vader could admit he was at least… fond of you. it was not in the same way he felt about Padme, no one could be Padme. But you were different in your own way. You didn’t fear him the same way as everyone else. You did fear him, everyone did, but it had a layer of respect in it that he hadn’t felt since he was Anakin Skywalker.

Your loud dreams about both Vader and Skywalker also helped with that, as Vader worked to slowly push the thoughts of Anakin out and replace them with only himself. It did feel nice to sometimes take the form of Anakin in your dreams, just so you could fuck him for once, since that wasn’t possible after he became more machine than man.

But being Vader’s own personal imperial officer, his “pet” as some whispered around the ship or death star, also came with the benefit that nobody dared question you. Or rather, nobody dared question Lord Vader. Which was why nobody questioned your position at his feet as he stood, staring out into hyperspace.

The few working around the bridge dared barely look in your direction, most fearing the powers of the force. Most knew little about the force, only that it was a power that made a being able to do things that should only be possible by gods. And the empire had made sure to scrub away what little knowledge there was. This resulted in most thinking that Vader always knew what they were thinking. He could, if he wanted too, and did most days. But with you at his feet there were more interesting things to focus on.

You had been ordered to stay quiet as you rubbed against his boot, feeling the unforgiving nature of his metal limbs against where you were most sensitive. Your uniform was pristine as always, not even allowed to have a single stitching out of place. That would be insulting to your lord you know, to walk around in such a special uniform and look dirty or disorganized.

But it was so hard to keep your face blank and your voice silent as you felt the force tighten around your base again, putting a stop to the orgasm that had been bubbling for what must have been the tenth time. At least, you thought so, maybe you had lost track.

The whine that was bubbling up in your throat was cut up with a familiar pressure, the minimal creak of Vader’s gloved hand telling you that he was using the force to quiet you. He had never choked you to near death, but he liked to remind you that he could. Vader could do anything to you, and at this point, after serving him for so long, you had a feeling you would let him.

As if he could sense your thoughts, which he most likely could, the squeezing around your throat and shaft lessened. It was still there, like an ever-constant reminder that he could snap your neck if he so wanted, but it only served to make your blood rush faster.

It was a little messy that your body had learned to become aroused by his threats, or perhaps promises, that he could kill you if he so pleased. About Vader’s absolute power over you, and anyone under his rule. The emperor may be the one at the top, but to you, Vader was the greatest.

The minimal hitch in his rhythmic breath made you shudder. He had liked those thoughts. It was only your amount of experience that you knew that, having had to learn what every minimal hitch of breath, curl of a finger, or turn of his helmet covered head meant. But it felt so rewarding now, to be the only one able to pick such things up.

There was a press against your prostate, an invisible force that you now knew was the force. Lord Vader had clearly been pleased with your opinion of him, rewarding you by rubbing that one place inside you that you didn’t touch yourself anymore, after Vader had ordered you not too.

It made a shuddering soft gasp leave you, causing an immediate flash of shame and panic to fill your chest. Lord Vader had told you to be quiet, and yet you had gasped, loud enough for those sitting by the panels closest dared peak over, before immediately looking away in fear once more.

You could feel tears gather in your eyes. You must have disappointed Lord Vader so much, you couldn’t even follow a simple order. The thought of his punishments made you want to grovel for forgiveness. Vader didn’t punish you in ways he punished others, there was no fear of death, but feeling him torture your prostate or cock from the other side of the ship, sometimes made you wish it was death.

For Vader didn’t do punishments lightly, small things like uniform irregularities had you edged till you sobbed. Or when he wasn’t in incredible pain, Vader found it fun to put you over his knee, letting his heavy metal hand spank you. Feeling his ungloved hand honestly always felt hotter than seeing his cock, like you were feeling and witnessing so far beyond your league that you could never dare try to put it into words.

But instead of punishing you, Vader’s hand slowly raised and placed itself on the top of your head, knocking your hat to the floor with a soft noise. In the quiet room it felt loud, loud enough to make some of the other worker’s flinch. Lord Vader didn’t need to speak, his one action was enough for you to sigh in relief. He was feeling forgiving today, he wouldn’t punish you for your small mishap. For now, at least.

You could hear his voice in your head, making you almost jolt. It was strange to get used too, to hear him through your mind and not your ears, but you understood it. Lord Vader couldn’t be caught speaking to anybody he didn’t need to speak too, so it always felt more intimate when he spoke to you this way. When he praised you or scolded you, like the pet you were.

His rumbled deep words had your neck straightening, as you moved your hips more insistently against his boots. You knew you would have to shine them later, most likely with your tongue, but that was fine too, you didn’t mind. Instead, you struggled to keep yourself quiet as Vader used the force to stimulate you further, almost cruelly forcing you over the edge as you gripped his leg, shaking all over as you were finally allowed to finish.

The heavy gloved hand on top of your head was all the comfort you got, at least in the eyes of the others there. Nobody could see how the force slowly rubbed your limbs and ran across your brain like a comforting cold cloth. Times like these reminded you that Lord Vader could be kind, in his own way at least, and to you.

It made it easier to pick up your hat again and rise to your feet, acting like nothing was happening as a small twitch of Vader’s hand had the creases in your uniform smoothing out. You could see the nearby workers blushing as you put your hat back on and took your dutiful spot behind Vader. Never beside him, and never in front of him, but behind him like the loyal pet that they all whispered you were.

And maybe you were a pet, all Vader had to do was tell you to bark. And bark you would, until your throat was raw, and your lungs collapsed. Because Vader was all you had, and something told you, that you were all he had in return.

[st4rychnine]

Cheating Spree ★ Suguru Geto

mature content!

you can't feel anything anymore; the rain seems to have washed everything away. it soaks through your clothes, chilling you down to the bone, yet you don't care, you can't. you're done caring, you're tired. 

you sigh, finally pausing your long walk to look up at the darkened sky, pouring rain as if it was weeping for you.

then you realize. you're in front of gojo and geto's shared apartment. you gasp, sigh, and think… this was as good a time as any. despite the fact that you're literally a dripping wet mess, you're going to break up with satoru.

when you ring the doorbell, it's suguru that answers.

at a hulking five foot eleven, bulging muscles, obsidian eyes, and unending miles of dark hair, you swear on your life that suguru geto is the most attractive man you'd ever seen. and here he was, standing before you in nothing more than grey sweatpants. 

"you alright? why're you standing in the rain like that; wanna come in?" his voice is low, husky, sexy. you stammer while trying to answer.

"I– is…" you swallow, clear your throat. "Is satoru home? There's… something I'd like to… talk to him about. briefly." it takes everything in you to keep your eyes trained on his.

oh man. when you say the man was built like a Greek God, you meant it. but it was an awful time to thirst over your ex's best friend. even though he was leaning against the door frame without a single care in the world. even though you could clearly see that sexy trail of hair, stretching all the way from his lower abdomen and disappearing into his sweatpants.

holy fuck. 

suguru hums and meets your eyes, amusement dancing in the obsidian depths. then he shakes his head. "nah, I should be asking you that though. earlier, he told me that he was going on some bar date with you, so. unless…” then it dawns on him.

you thought you were behind feelings, but you couldn't stop the small twinge of pain in your chest that your boyfriend was away screwing other girls and lying to his best friend that he was out with you.

it sucked.

you blink at the news, then sigh, resigned. "alright. I'll… be on my way then."

just as you turn around, ready to leave, he stops you with a call of your name. "I don't think you should be out in this weather. come on in. you can stay the night."

you don't have the strength to disagree. 

in about fifteen minutes, you've settled on the couch in one of suguru's old shirts, swathed in blankets with a cup of steaming coffee warming your hands.

suguru's at the kitchen counter, whipping up something small for himself.

the coffee doesn't do it for you. you need something stronger; something to make you forget. "geto? do you happen to have any alcohol on you?”

“uh… I think so. should be somewhere,” he says, opening and closing a few cupboards until he hits the jackpot. he gets out a tall bottle, tinted a dark black, and pops it open. he pours the contents into two glasses, then turns around, hands you one filled with a bromine-coloured liquid.

you accept it gratefully, downing half the glass in a single gulp. 

it's liquid fire, leaving you wincing as it slides down your throat. liquid fire, but it tasted lovely. it had an orange-like flavour with a slightly bitter undertone. "it's nice." you say, and it's true.

suguru smiles. "I know – it's our most expensive." he takes a sip of his drink.  “you can sleep in Satoru's room. I don't think he'll be returning tonight.”

you shake your head, a pang striking your chest. “I'd rather sleep on the sofa.” you say matter-of-factly. 

he hums in response.  “you can take my bed then. i’ll take the sofa.” 

again, you shake your head, insisting on the sofa. the last thing you wanted to do was to make the poor guy uncomfortable. he's already being such a darling, helping out a brokenhearted girl. you didn't want to inconvenience him any further. 

but that's technically what you end up doing because he insists, and you're unable to argue. you down the rest of your drink and hold out your glass for another.

while refilling the glass, Suguru asks, “so… do you want to watch a movie?”

you don't say no.

you end up watching some stupid fucking horror movie, which left you practically trembling against suguru, covering your face and peeking between your fingers.

you hadn't expected it to be this scary. it was a movie that had always been on your to-watch list, and now, you absolutely regret choosing it. it's interesting, but definitely won't leave you with peace of mind for the next few days.

“sorry…” you murmur, voice pitched high and slurred from the alcohol. “I don't do well with horror movies.”

suguru laughs, eyes glued to the screen. “why’d you pick it, then?”

“I don't knowwwww!” you cry, flinching at a scene and covering your eyes. God knows you might share suguru’s bed with him tonight. no, not in that way. “i didn't know it was this scary!”

“it's not even that scary,” he says, still chuckling.

“yeah, maybe to you! we're sharing your bed!” you cling onto his arm, burying your face in his shirt.

“really?” he smirks, and your face burns at the implied meaning. “fine, but you've gotta watch it.”

you shake your head, no.

“please?” suguru asks, trying to pry your hands away from your face. they don't budge. “aw, come on! its only fun if we watch it together!”

“I'm not here to have fun!”

“but you should, regardless of your purpose.” he tries to pry your fingers away from your face, and finally, you give in.

the rest of the movie is spent with you clutching at Suguru for a dear life and screaming, especially when unnecessary. 

by the time the movie is over you're a mess, laughing with tears running down your face. “ne– never again!” you half-sob.

he pats your head. “don't worry, you did good. at least you enjoyed it, yeah?”

you sniff and turn away.

he calls your name. twice. you refuse to answer though, feigning mock anger. although he probably deserves it genuine after forcing you to watch that stupid fucking movie. its your fault though, technically. you shrug and scoff.

Suguru decides in that moment. he's going to fuck you. being honest, he's always wanted to. and now, he's got a chance. he'll take it. oh and, he wanted to piss satoru off. it was well deserved. so once more, he calls you. 

you turn to him, pupils blown wide in the reflected television light, lips wet. damn, he wanted those around his cock.

he shifts closer to you; your lips are almost touching. you have no idea when the energy around the two of you changed.

"you want revenge on Satoru, yeah? well, I've got a plan." he mummurs huskily, his lips brushing yours. 

"wh– what is it?"

"let me fuck you." then he smashes his lips on yours.

the kiss is unlike anything you've ever experienced before – with satoru or otherwise – and, oh boy, you loved it. your lips are pried open, your tongue dancing with his in the most sloppy, lewd kiss you've ever partaken in. 

you know it's wrong. I mean– you're technically cheating on your boyfriend, aren't you?

but even as the thought crosses your mind, you push it away. 

tit for tat.

his hands grip your waist, pulling you even closer to him as the kiss gets even filthier and filthier, then the two of you pull away.

you're left panting and gasping for breath and suguru, well, looks otherwise unaffected. but the growing erection in his grey sweatpants states otherwise.

"you accept?" you swear his voice grows an octave deeper. 

you need him so bad. "ye– yes…" you whisper. "yes sir."

his thumb strokes your cheek, and he presses another kiss to your lips. "I want you to suck my cock for me. would you do that?” he whispers against them. you nod.

your heart beats furiously, head dizzy as you find yourself on your knees. you feel like you're dreaming.

if you are, then it's a good one.

suguru loosens the ropes on his sweatpants and pulls the front down, just enough for his boner to pop out.

it's longer and thicker than anything you've ever seen; not that you'd seen that many anyway. but still. it's length was tremendous – you'd roughly estimated about ten inches, his girth about thee.

all in all, you don't think it'll fit. in your mouth or otherwise.

"you're staring like you're seeing something extraordinary.” suguru smiles

you're about to dish out a mildly disturbed ‘because it is!’ but you hold your tongue and give the tip an experimental lick to stop him, from saying anything else.

then you take a big breath and wet it with your saliva before taking the thing into your mouth. 

the thing is monstrous, the head barely fitting past your lips. you try as possible to keep your teeth away from it, opening your mouth wider than comfortable. tears bead in your eyes, trickling down your cheeks.

you get the head, then the first few inches. you try to work your tongue around it as much as possible; if there was any one thing you learned while with satoru, tongue action was key.

you're less than halfway – about three inches in – and the tip was already poking the back of your throat. you have no idea what to do except keep going. so you take the next two inches. 

the wet suckling noises you make, the tears that stream down your cheeks – they turn suguru on even more, his cock twitching in your mouth. he's literally a grown man, but watching you struggle to get down the sheer length and girth of him is doing things to him. he's a grown man, but he's about to blow his load already. it takes everything in him not to. "fuck– you're doing quite good. you've got a bit more to go."

that certainly gets you going. you squeeze your eyes shut and swallow around him, willing yourself to not choke. you swallow down the next three, whimpering lowly around him. tears prickle at your eyes and trail down your cheeks.

"almost there. come on. thats my girl – fu– yeah?" suguru's voice is audibly strained, his fingers clutching your hair. oh man, he's about to lose it. 

you force yourself down on the last two, your nose finally pressed against his pubes. you tremble, forcing yourself to not choke around it's girth.

you did it! but at what cost?

you open your eyes, looking up at him though your lashes. My guy looks like a Greek god; long black hair sticking to his forehead and the sides of his face and his neck, thick brows furrowed, dark black eyes endless and glossy, and god, he's so fucking fine.

you're dripping through your underwear.

he calls your name in what is almost a moan, gripping your hair in a fist. "shit – fuck, don't look at me like that–"

you hum through a mouthful of dick then shrug. like what?

maintaining eye contact, you pull your head backward, almost choking as his length retracts from your throat. you pull back halfway, then go down again, swallowing the half-length. 

you continue the movements, – retract, then swallow – slow and jerky at first, but eventually, you begin to build a steady pace.

saliva and precum leak out of your mouth, coating his cock with a transparent sheen and suguru groans above you, hands gripping your face as his hips fuck subtly into your mouth.

a mild, salty taste builds at the back of your throat as his precum leaks from the tip of his dick. you use your tongue to pleasure him as much as possible, your jaw aching.

“fuuuuck– agh– shit, that feels good. fuck–” suguru grunts and slips his cock out of your mouth, wetting your cheeks with a mixture of saliva and precum, and smearing your tears.

“wh–” you begin, voice cracking. you clear your throat and start again. “what's wrong?”

“fuck, I'm… if you keep that up, I'm gonna cum.” suguru whispers through breathy pants. 

he's so pretty, you stare for a bit before answering. “that's fine. if you don't cum down my throat, where will you cum?” the alcohol in your blood makes you bolder than usual. 

he makes a sound deep in his throat and slips his cock back into your mouth, gripping the sides of your head and making you take the whole thing fully.

“I'm… I'm gonna fuck your mouth,” he mumbles, strands of dark hair falling over his eyes. slowly, his hips fuck his cock into your mouth, in and out, smearing precum around inside your mouth. 

he gasps lowly with each thrust he makes into your mouth, abdominal muscles tensing as he does so. his eyes are half-lidded, cheeks damp with sweat. 

as the pleasure builds, his hips increase their pace, until his cock is entering and exiting your mouth so fast, you're almost gagging around him. his gasps turn to small groans, his fingers gripping your hair tighter to slam your face into his pubes with each upward thrust he makes.

you can feel how close he is – his cock dripping and twitching in your mouth. you need him to cum, before your jaw cracks open and falls to the floor. so you suck in your cheeks even more, creating a strong vacuum that, from experience, would make Satoru spill instantly. 

it works it's intended effect.

"holy fucking shii–t.” he takes extra care in pronouncing the t. “fuck, keep that up. fuck, im cumming.” he warns, and that, he does.

ropes and ropes of hot salt spill into your mouth, down your throat. you almost choke, try to pull away, but suguru holds you there, letting his cum flow down your throat. it's salty and thick, and more of an acquired taste if anything, but its not completely awful.

Suguru groans deep in his throat with each spurt of him down your throat, his head tilted back, thick hair cascading down his back and sticking to his skin in some places with sweat. his eyes are half closed, cheeks flushed, and jaw locked tight to keep himself from moaning. though your tears, you still can't get over how absolutely beautiful he was.

he holds you there for a good minute, his cum never stopping its flow until it does, and you drag your head back, pulling him out of your mouth.

you cough, splutter. some of his cum exits through your nose and you wince.

“fu–fuck." suguru pants, chest heaving. “fuck, you're an expert.” 

you smile at that. “thanks,” you whisper, voice hoarse.

your skin is flushed, eyes dark and unfocused, a trickle of cum dripping down your jaw. you looked absolutely delectable. suguru could just eat you up.

and he decides he will – you need some loosening up anyways. 

he picks you up, biceps bulging, and you squeal as he all but flings you on the sofa.

before you can think, he's on top of you, lips back on yours, tongue entwined with his. a small moan escapes you, and he groans into your mouth, lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck. 

“g– get– sugu–ahh! fu–uuh–ck!”

his teeth attack the skin, tongue lapping the fresh bruises as they appear. you know they'll turn an angry colour tomorrow but you can't care. you need him.

his palms trail up the shirt, skimming over your thighs then higher. higher, until–

his thumb brushes your clit and you jolt, body tending under his.

"you're dripping" he mumbles, pushing a thick digit inside you. "just from sucking my dick? fuck." 

you whimper in response.

suguru fucks you with that single finger, pumping it in and out if your drenched pussy. the steady build of pleasure has your legs almost locking around suguru's forearms. 

he adds another finger. That stretches you a bit, and you grit your teeth at the barely-there but still-existent pain. more pumping. the build of pleasure, but faster this time, more intense. your hear the slick, squelching sounds of his fingers in your pussy, and you blush.

his lips are back on yours again, just as insistent. he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and you gasp as he presses his fingers into you harder, thumb working lazy circles on your clit. you squirm.

"ooh, you like that?" suguru grins. you don't answer, biting your lips to keep back moans. he clicks his tongue. “no, baby, don't keep those precious sounds from me, yeah? come on, good girl.” he whispers huskily into your ear, suddenly curling his finger into you and hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

you yelp, back arching off the sofa, a strangled moan being forced out of your throat. 

"ooh! that's it. I need more from you. can you do that?" he doesn't wait for your response. insistently, his fingers curl inside you, massaging that perfect spot deep inside you and, fuck, you can't help the moans and gasps that tumble out of your lips without permission.

you can't help how good it feels, his fingers stretching you open, slick dripping around his fingers. can't help but think how exquisite it would feel if they were his cock instead. 

you squeeze your eyes shut, back arching against the sofa, with suguru very steadily leading you towards the delicious edge of an orgasm.

“fuck– mmmph! geto, I– ahh!” it hits you like a train. your back arches of the sofa, eyes rolling back in your head from the absolute pleasure. your legs tremble. cunt twitching around his fingers and you try your hardest not to scream.

the pleasure was brain numbing; better than anything that you've ever felt, leaving your body spent and sagging into the sofa, eyes barely able to focus on his lovely face.

it takes every bit of suguru’s self control not to fuck you senseless right then, to lose himself in your tight cunt. instead, he presses his lips on yours, lazily exchanging saliva, and kisses down your body – to your navel, and then–

you jolt, a curse ripping through your throat as a hot, open mouthed kiss is placed on your clit. it startles you, but suguru doesn't give any time to recover, licking and sucking at the little nub like his life depends on it. 

“does that feel good? tell me.” suguru murmurs into your skin. 

unable to form words you moan, running fingers through his thick, black hair. 

“Delicious…” suguru murmurs into the moist flesh, the vibrations going straight to your clit. you almost scream.

suguru geto eats pussy like an expert, his tongue worming his way into you, slurping up your juices wetly like he'd been dehydrated for months. he licks flat-tongued stripes up your clit before sucking it into his mouth, basically playing with it on his tongue.

you're losing it, fingers raking through his dark hair, pressing him into you, legs wrapped tight around his head. you're close; you can practically taste it at this point, with your thigh muscles contracting, stomach clenching. and then–

white.

white and static and the most overwhelming flood of pleasure you've ever felt. it rolls over you in thick, heavy waves, weighing you down and making you practically seize. 

you don't know how long it takes for you to come to your senses. 

by the time you do though, you're at the cusp of another orgasm, suguru still working his ministrations on your clit.

you scream at him to stop. it's too much; you're too sensitive! 

your pleas, however, fall on very deaf ears. he doesn't stop, gripping your hips to keep you in place while he continues. he rolls the tender nub around his tongue like he would a lollipop, and, once more, you're seizing on his tongue.

you black out for longer this time. when you come to, you find suguru looking at you with a mix of fascination and awe, his dark eyes glossy with arousal. his entire upper body is drenched, either with sweat or... something else. it's like someone threw a bucket of water at him.

“more.” he groans, voice husky. “give me more of that.”

before you stutter out denial, his lips are back on your lower ones, tongue-fucking you into ecstasy.

from that point on, you lose track of the number of orgasms you've had that night. all you know is that it was definitely not in the single digits. but the time suguru is done making a meal out of you, you, the couch and suguru are drenched with your bodily fluids. you're also a senseless mess, body still trembling, overstimulated.

suguru kisses up your abdomen, tongue lingering on your nipples before he finally comes up to kiss your forehead.

“I need to- I need to fuck you. you'll let me, won't you?” he questions pleadingly, grinding his erection against your cunt. “pl– fuck– please, I can't go to bed like this.” his eyes are soft, pleading and begging for you. and, fuck, you can't deny him.

suguru wonders why he all of a sudden can't control himself around you. why all he can think about is bottoming out in your warm cunt. it's obviously not the first time he's doing this, definitely not the last… but his cock is the hardest it's ever been, his heart thumping against his ribcage. he chalks it up to the excitement of fucking his best friend's (ex) girlfriend. or maybe the alcohol, though he wasn't one to let something like that affect his judgment. 

but fuck it, whatever. the two of you have gone past the point of no return.

“that's my girl.” he smiles, placing another kiss on your forehead. and then your cheek

you feel the tip of him pressed against you. grunting, he tries to push it in, only for it to slip against your wetness, nudging against your clit.

you whimper at the feeling, heart pounding in your chest.

again, he tries pushing his tip inside you, this time guided by a hand against his pulsing member. it slips inside you with ease and you both moan at the intrusion. 

for you, the pleasure is spiked with pain as his fat cock splits you open at the seams, threatening to unravel you. you hiss and whimper at each inch sliding into you, your pussy pushing him out with each contraction around his dick.

“sh- fuck, you're so fucking tight.” he says through gritted teeth, physical exertion making his muscles tense. “you've gotta loosen up, or i might not pull out in time.”

silently, you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you and at the same time making him bottom out. the tip of his cock hits the opening of your cervix and you yelp, pleasure and pain mixing into a hot brew in your stomach and tightening into a cord. 

“...the fuck did that come from?” he groans, voice tight. he rocks his hips into you, gripping your waist tight and hissing. 

you shake your head, unknowing. all you do know is that you need him. right now, as deep inside you as he can go.

had his patience not been worn thin, suguru would have asked you to voice your thoughts. how did it feel? did it hurt? fast or slow? but his cock is so hard and your pussy so tight, his cock might have an aneurysm. he can't even form words to begin with. so he starts with an experimental pace, slow and steady, rocking into you and splitting you open. 

you whine and gasp each time he fully bottoms out into you, the tip of his cock just barely grazing your cervix. the slow pace is exquisite, but you need more. in your current state, you wont accept anything else.

“f– faster, please…” you whine. “harder,”

without hesitation, suguru obliges. for fear of breaking you beyond repair, suguru had started out with a slow, steady pace. however, it seems you didn't want that. and he was grateful. he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep yourself from fucking your pretty pussy senseless.

he does that, hips picking up their pace absolutely fucking the life out of you. the pace he sets makes his hips a blur, his dick reaching places you never knew existed. 

“fuck, you like that? yeah?” 

yeah, you nod as tears spill from your eyes, moans morphing to heavy sobs as the pleasure and slight pain build, heightening to a peak. the cord in your stomach is pulled ridiculously tight, your breathing ragged. 

“fv– fucking– unnghhhhh – ahhhhh—” you say, or rather, try to. it doesn't work out – clearly – your words fucked out of your mouth just as they spill from your lips. 

“trying to say something?” suguru grunts out.

a particularly hard thrust has your barely that there thoughts skittering into nothing with a sharp yelp, back arching off the sofa as you brush dangerously close to your orgasm.

“fuck!–nnn–g–h... fuck– n– m’... m’ gonna cum… shit–” you mumble, eyes rolling back, in your head. your cunt traps suguru in a vice-like grip, your overflowing lubrication the only reason he's able of move properly. he grunts, smashing his lips onto yours and swallowing the sounds coming out of your mouth.

good lord, it feels good. better than anything you've ever had, ever -felt. and holy fuck, you're going to cum. cum yourself unconscious, if you will. it's dangerously close, and you can feel it, creeping up to you, making the edges of your body tingle. it's scary, but feels so good.

“go ahead, doll. come for me, yeah? drench this cock with you.” suguru murmurs in your ear, and suddenly, the orgasm takes hold of you, slamming into you with such force, your back arches violently into suguru’s hold. the cord in your tummy snaps and a scream rips through your throat with the sheer force of the pleasure, and white overtakes your vision before it fades to black.

suguru fucks you through your orgasm, threatening to do you through another. your whole body feels like an exposed nerve, and you don't think you've ever felt as close to death as you do now.

your cunt flutters around his cock, and he hisses as his hold on your hip tightens. fuck, you feel like heaven, your cunt so tight, so wet, so, fucking perfect around him. each time he drags himself out of you, the suction draws him back in, and once he's in, you try to push him back out again. he can't explain why, but that feeling is positively exquisite, and God, he loves it.

“fuck!” he exclaims, face buried in your neck. “fuck, im cumming. fuck, I'm– you’ve… you've gotta tell me where you want it.”

you don't need to think much about the answer. inebriated and incredibly horny, a single word comes to mind. “inside– nnngh!” you breathe, your legs weakly tightening around his waist, drawing him closer to you.

“al– hah!– alright. I'm gonna fuckin’... hah, fuck!” he didn't get to complete his sentence, his muscles stretching taut as a white heat spills inside you.

it's enough to send fireworks exploding behind your tightly closed eyes, your orgasm lighting your body on fire with his cum as the catalyst.

“fuck, ahhhh– you feel so fucking good, hah–” suguru groans as he pours himself into you, teeth clamping down on your shoulder and making you scream. 

he finds his hips rocking into yours once more, fucking you through the aftershocks and overstimulation of both your orgasms.

you shake your head, no. no, no, no more, no! you can't cum any more than you have already or you might die. you shake your head as vigorously as you can, the choked out moans tumbling from your mouth neutralizing your denial.

“fuck, im sorry. one more, yeah? one more, just one more, please,” Suguru whispers breathily into your hair, voice trembling from the pleasure. he can barely breathe, his breath catching his lungs from how good he feels and fuck, its not long before another orgasm creeps up on him, looming over him like a disaster.

and he will be one by the time this is over, he's sure. “fuck, yo– you're g'nna make me cum- again, shit–” 

me too. you think just as you black out for good, chased to unconsciousness by a spill of heat.

☆

you're woken up by a sharp pain in your lower abdomen as you try to change position. you groan, eyes fluttering open, and you find that those hurt too. every single inch of your body hurts, some minor, some major, but it kind of feels like you got into mini car accident. God, and you had an awful sore throat.

at the feel of sheets on your once bare skin, you sit up, realizing that you’re no longer on the couch.

judging from the scent of the room, or the lack thereof, you guess that you’re in suguru’s room. though the sliver of light though the curtains, you can see that it's organised perfectly. 

groaning, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand up, trying your best to maintain balance, ignoring the burn of your inner thigh and abdominal muscles, then you walk out of the room, to the kitchen.

the room is an assault of light to your poor eyes and you wince, squinting. vaguely, you can see Suguru standing in front of the kitchen stove. whatever he’s cooking up smells pretty good.

“hi, Suguru.” you say, smiling, walking towards him. the warmth in your face freezes as your eyes catch another person in the room. Gojo. he's sitting on a chair by the kitchen island, typing away at his phone. “hi Satoru.”

he looks up, startled, then confused at your dishevelled appearance. you’d forgotten you wouldn't look the best after last night. “oh. I didn't know you were here.” he says.

“she stopped by last night. good morning.” suguru smiles back at  you, handing you a plate of food. “you'll find some painkillers on the side table in my room. you'll probably need them after last night. and tea for your throat.” he says and you blush at the memory and nod. 

Gojo watches the exchange silently, a pale white brow cocked. “what happened last night?” he questions and Suguru throws him what might have been a glare.

in response to Satoru's question, you shrug. “uh, nothing. I stopped by in the rain and asked for some alcohol to keep warm. I ended up taking a bit too much.” you pop a piece of bacon in your mouth.

“and that explains the bruises on your neck?” he asks and you freeze, heart thumping. then you swallow, making yourself remember that Gojo was also a shitty cheater. it cancels out.

“yeah.”

he coughs out a laugh, bright blue eyes hardening to sapphires. “bullshit.” he says and turns to suguru. “did you fuck her?”

he shrugs, turning off the stove and sliding a plate of food towards gojo.

“what the fuck, Suguru? why would you do that?” he yells, face paling. “you're my fucking best friend, why the fuck would you fuck my girlfriend?”

“ex girlfriend.” you step in instead, voice bleeding with anger and that shuts Gojo up. “sorry, I forgot you were the only one who could cheat.”

satoru, about to open a drawer to pick up a fork, pauses and turns to look at you with an unreadable expression.

“you thought I wouldn't figure it out? you're very bad at keeping secrets.” another peice of bacon in your mouth. suguru hands you a cup of lemon tea. “I actually stopped by yesterday to break up with you. but it seems you'd told your roommate you'd be out with me. why? when you'd told me that you'd be at home having a games night with suguru.”

“that was the plan, but I stepped out.” gojo says, the ice in his eyes reflecting in his voice.

you flinch, but hold your ground. “stepped out for the whole night?”

“I got caught in the rain.”

“which stopped before I went to bed.” 

a rushed breath of air leaves Suguru's mouth as laughter. you roll your eyes. “more like blacked out.” he says under his breath. Gojo's eyes dart to him, then you.

“I… stayed over at a friend's house.” he says carefully. 

“which friend?” 

he pauses, eyes cloudy with thought. “...you won't know them.”

“we share friendship circles. whoever I haven't met, at least I've heard of.” you drum a nail on the table, patience wearing to the width of papyrus paper. he's wasting time with his lies.

“she's–” he starts, and catches himself. your eyes narrow. “they're not from our circle. I met them at a party. I don't have to tell you about every single person I befriend.”

“befriend and fuck.” 

“I didn't fuck her!” Gojo slams his hand on the table in outrage.

“the used condom back at my apartment. was that me? did I use that? the cum stains on my bed–” you scrunch up your face in disgust. “--that was me, right? I grew a dick overnight. stop lying, it doesn't suit you.”

he doesn't have anything to say in return and neither do you. “I'm breaking up with you.”

[the-newlymadeweeb]

Sacrifice

Luke Castellan x female!reader

Percy Jackson & female!reader

Description: Set after Titan's Curse before BoL, you rendezvous to meet Percy before heading back to Luke and he contemplates the intensity of your love and sacrifice.

A/N: I read the books like 7 years ago so I'm not super duper canon compliant

Percy notices the grey in your hair first and a phantom pain rushes through him. It's more discolouration than either he, Annabeth or Luke has and it's striking.

It aged you so much and he wonders how long did you hold up the sky? Why did you hold up the sky?

But your fatal flaw had been self-sacrifice. You'd given yourself up before anything, before Luke would be forced to take Atlas' place.

And the sky lay on your shoulders for days before Luke realised that the plan was going slower than expected and he needed to give you some respite.

That's why he thought of Annabeth, that's why he took on the sky as a trap. And the only reason you didn't push her out of the way and take the burden was because you spent much of those days unconscious, drained.

Percy thought he should hate you.

But his own flaw was loyalty and for so long you were running interference, a buffer, to slow down Kronos' ambitions. And you were too devoted to Luke to leave him behind just yet.

Anyway, your decision to play double agent was riskier still and here you were. Sacrificing. Again. The other side could find out, and the consequences would be gory and painful but you came to meet Percy, to prepare him.

And all he could look at was how grey your hair was.

A vainer person would've coloured their hair.

Your eyes are tired, entire body tense as if preparing for sudden attack. But you smile bravely at him, and Percy gets whiplash with how weirdly similar you resemble his mother back when she was alone and suffering bravely for him.

"You don't have to go back, you know," He suggests.

It's a bad idea and you both know it. But

"We could keep you safe."

"You've gotten quite the growth spurt recently," you say instead, "thank you Percy, but I'm meant to be at his side in battle. I promised him that much."

Is it worth it though? He thinks bitterly.

You love him so much, it's going to kill you.

But Percy has yet to realise that you're counting on that. That you will die at his hand, and Luke who'd burn the world and destroy all souls for you might finally see the destructive nature of his ways– see clarity through grief.

It's horrible plan.

Or maybe he does realise it but hasn't truly understood.

Regardless, he moves forward and pulls you into a hug. His first sister, his crazy friend and foe. Gods, he's as tall as you now.

Your hand brushes the grey locks on his head and you slowly back away.

"See you around Percy. Take care."

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

[actual-changeling]

An angel and a demon walk into a bar.

It sounds like the beginning of a joke, one that would have annoyed Crowley greatly before- before. Maybe it would have been mildly amusing, were it not for the fact that it is a pub, not a bar (a mere technicality that somehow still mattered), and it is the first time in seven months that he is looking Aziraphale right in the face.

He chose the place, walked right out of the bookshop and across the street the second Aziraphale looked at him with his stupid purple eyes and opened his mouth. Same table, same drinks. New silence.

A demon leads an angel into a pub so he does not kiss him again.

Less of a joke, more like the beginning of a nightmare he has had every single time he tried to sleep, woken by whispered words either confirming his worst fears or greatest desires; both incite fear, one way or another.

The low table between them is enough of a barrier to prevent a repeat of their last interaction, it has to be, although this time Aziraphale is looking at him with violet-coloured longing and an apology on his lips, no longer pleading, no longer angry. He is asking for forgiveness, and if that isn't a deeply ironic twist of fate.

Before either of them says a single word, Crowley finishes his drink and raises his hand to order another one, clinging to the familiar sting of alcohol in his throat to burn away the questions lingering on his tongue.

An angel followed a demon into a pub because he loves him.

Aziraphale wishes he could tell himself Crowley looks like he did seven months ago, that he hasn't changed, but he is done lying to himself, to either of them. Behind his shades, dark, darker if that is even possible, he can feel his golden gaze heavy on his face, familiar and the answer to an empty longing in his chest.

His drink goes untouched as Crowley downs one, then another, and it is after the third that he finally begins to talk.

"What do you want?"

Bitter, sharp, spit at his feet with an anger he expected and yet doesn't know how to react to. Underneath it is pain—more pain than any being should ever have to experience—and instead of trying to carry some of it for him, he only added to it.

"I want to apologise."

"Fine." Crowley shoves his empty glass away and gets up. "I don't forgive you."

Reflexively, Aziraphale reaches out and curls his fingers around his wrist when Crowley tries to walk past him, blinking up at him with eyes the colour of dying Myosotis.

Forget-me-nots.

They both freeze, the point of contact a crack in the walls they have spent centuries building and seven months rebuilding, and he knows he has made a mistake immediately.

Crowley stares at him, still as stone, until he suddenly rips his arm out of his grasp, almost cradling it against his chest. With dawning horror, Aziraphale realises he is shaking, tremors running through him like waves breaking apart on a rocky shore.

"Don't you dare touch me." Panic, not anger. Pure, unfiltered panic blooming beside a mountain of fear that could outlast an eternity.

"I-" He doesn't know what he wants to say, what he is trying to say, what he needs to say to make him stay. Oh, the irony of it all.

Crowley leaves the pub, and the Supreme Archangel stays behind.

Not a demon anymore, not technically, he is done with sides, and deeds, and choices; he never makes the right ones anyway. His wrist hurts with the ghost of a kiss, and he cannot get the glint of purple where summer sky blue should be out of his head. 

The Bentley is waiting for him, providing an escape from the noise, the people, him.

Apologies instead of I'm coming back.

A sickening aura of holiness tinged with the burn of ozone instead of books and dust and soft, silly angel.

Seven months of waiting, of pleading with God, of cursing Her, cursing him, cursing the entire fucking world for taking and taking and taking from him without pause, without even a fragment of mercy.

For this.

An angel returns to heaven. Crowley curses the stars and cries.

[eustasskiddsprosthetic]

"You got the best of me."

Wips, different colours and context below the cut. (TW: Religious themes)

If you're curious, this illustration is based on a comic (which is based on a fan fiction) I worked on for a long time called "You Got the Best of Me". Yes, it's a BTS song. It's a good B-side.

The idea is that traveller!Antonio finds his way to a small, wayward tomato farmed owned by this grumpy man called Lovino. He's the son of the village's head priest who had passed away from cancer when he was a child, not long after his younger brother, Feliciano was born.

Feliciano was always sickly and couldn't do very much. He was a crybaby. He was kind of pathetic but always cheerful and Lovino loved him very much, and worked hard to support him.

Growing up, Feliciano became very religious like their grandfather and trained to become a priest. Lovino didn't exactly disapprove, since it meant Feliciano would be taken care of, but he didn't believe in God as much as he used to. Afterall, God let his grandfather—the epitome of Godfearring—die so painfully. Feliciano tries his best to reconnect but their difference in faith made it difficult.

In the present day, Antonio and Lovino met when Antonio just stumbles into a village party one day. He leans against an empty barrel, exhausted, until someone taps his shoulder. He turns around and sees a handsome, albeit drunk as fuck young man giving him a bottle of alcohol, telling him to cheer up and drink. Antonio fell in love at first sight. That smile was gorgeous.

They meet again the next day when Antonio walks into the church and sees the same young man sitting at the back. The young man didn't say no when Antonio sits with him, and doesn't do anything when Antonio talks to him and asks to share his Bible.

After service, they walk around the church in silence and they go to a quiet stretch of meadow where Antonio plays some childhood songs on his guitar. Antonio was surprised when Lovino knew the words and could speak Spanish. Lovino said the 'weirdos' his grandfather made friends with taught him whatever he knew, which was surprisingly a lot.

They continue chatting and without knowing, it had been hours.

"Brother, it's lunch time," Feliciano said softly.

Lovino screamed. "H-how the fuck did you find me?"

Feliciano laughed as he pointed to the footsteps in the ground. "There's coffee! No alcohol, don't drink so much." Feliciano acknowledged Antonio with a curtsey and a suspicious glance. Lovino did not always have the best judgement.

The three of them walked together, Lovino walked ahead because he was hungry and knew that he needed to explain himself. Antonio and Feliciano introduced themselves. Feliciano was not as paranoid as before—Antonio seemed like a nice person. Antonio liked that Feliciano took things well despite his sickliness and hoped that he would get better soon. Feliciano gave him a look.

Antonio understood immediately. Feliciano was unnervingly pale and skinny. The only thing about him that was strong was his will to live. Antonio promised to never talk about it again and Feliciano smiled.

A few months go by and Antonio was helping Lovino harvest tomatoes and that was when Lovino pulls him aside and asks, "Do you know about my grandfather?" Antonio said vaguely because he and Feliciano slipped it in conversations here and there. Lovino nodded and then elaborated more on what Antonio 'vaguely' knew. Lovino usually wasn't this open so what happened now?

"Doctors said Feliciano won't have longer than a year left."

Antonio felt devastated. He did not know them for very long and yet he knew Feliciano was one of the better sort of people out there. He could only imagine how painful it must be for Lovino—his own brother!

"Is God trying to take a piss at me?" Lovino said angrily. "For not believing? For fucking giving up? For calling Him a bastard? If He feels bad, then maybe He should stop fucking killing everyone I love! My own family, Antonio! What the fuck is wrong with Him?"

Antonio listened. Lovino started ugly sobbing, understandably so. Antonio nodded.

"Feliciano's a good kid. He's always doing his fucking best. He never whored around, he's always nice. He cooked for old ladies. He prays and reads the Bible every fucking day. Why do you Hate your own, God? Is it because he's dating some guy? Well, I don't like the blonde son of a bitch either but I won't kill them. What the fuck is your problem? Aren't you the good one?"

Antonio pat his back. And then, Lovino said, "Why can't He just kill me instead? Let Feliciano go. Let him be happy."

"That won't change anything."

"Yeah that fucking won't but at least I won't be sad."

"Well, I would."

Lovino looked at Antonio like he was crazy.

"But you'll fucking bounce in what? A week? Two weeks? I know your type. You idiots never fucking stay in one place, always running around, bumming around without doing anything proper. Piss off, Antonio. You'll find another one in China or some shit."

"No, Lovino. I care about you. I don't want you to die. Feli's not dead yet. What would he say?"

"He'd tell me to pray."

"Praying isn't dying, sí?" Antonio said. The sun was setting and the birds were chirping. Antonio picked up a plump tomato from the ground, wiped it with his shirt and gave it to Lovino. "Eating this beautiful tomato won't cure you or Feli of your pain but it sure tastes really nice."

Lovino laughed at that childish response. He ate the tomato and smiled. It was quite delicious. Antonio thought he looked like an angel when he smiled, especially now. They looked at each other with an unspoken emotion, something at the tip of their tongue. Antonio knew it a bit better than Lovino but it was still scary because it meant giving up his freedom to stay here.

Forever.

Of course, he can talk about travelling with Lovino but he knew lazy bastard wouldn't want to do anything. He could try to get Lovino out of the house. He could lose his dignity and leave and reclaim that freedom. He could... Lovino laughed again and that smile was gorgeous.

[flowerandblood]

The Fall from the Heavens (18)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: semi-public sex, sex content, breeding kink, smut, angst, dirty talk, anxiety ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He could not believe it, but yet, after so many years, he spoke the words of his vow in front of the woman who, when he was a child, he thought would always be by his side. Watching her in Helaena's golden gown, the colour of which so wonderfully emphasised the darkness of her hair and eyebrows, her pale, soft face, he felt his heart freeze for a moment.

They really intended to do this.

This time the way it was meant to be, of their own free will.

When it was all over, when he held her at last in his arms, he, like her, could hardly hold back the burning tears of relief that rushed to his eyes, knowing that at last nothing could separate them. They were bound before the gods, and their will could not be defied by any human being.

It was too late.

No one, no one could stop it now.

This thought filled his members with fire – he felt his heart pounding hard in his chest, his hand tightening on her hair and forcing her to look at him, her gaze dreamy, moved, her puffy lips parted in a deep breath, her cheeks rosy with emotion.

He sank into her lips like mad with a low murmur of pleasure, not caring that his act was not decent, placing greedy, hungry, passionate kisses on her lips with a loud click of their saliva. He heard her sigh sweetly as she stroked his hair and cheeks with her small hands, reciprocating his caresses with delight and devotion.

He pulled away from her at last, panting heavily along with her, feeling that their kisses had aroused him and grunted loudly, turning towards his brother, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows.

He did not know what made him move towards him, to embrace him and pat him on the back like a brother, like a companion, though he had never even touched him this way before. Aegon seemed surprised and muttered something under his breath, patting him on the shoulder.

"My congratulations." He said, and he expressed his gratitude for those words and for his support, knowing that they owed him everything.

They moved away from each other, embarrassed, sighing heavily with relief at the thought that everything had gone according to plan; he saw out of the corner of his eye his wife and Helaena speaking to each other closely, holding hands.

He thought with surprise that he had never noticed the silent bond that had formed between them.

Good, he thought.

"According to tradition, spouses should receive gifts, but I have nothing more precious than what I have given you today. Ensure that the Septon writes a proper marriage act. Tomorrow we have a battle ahead of us." He said lightly, patting him on the shoulder and nodded at him, heading for the entrance, his sister letting go of his niece's hand and moving behind him, throwing her a single, calm smile.

He walked towards the man in the grey robe, who looked at him fearfully, towering over him.

"Sit down and write. I know what the content of this act should be, if you try to trick me, I will cut off both your hands." He said coldly; the man nodded quickly and sat down at a simple wooden table on which a sheet of parchment lay – he reached for a quill which he dipped in inkwell and began to write, his hand trembling all over.

He stood over him like an executioner, watching every word he wrote carefully, his wife standing in the distance, looking at them uncertainly, seeing how tense he was.

He had to be sure that this time their marriage would be official.

As soon as the man finished writing he snatched the parchment out of his hand, reading its contents hastily. He hummed under his breath, satisfied, tossing the sack of coins towards the Septon, which rattled loudly in the pouch, spilling on the table.

"Payment for your favour." He muttered, rolling the paper as he walked towards the way out, nodding at his wife to follow him.

They emerged from the underground into one of the main corridors of the keep, looking around uncertainly, relieved to see no one around.

The guards must have just been exchanging.

He halted as he heard his wife stop and turned over his shoulder, intending to rush her, however, he saw that she had stepped through the open door into the throne room, startling him completely.

He moved immediately after her, shocked, wanting to ask her what she was actually doing, not wanting anyone to see them and report what had happened to his mother or grandfather, dreaming only of holy peace for at least one night.

She did, however, make her way down the steps, her silhouette surrounded by the warm light of the torch; he ran after her and grabbed her arm, turning her around with a sharp, impatient motion, his lips clenched into a thin line.

"May I know what you're doing?" He hissed and sighed, surprised, as her fingers tightened on the material of his tunic, as her lips clung to his in a sticky, hot kiss, her tongue forced its way deep into his throat making his cock swell painfully in his breeches.

He himself didn't know what he was thinking about that, involuntarily dropping the rolled parchment to the stone floor, clasping his hands on her hair and gown.

"Here. I want to do it here, uncle." She breathed out into his mouth, sending him into a daze – he groaned low, feeling himself instantly become completely hard, the tips of their tongues licking each other with a loud click.

"− fuck −" He exhaled and pushed her backwards, forcing her to retreat until her back hit the stone pillar, his mouth sinking into hers, thirsty and swollen as his fingers slid down to the material of his breeches, untying them, releasing his aching erection.

She turned her back to him, breathing heavily with him, moaning helplessly as he lifted the material of her skirt above her buttocks, as if she couldn't wait to see what he would do to her, her behaviour, the way she obviously desired him made him think only of what throbbed aggressively in his hand.

He licked his lips, directing the fat head of his cock against her slit, noticing in the firelight how her pink, swollen folds glistened from her own moisture, though he hadn't even touched her.

"− already leaking − good gods, you have no fucking shame −" He growled, forcing her to fit him inside her with one sharp, sure thrust of his hips, opening her wide on his length with her loud moan of pleasure that echoed through the throne room.

"− be fucking quiet − or do you want the guards to catch us, hm? − is that what you want? − for other men to see me take you? −" He hissed, immediately imposing an aggressive, fast pace on her, driving his nails into the soft skin of her hips, with each push hitting her buttocks with his thighs with a loud, sticky splat, all slick from her wetness, her fleshy walls squeezing him greedily.

"− I-I want to carry your heir − please −" She mumbled, and he quivered all over, drawing in the air loudly as he felt his cock pulsate hard deep inside her at her request, a hot shiver ran along his spine, making him quicken his pace, thrusting into her like mad with the loud click of her moisture.

"− I −" He grunted, unable to get anything more out of himself, just panting loudly along with her, listening to her whimpers, watching again and again as his thick manhood stretched her tight, hot walls, thinking terrified that he was too close to fulfilment, that he should slow down.

"− don't you desire this, uncle? − don't you desire to see me swell from your child? − ah − don't you desire to feel what my sweet milk would taste like on your tongue? −" She panted and he gasped heavily with his mouth wide open, clenching his eyes, feeling that her words had done something to him. He cursed loudly with relief and rage as he peaked inside her so hard that for a moment it went dark before his eyes, pleasure and heat rippling through his lower abdomen.

"− oh − oh fuck − gods − what have you done to me? −" He muttered, trying to catch his breath, pressing his welted cheek against her temple, moving lazily inside her, with the remnants of his free will directing his fingers between her thighs, giving her bud a few encouraging rubs and squeezes, making her fall apart in front of him with a girlish cry of pleasure.

"− Aemond − Aemond −" She babbled, grabbing his hair with her hand, rocking her hips while her walls squeezed him in her fulfillment, feeling his spend mingled with her moisture run down their legs. He leaned down and brushed her neck with his swollen lips, panting heavily along with her, feeling that he was completely out of breath.

What was that?

The two of them lingered in each other's embrace for a while trying to calm down, running their hands over each other's body, his lips clamping down on her neck, sucking that place out of sheer spite – he heard her hiss of discomfort, she tried to push him away but he didn't stop until he left a red mark on her neck.

She grunted in displeasure when he grasped her cheeks in his palm and forced her to arch back – their lips joined in a deep, hot, sticky kiss, her fingers involuntarily running through his hair. He gasped as he ran the tip of his nose over her temple, feeling his frustration, surely due to his powerful fulfilment, leave him, her gaze directed sideways, far ahead of them.

She looked at the Iron Throne.

"− look at it, uncle − the source of our eternal misery − the cold chair of steel −" She whispered quietly; he sighed at her words, closing his eyelids, placing a lingering kiss on her hair.

"− let's move to my chamber −"

"− I should begin to bleed soon −" She mumbled in a trembling voice, and he opened his eyes, feeling a squeeze in his throat, surprised by her words.

He was unfamiliar with these mysterious feminine matters, for they had never occupied his head and he had not delved into them.

For her, however, he thought, as a woman, her fertility, even more so in the situation in which fate had placed them, was of the utmost importance.

"− I fear that I will be like the dragon egg that has not cracked − that along with the blood between my thighs will flow the blood of us all −" She said in a breaking, shaking voice, and he stared at her with his eyes wide open, feeling the strong pounding of his heart, the cold sweat on his neck.

He had no clue what he should answer, he couldn't find the right words to express how much she surprised him.

I fear that I will be like the dragon egg that has not cracked.

She was afraid that if she failed him in terms of giving him an heir, he would consider her worthless.

"For years I resented my father for choosing this particular egg and not any other − one from which a dragon might have hatched. However, the gods chose a different path for me. They decided that I would become the rider of the greatest dragon in the world." He whispered, looking at her with his lips slightly parted, taking the curls of her long, dark hair with a soft flick of his hand, revealing her long neck, the scent of vanilla pleasantly teasing his nostrils.

He leaned in, placing soft, butterfly kisses around the red bruise that his lips had left moments earlier, his fingers entwined with hers on her womb.

"− I'm scared − gods, I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared −" She muttered in a squeaky, breaking voice from which he felt his heart sting; his eyebrows arched in pain, his arms tightened around her waist, pressing her securely against his chest, his soft manhood still deep inside her.

"− I know − but you need to calm down − come to terms as I do with whatever the will of the heavens decides −" He whispered low, feeling it was the right answer.

There was nothing more they could do.

He thought that, after all, neither his mother nor his sister carried their children in their wombs after the first weeks of their marriage, that it took months and, in the cases of other women, even years.

How could he expect her to somehow perform a miracle, to carry his child because the situation demanded it?

"− we need to rest, wife −" He hummed, leaning over her shoulder, wanting to see the expression on her face. He heard her sniff with her nose and wipe her red cheeks, swallowing loudly, still distressed.

"− forgive me − it's the day of our happiness, and I destroyed it −" She whined, and he let the air out loudly through his nose, shaking his head as he stroked her shoulder with the soft movement of his hand.

"− no − it's a good thing you told me about your worries − I'm your husband −" He said calmly and heard her breathe quietly, as if his words brought her relief. He slid out of her gently with a quiet click of their shared moisture, lowering her gown; she turned, leaning her back against the pillar, watching as he quickly tied his breeches.

They looked at each other for a moment in silence; something in her eyes filled with tears of happiness, sadness and joy made his heart squeeze.

She was vulnerable.

And although only a few weeks ago he had dreamed of her like this, at his mercy, so that he could destroy her and do whatever he wanted with her, now that she was his wife, now that she was a part of himself he wished that, like him, she would at last experience a little solace.

He took her warm, rosy cheeks in his hands, towering over her without a word – she closed her eyes as his thumbs ran over the wonderfully soft skin of her face.

His lips pressed against hers in a warm, lingering, sweet kiss with which he tried to express what could not leave his throat.

She sighed softly into his mouth, throwing her hands around his neck, his arms pressed tightly around her in a secure, safe embrace.

They kissed slowly, deeply, rubbing and teasing their swollen, moist lips, their tongues touching and licking lazily making his cock swell again immediately, pushing impatiently against her belly.

Gods, have mercy, he thought in disbelief.

She gasped into his mouth, delighted that he couldn't hide from her how the closeness of her body, her scent and her caresses affected him, her hand slipped from his neck to the material of his breeches, he groaned helplessly as she began to run her fingers down the increasingly hard, throbbing bulge.

"− not here −"

He made love to her that same night once more in his chamber, taking her at last as her husband in every sense of the word, their rapprochement this time quiet and tender, full of their wet, hot kisses and the embrace of their arms, their hands trailing over their naked, sweaty bodies as they pursued their fulfilment again with quiet moans of pleasure.

"− I need you, uncle − please, please, my beloved, don't leave −" She cried out beneath him heated with pleasure, throwing her head back, an almost animalistic, throaty groan broke from his throat as she called him so wonderfully, involuntarily pounding into her more violently so that after a few definite, deep thrusts of his hips his seed filled her again.

"− never −" He gasped, panting heavily, brushing soft skin of her rosy cheek with his swollen, moist lips. "− never −"

They kissed for a long time after that, lying in each other's embrace with their eyes closed, stroking each other's naked backs and shoulders, this one night focusing only on pleasure, only on their closeness, only on what they had lost and what they had finally regained.

The rolled-up parchment, the proof of their marriage that changed everything, lay beside them on the bedclothes; they both read it when his wife was already lying cuddled into his bare chest, unable to believe that it was finally over.

After eight years of torment, she was finally his rightful wife.

[ashiemochi]

hey bestie <3

I’d like to request a birthday smut with death island! Leon please and thank you 💕

wrote this on phone bc im on a trip and my phone is actually starting to drop dead so </3 time for a new phone ig. But!! here's something 💕 (don't point out mistakes or weird formatting, my phone is ASS)

Leon never liked being late in any way.

Traffic was his arch nemesis because it always resulted to him getting late to work – which also resulted in numerous lectures from his higher-ups.

Another thing he hated; alarms.

Those fuckers either don't do their jobs or are just for show – or maybe he should be getting a new phone or an actual rooster to cock-a-doodle-doo at the glimpse of the sunrise.

Late to events were even worse than mundane things. The amount of times the President would give him a look that simply said "you're late and I'm not impressed" were endless. It wasn't like he had much of a choice when he'd be fresh out of a mission or an assignment that he'd wear the wrong colour of suit, or mismatch his socks in a hurry.

Not to mention. Fucking. Traffic.

However, there was one thing Leon for sure hated the most, absolutely revolted at the idea.

Missing your birthday.

Much to his shitty worse line of luck, he was ordered to rush to the Alcatraz Island for an assignment. To his luck, some deranged guy with a bucket load of issues and untreated trauma decided on a random Sunday at church that he was going to be playing God and start an outbreak via mosquitoes.

Leon was never going to catch a break. All the time at the island, the agent couldn't stop thinking about how to make it up to you. Even when he was infected with the virus and minutes away from losing his last bits of humanity, you were on his mind all the time.

When he returned home, you had opened the door to a bruised and bandaged up Leon with a bouquet of roses in hand. A tired but apologetic tilted grin was on his face, his side leaning against the doorframe.

"Happy... Late birthday, sweetheart..."

While he didn't expect you to be mad at him, a tiny nagging something within him relaxed when you were nowhere near upset. Your worry and glee that he was back in one piece made you forget about your birthday, your arms residing around his neck into a tight embrace where his arms went for your waist – where they belonged.

But the flowers weren't his only way of apologizing – because what started as a simple reunion kiss turned into something more and hotter.

"Oh, fuck..."

His voice was breathy right next to your ear, nearly over clouding the creaking sounds of the bed. His skin was searingly hot against yours, your body painted with hickies and lovebites. Galaxies and nebulas in all the right spots, painless and painful.

Yet they were tomorrow's problem.

His hand was pinning your wrist to the mattress, the other gripping the back of your knee to push it back against your chest. His fingers were digging into your flesh, his hips moving in a perfectly powerful rhythm that had your mind reeling.

"Oh, god... Ah, Leon–nhh~" Your moans were his favourite sound. A sex playlist would usually be on, but on nights like these, it'd be just you and him.

His cock was diving into your pussy, emitting that moist gushing noise the harder he moved. Your clit was throbbing with how intense the pleasure was for you, bringing you a lot closer to yet another orgasm. You really tried to keep track of how many times Leon had made you cum, but after four, everything just became a mixed haze of lust and longingness.

Leon grunted lowly, his blueblue eyes observing your expressions sharply. His lips were parted for your own favourite sounds, his groans and growly moans sending shivers to your core; red and swollen from the countless hickies on your body and kissing you.

Those lips of yours were absolutely intoxicating.

The blunt tip of his bigbig cock was slamming into your walls, going almost rogue as your arousal and previous orgasms dripped and dropped to the drenched sheets.

You never knew you could squirt, but Leon was confident in his skills. It took time, and god was it worth it.

Your face was flushed, your free hand on his back with your nails digging into him. You could feel his toned muscles flexing and shifting right beneath his skin. Your gaze trailed up to him, your moans and soft whines escaping nonstop.

"L–Le– f–fuck, you're too," You keened, your other leg wrapping around his waist, whimpering as your walls squeezed hard on his thick dick, "deep!"

"Oh, yeah?" Leon muttered, the corner of his lips irking upwards into an amused smirk.

That was the last thing you heard before he released your wrist only to switch his grip to your other leg. He hooked both legs into either of his elbows, pushing them onto his shoulders and easily tugging you close to him his figure towering over you completely. His cock hit that spot in you, bringing stars to your eyes with a hitched squeak.

His whole length was inside, especially when he leaned over you, causing his pelvis to brush against your needy pearl. His hands returned to your waist to keep you pinned in place, his hips relentless as he pounded into you.

"Mmh, that's deeper, isn't it, honey?" Leon hummed, his thrusts growing ruthless as he fucked you with vigour, pushing a moan from him, "Oh, fuck... You're just so fucking wet and tight for me..."

"Nnh! Oh, g–god! Leon!" You cried out, your body starting to tremble and your arm joined the other around his back, your nails forming angry red crescent moons, "S–shit!"

The pleasure was looming once again, the knot within you tightening more and more. Leon's hips were out of his control, revealing he was just as close to his peak as you were.

Leon groaned, his eyes screwing shut for a second as he felt your walls starting to clasp around his cock as if trying to feel every ridge and bulging vein on it. His toes curled up on the bed sheets, his thighs tensing.

"Oh, fuck, fuck..." Leon let out a choked sound, his desperation to release causing his voice to break and hitch into a lower octave.

"Leon, I–" Your moans cut you off, whining as your legs trembled over his shoulders, "'m gonna, ah!"

Leon's lustful eyes found yours, for a second his love for you spilling through the thick dirty haze and he couldn't help but feel every so grateful for having someone to return home to.

Someone to fight for when the world's going to shit.

His lips met yours hard in a searing heated kiss, your breathless moans making it a bit difficult but it all felt just right. It ticked you off first when he dove his cock to the hilt, pistoning into your squelching cunt and pressing up against your clit.

A loud moan went muffled, swallowed by him as he groaned against your lips. The white-hot pleasure rattled your bones, coiling around your muscles at the intensity that your back arched off the bed. Your gushy walls clamped tight around his cock, consequently pushing him straight to the peak he craved.

His lips parted from yours to push his face into the crook of your neck, his hips stuttering to a stop flush against yours as if trying to keep his twitching cock as deep he could. His groan was, if not, just as loud even when he obviously tried to stay quiet. His cum spurted out thickly, filling you up so good and so warm. You could almost feel it in your tummy at this point.

A shaky exhale escaped from him, his hips moving again but at a slower pace, gently riding you both down from your cloud nine. He panted heavily as he moved his face away from your neck, his eyes shut as his lips peppered kisses from your jaw, cheek, inching closer to the corner of your lips before sealing them with his.

You faint hum merged with his, your hands kneeding and massaging against the angry scratches on his back. His hips retreated slowly, slipping his cock out that was still visibly twitching and his cum seaping and dripping from the red tip. A string of his climax connected between him and your abused cunt.

Leon parted from the kiss, his sweaty fringes dangling with the tips brushing against your forehead. One of his hands reached up to the side of your face, his gaze doing their usual scan to make sure you were okay and that he didn't go too far.

"I'm okay..." You whispered softly, your voice just as breathy as you brushing away his bangs which only dangled wetly about so your hand rested on his neck, your thumb tracing the stubble across his jawline, and with a faint giggle, "And I forgive you."

Leon chuckled, his eyes growing gentle as he caressed your sides gingerly, "Good, maybe I should start missing your birthdays a bit more, yeah?"

You huffed, lightly smacking his shoulder, "Don't push it."

"Yeah, yeah," He smiled before carefully setting your legs back onto the bed which they only fell limply, still shaking and he squeezed your thighs, "Okay, I'll get us water and something to drink, then we'll continue."

That made you blink, confused as you tilted your head to the side, watching him as he sat at the edge of the bed with his eyes trying to locate his boxers at least. With a soft groan, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, giving him a puzzled look when he stood up and slipped on his undergarment.

"Continue?" You repeated, your heart starting to pound once again, "We're not done?"

Leon gave you a look as if you had grown another head and he approached you, his hand pressing into the pillow next to your head and the other tilting your chin up with just his index and thumb.

"Of course we're not done, birthday girl." Leon grinned, his nose brushing against yours, "Still gotta make up for our anniversary."

Way to go for Leon asking you to be his on your birthday.

[sparxwrites]

It’s two in the morning when Gem wakes up to screaming in her castle.

The noise is coming from the entrance hall, and it sounds like neither a wither nor a warden, so she figures she’s good to head down in just her pyjamas and her little silk house-robe. Her sword is a comforting not-weight in her inventory, visible a half-dimension away when she lets her attention slip to the peripheral of her vision. Whatever it is, she’ll be fine. It’s probably some bugged zombie or something – if it’s not just some new god-awful prank from Grian, or Scar, or both. 

(She’s heard that thing under Scar’s base. It’s horrible. If they’ve put one of those in her castle, she’s going to kill both of them. Even if it was just one of them that put it there, she’s going to kill both of them. On principle.)

It’s not a bugged zombie, or a prank. It’s Pearl – also in her pyjamas, red flannel and a button-up shirt – hunched over, pulling at her own hair, howling. Her eyes are huge, wet, the pupils blown so large they’re almost black. There’s dark bags under her eyes, no colour in her skin other than high spots of red in her cheeks, the red of her nose where it’s running.

She’s barefoot – and that shouldn’t be what makes Gem’s heart break in two, but it is.

“Hey, Pearl,” she says, gently, raising her voice to carry over the wounded wailing. “Pearl! Hey. Can you look at me?”

She feels like she should have expected this, really. She’d heard from Mumbo what Grian had been like, after that first game, the one he’d won. She’d not been close enough to experience it first-hand, but she knew it’d been bad. She knows that winning those games is really more of a loss, than anything.

Pearl’s head snaps up. The howling stops, or rather transitions, turns into a choked gurgling, a gasping, this awful and wrenching sobbing like she’s gagging on her own saliva and desperately trying to swallow her screams. Her eyes are hollow, empty, nothing behind them but fear, pain. There’s something else there, too, some kind of deep and welling existential terror that makes Gem want to take a step back. 

She doesn’t, but it’s a close thing. The back of her neck prickles, the hairs on the back of her arms standing on end. She swallows, instead, and forces herself to take a step forward, towards the fear.

“That’s good,” she praises, “that’s great, Pearl, good job. Well done. Now. Can you tell me what’s going on? Seems like you’re having a bit of a rough time, huh?”

When Pearl rushes at her – hunched, animal, too-fast and skittering and staggering – she still doesn’t back up. 

She does, however, flinch. Her gaze slides to the peripheral, again, to the sword there. Just for a moment.

Pearl doesn’t seem to notice. “Tilly,” she gasps, grabs at Gem’s wrists. Her nails dig in, overlong, and draw blood. “Where’s– Tilly, what did they–” Her gaze sharpens, but only for a moment, and there’s still no sense in it. “What did you do to Tilly–”

Like this, this close, skin-on-skin contact between them, Gem can feel how hard she’s shaking.

“I’m sure she’s around here somewhere,” says Gem, as calmly as she can. “Can you tell me where you think you are, Pearl?”

Pearl gurgles, an awful noise. and tips forward. She’s still clutching hard enough to draw blood and, when she falls into Gem’s chest, she’s as cold as the night air outside. Her shaking rattles Gem’s ribs.

“He left,” she says, wet, like a child. “He left, he– he killed, he died, he killed himself, rather than– than be with me. He hates me. He wanted to get away from me so bad that he, he, he–”

She howls again, then, a noise of raw and ragged pain that seems to tear its way out of her like a living thing. 

There are tears soaking through Gem’s pyjamas, and her heart breaks a little with it as she carefully, carefully, shifts a hand to cradle the back of Pearl’s head. Her wrists are bloody with nail marks, and some of it catches, smears in Pearl’s wild hair. She tries not to worry about it. They can wash it out later.

“Shh, shh,” she murmurs, pets at the tangled mess beneath her hand, holds Pearl close while she works through another bout of screaming. “Shh, shh, shh.” She takes them both to the floor, slowly, legs going out from under them as Gem lowers them down. “I’m here, I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

“He hated me,” moans Pearl, between sobs, when the wailing has passed. The shaking is slowing, easing a little, the agony giving way to a slower, bone-deep hurt, the madness passing into grief. “He wanted to die rather than stay.”

That’s not true, Gem thinks, and she thinks Pearl knows that too. But she doesn’t say that. Now is not the time for saying that.

What she says, instead, is just, “I’m here. And I don’t hate you.” She hesitates, for a moment, and then leans forward, curls over Pearl where they’re sat tangled together on the floor. Presses her lips to the top of Pearl’s head. “I’m here,” she says, and means it, “and I’ll stay. For as long as you want me to.”