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depravitycentral · 2 days ago

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Yandere! Gyomei Himejima NSFW Profile

Yandere! Gyomei Himejima x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, reader is implied to be smaller than Gyomei but let's be real EVERYONE is smaller than him regardless of your weight or height, anal play/fingering, allusions to breeding, sub-ish Gyomei, masturbation, minor objectification, Gyomei is whipped, Stockholm Syndrome, accidental exhibitionism, Gyomei is a stone cold virgin (haha I am very funny), fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 13.6K

HABITS:

Sex is not a priority for Gyomei.

Not only does his lifestyle make having a partner difficult, but even the physical act of sex is something he’s never been particularly interested in. He’s just simply not that physical of a man – affection isn’t something he’s especially comfortable with, and while he wants nothing more than to hold you and keep you in his arms forever (and he really does mean forever, something he doesn’t hesitate in reminding you), touching you isn’t at the forefront of his mind.

And this is especially true in the context of sexual intimacy – it’s one thing to crave holding your hand, but it’s another to crave having your thighs wrapped around his head. It’s one thing to desire you falling asleep with your cheek pressed against his chest, but it’s another to imagine you perched on top of him, your pretty moans of his name making his cheeks feel hot and his pulse rising dramatically.

It feels disrespectful, more than anything, to imagine you in a sexual light; he’s already painfully aware that having any sort of romantic feelings towards you is wrong, but to doom himself even further with explicit, lewd fantasies of you? Just the thought makes him bristle, unease and shame crawling up his spine because only perverted men do that, men with no morals or self-control.

And he’s able to keep this mentality for an impressively long period of time - you’d be hard pressed to catch him having any sort of risqué thoughts regarding you for much of the time his obsession festers, the furthest possible thing being imagining kissing you and gently cupping your cheeks.

(And even then, the idea of slipping his tongue into your mouth makes his cheeks feel hot, his entire body feeling like it’s on fire and making him hurriedly forget the thought, instead busying himself with imagining hugging you or pressing a quick kiss to your temple. But as time passes, if his concentration lessens for even a single moment, then he’s suddenly thinking about you putting your tongue in his mouth, and suddenly he needs to sit down, his head feeling dizzy and light and overwhelmed.)

He manages to stay within the confines of innocent fantasies of you, physically conditioning himself to halt any thoughts further than holding you by pinching himself or biting his tongue, anything at all to deter such thoughts and reprimand himself. But really, while Gyomei may be a very morally guided man with one of the gentlest hearts, he’s still a man.

And like most men, he has needs – even if he himself isn’t truly aware of them.

And so, while he forces himself to stay respectful of you during the day, he’s not so in control of his thoughts at night. It’s not as easy to stop himself from playing out vivid, pleasure-filled scenarios when he’s in the grips of slumber, his subconscious running wild and imagining how you’d feel with your hands on his body, your soft breasts pressed against his own rigid chest, your lips kissing his neck, and the wonderful warmth between your legs that he’s absolutely sure would be such a tight fit, truly stretching you out in every possible way.

(And god, while the size difference intimidates him ever so slightly because he doesn’t want to hurt you, there’s something about the fact that you’re just so damn tiny compared to him that makes something primal and territorial stir in his gut, the sense of protectiveness and ownership he feels over you only amplifying, despite his wishes. And then he’s imagining the way you’d squeal and grasp onto him as he sends rope after rope after rope of thick, white cum as deeply inside of you as he can manage, and it’s only then that Gyomei truly gives up any hope of not viewing you in a sexual light because how can he not fantasize about stuffing you so full that you’re leaking it? Leaking him?)

He’s woken up to messy sheets, a sweaty body and heavy breathing more often than he’d like to admit, the cum smeared across his softening cock and the material of the bed making him feel dirty, ashamed and disgusting.

(And when he sees you later that day, you’ll notice he’s a bit quieter than usual, not standing as close to you as he normally would, but if you bring it up he’ll only tear up a bit, telling you to disregard his strange behavior, but not really giving you a reason for it. He can’t lie to you, it feels wrong, but he can’t tell you, either, so he settles with omission, praying you won’t push the issue further.)

And so, as time passes, slowly he’ll find himself becoming a victim of the lust that begins showing itself, rearing its ugly head when he finds himself wanting you most, the bouts of loneliness he feels late at night making fighting off his desire difficult.

But even then, Gyomei has the patient of a saint and could probably stave off his urges to actually touch himself for the rest of his life. Dirty thoughts, no, but the act of actually stroking himself or acting upon those thoughts? He could, if he really tried – or at least he could without the intervention of something outside of his control, something that pushes him to finally, finally give in.

And that intervention comes one summer evening, when the wind is warm and the night air is full of liveliness. The village he’d been sent to had a night market that was bustling, hence the presence of a demon slowly picking off the shoppers every night. Finding and destroying the demon was quick and easy, and as Gyomei wandered through the market after completing his mission, a wrong turn led to a rather shocking discovery.

The woman’s voice sounds almost exactly like yours, only a bit higher, a bit more slurred, a bit sultrier as she moans presumably the name of the man pinning her against the wall. The alleyway between the two buildings in the downtown segment of the town reverberates her cries strongly, the wet sucking and kissing noises as the man worked at her neck making Gyomei freeze, embarrassment slowly creeping up his spine.

Of course, Gyomei isn’t naïve – he knows about the intimate relations between men and women, and although he has no sexual experience of his own, the heavy breathing, racing hearts and wet plap plap noises echoing down the alleyway towards him tell him more than enough about what exactly is taking place just a few meters away. He knows that this is really quite a private moment, and he knows that he should really, really move.

And yet, the similarities between your voice and the woman’s make him pause, his legs suddenly feeling like lead, even as the man’s grunts and questions of you like that, baby ring in his ears, making Gyomei’s eyebrows shoot up because oh no, what a horribly inappropriate thing to be hearing.

A particularly harsh thrust and a nearly pained groan from the man has Gyomei suddenly moving, sensing that the man is close to his end and the Hashira would prefer to give them privacy during such a moment. He tries to continue on with his evening, focusing entirely on the feeling of the beads between his palms and the bustling sounds of the town’s evening life as he heads back towards the more populated area, but the damage is already done.

The woman sounded so much like you that it haunts Gyomei that night, the sound ringing through his ears on repeat and driving him nearly mad, forcing him to head back home to his estate early. Once he’s smelling the familiar air of his home (tinged ever so slightly by your scent, you having visited earlier that day and leaving a lingering reminder of you that he immediately deeply inhales once he enters), Gyomei relaxes ever so slightly, head dipping down in shame as he notices the way his trousers are still fitting tightly, the woman’s sounds and the small, barely-there thoughts he’s trying to repress about your sounds physically affecting him.

Furrowing his brow, he resigns himself to the knowledge that he’ll likely spend the rest of the evening hard enough to be uncomfortable, instead simply sitting and resting atop his bed. He tries to distract himself as the minutes slowly tick by, thinking of training, praying, and anything else he can conjure up, brain working as frantically as possible because the idea of you moaning his name in that same wanton, needy way just absolutely refuses to leave him.

It’s infuriating, really, and it leaves Gyomei with a heavy sense of shame in his gut because it’s just so, so disrespectful to be thinking of you in such compromising, lewd ways. It’s abhorrent, truly a sign of just how weak he’s become in your hands, all without you even realizing it.

The next few hours are painful, his erection remaining prominent and sweat beading his brow, his concentration waning the longer it drags on. Every time he lets his mind wander, it’s turning back to you – he’s thinking of the delicious smell of curried meat that was coming from a market stand, and suddenly he’s imagining the way you would suck on the meat stick, and it’s not long before he’s thinking of how you’d suck on his lips, his fingers, him –

He sits up abruptly, biting his lip and forcing himself to his feet. And eventually, as Gyomei tasks himself with whatever simple task he can think of as a distraction, the concentration and resolve eventually breaks. The neatly folded pile of his clothing in the corner of the room shouldn’t make him pause as it does, but as his fingers feel over the fabric to identify each piece, he can’t help but notice the presence of something new atop the other items – something lighter and softer, a material completely unlike the rough, thick fabric of his uniform.

Curiously, he brings the material up closer to his face, leaning down slightly and inhaling, only to immediately stop, eyes going wide because fuck, this is your shawl, isn’t it?

You’d accidentally left it in his home and he’d placed it in the corner with the hopes of keeping it out of the way to preserve it and not accidentally ruin it. And yet, as he stands there, muscles tense with each inhale bringing your scent to his nose again and again, Gyomei finds that he simply can’t take it anymore. He’s so hard that it hurts, and with the smell of you filling his lungs, how can he possibly hold himself back any longer?

And so, with a heavy heart and shame creeping up his neck, Gyomei finds himself once again laying on his bed, back flat against the ground and swallowing heavily. He’s never touched himself before – maybe once as a young teenager, but he’s simply not had the time nor desire to, and he’s ashamed to admit that he’s nervous.

But then he’s imagining the way you’d moan again, your pretty voice ringing in his ears, the syllables of his name rolling off your tongue like velvet, G-yo-mei whimpered in his ear as he kneads at your breasts, thumbing at your nipples and kissing along the sensitive skin of your jaw.

And that’s all it takes for him to gently loosen the belt of his uniform trousers, his hand slightly trembling as he shuffles them down a bit, the cold air brushing against his freed cock and making him shiver slightly.

He’s slow and methodical as he very, very slowly relaxes. Guilt still consumes him, but he’s already got his pants off, cock in hand – and soon, he’s throwing caution to the wind and instead focusing on the idea of you.

He starts by imagining a simple part of your body – your hands, the ones whose fingers always brush his own, resting against his clothing as you compliment him, always feeling warm and soft and so, so very foreign. He swallows, his fist moving to grip himself at the base, the dull pleasure making his toes curl a bit.

Then he’s mentally picturing your arms, remembering the way they feel against his palms. He’s sure the skin there is soft, too, and he squeezes tighter as he thinks of the way you’d wrap them around his neck as he thrusts into you, hovering over you and trying to get as deep as he possibly can – he wants to feel every possible inch of you, to leave you stuffed full enough to be a gasping, stuttering mess.

He’s imagining your collarbone, his free hand coming up to trace his own for reference. He decides that your must be more delicate, softer, pretty and mirroring the shape of your jaw. Slowly, his hand begins moving upwards, a low, uneven breath falling from his lips because oh, this is a strange feeling.

He’s not entirely sure what breasts feel or look like, but as he licks his lips, he thinks back to all the (unpleasantly and unwilling) conversations he’s overheard from perverted older men. Soft, he thinks, and surely firm enough to grasp onto – one hand continues the slow, steady strokes as the other reaches up in front of him, shame eating away at him as he spreads his fingers, cupping and squeezing them as if your chest were right in front of him, your pretty tits bouncing, the plap plap noise of skin hitting skin filling the room.

He quietly groans your name as he continues to squeeze, head lolling back slightly against the floor, a strained look crossing his features because no, he knows the feeling that’s coming is an orgasm but dammit, he wants this to continue, even as depraved as it is. Even as disrespectful and rude – even as badly as he hopes and prays that you do this thinking of him, too.

His thumb comes up to quickly swipe at his tip, his abs clenching tightly at the sensation. He’s thinking of your stomach – it’s soft, he just knows it, the perfect thing for him to grab at, imagining the way he’d rest his head against the soft pudge of your lower tummy as he licks and sucks between your legs, feeling your thighs cage around his head, squeezing and crushing and fuck fuck fuck –

He groans your name, hips bucking up and up as he imagines what lays between those pretty thighs of yours, the exact picture a mystery but the idea making every nerve feeling like it’s on fire, white hot pleasure burning its way from the pit of his stomach through to every limb.

He’s sure fucking you would be heavenly – he’s heard women’s genitalia described as warm, wet, and tight, and the mere idea of you being that way is enough to get him gasping, his orgasm hurriedly approaching and his concentration too haphazard to use a technique to slow his breathing and delay the inevitable.

It’s futile, really, because when he imagines the way you’d clutch onto him and tell him such sweet praises, your pretty lips pressing against his desperately, whining that you want him, that you need him, it’s only natural for him to start bucking up into his hand, thrusting against his fist faster and faster and faster, the sound of his ass clapping back down against his bedsheets reverberating through the room, along with the wet slapping noise of his balls clapping against his fist as he imagines fucking into you harder, faster, more more more –

And just the idea of you moaning a breathy, adoring I love you, Gyomei is enough to get his back arching up, every muscle in his body going taut as spurt after spurt of warm, thick cum spurts from his tip, landing in rivulets across his chest, feeling hot and wet even over the fabric.

He’s panting, breathing heavily and bathing in the aftershocks of his orgasm, cock still pulsing and throbbing even as the minutes tick by, still mostly erect even as he grasps at the sheets, a fresh wave of tears beading at his eyes because what has he done?

Clarity rushes back to him and for a moment he’s in shock, the pleasure still numbing his senses. He’d masturbated to the thought of you – imagining your naked body touching his own, fantasizing about the way he’d taste you, how he’d ever so carefully ease inside you, a thumb constantly pressing against your clit to make sure everything feels as good for you as he’s sure it will feel for him.

He’s breathless, disappointed in himself, and as he silently sits up and washes himself up in the bathroom, scrubbing at the drying cum stains on his uniform, Gyomei can only sigh. It’s truly amazing what you’ve done to him – what you’ve reduced him to.

And yet, as Gyomei walks towards your home the next day with the intention of walking you to the market, he can’t help but subtly take wider steps, hoping to adjust himself as he grows hard at the mere thought of being close to you.

What have you done to him?

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your Voice

Due to his blindness, Gyomei perceives your beauty in more meaningful ways than simply your appearance.

He fell in love first with your voice, the things you say never failing to leave him in awe of your kindness and your humility. He falls in love with your laughter, loving the sound and finding himself speaking more often simply for the chance to say something that would amuse you.

(Something that both you and others will notice, if only because it’s extremely unlike Gyomei to say anything even remotely hinting at humor, and while his comments often don’t land as he intended, you’ll often times end up laughing simply because it’s so out of character and odd of him. And oh, in the moment Gyomei is basking in the sound of your laughter, committing every inhale of breath and slight snort to memory, obsessively replaying the sound over and over and over.)

And so, when he’s falling into the depths of loneliness, arousal and desperation for you becoming too difficult to handle, he’ll think of the lulling sound of your voice, the way you roll your letters and how you enunciate your words. He’s memorized your speech patterns, always trying to engage you in conversation just so that he can listen to you talk, eagerly absorbing everything you say because it all feels important, like he’d be doing you a disservice to not memorize every little quirk, mannerism and opinion you have.

And so while his love for your voice begins platonically and innocently (or at least as innocent as it can be, considering his feelings for you are anything but), Gyomei finds that over time, this sentiment begins changing.

Sure, he’s still in love with your voice, but now he can’t stop thinking about what you’d sound like when you’re out of breath, when you’re moaning, when you’re whining and keening and begging and needing him to please touch me Gyomei, I need it so bad please please please –

He’s fantasizing about what you sound like during sex long before he feels comfortable with it, his mind conjuring up all these questions and hypothetical scenarios without his control. He’s idly wondering if you’re more of a moaner, all high-pitched and girly, plentiful sounds that are expressive enough for him to very easily and quickly be able to read exactly what you’re feeling, exactly what you’re wanting. Or perhaps you’d be a little deeper, more of a groaner, more likely to let out sighs rather than whines. Or perhaps you’re just very quiet - he’d be happy with that, too, finding that the minimal sounds he does manage to get out of you are all the more rewarding, all the more precious and worthy of cherishing.

(He’s even found himself, in a moment of dissociation as he tries to sleep, mimicking what he imagines your noises would be like – he catches himself after the third moan slips out, immediately stopping himself and becoming mortified because oh god, does he now not even have autonomy and control over his own body and actions?)

And once he’s stolen you away, his hand forced by some external event, Gyomei’s love and appreciation for your voice persists. He’s still captivated by it, except now he’s paying even more attention, listening to your heartbeat and the way you breath, finding himself pressing his ear up against walls when he wants to give you space but still needs to hear you.

Once your sexual relationship begins, he’s absolutely addicted to drawing all sorts of sounds out of you – he wants to hear your every moan, your every comment, every everything because he wants to know exactly how you’re feeling and what he can do to make it better for you.

He’s always encouraging you to be louder, to be more expressive, always asking you questions during sex in attempts to get you to be more vocal. It’s selfish, sure, but with the way his cock throbs at the sound of your voice, can be really be blamed?

You just have an effect on him – one he absolutely adores, shivers running up and down his spine merely at the sound of you breathing.

His Fingers

Even outside of the bedroom, Gyomei is reliant on his fingers. It’s a necessary part of his job – wielding his axe and flail, praying, even simple day-to-day activities. They’re thick, and they’re strong – calloused and weathered with the scars of battle and a tough life, and Gyomei has remarkable dexterity and control over them.

And while he may be blind, Gyomei notices almost immediately that you seem to take a liking to them, once your fear and apprehension towards him starts to wear off, once you start to see him as less of a threat and more as a provider, a lover, even.

So while he’s never really given them much thought, there’s just something about how you react to his thick, scarred digits that makes him positively swoon with happiness – it starts off relatively platonic, with you simply touching his fingers. Letting one of his hands rest in your lap, your smaller fingers comparing sizes, tracing scars and callouses, idly toying with them as you talk about something seemingly trivial to you.

(Little to you know that Gyomei is listening with rapt attention, every one of his senses heightened because you’re touching him, and it feels so soft and sweet and adorable that he almost thinks he might combust, his cheeks feeling warm and something fluttering in his stomach.)

It’ll move to you asking him to rub your shoulders, letting out little moans at the feeling of him running thumbs against your back, digging in – carefully, of course – against the tight, sore muscles of your shoulders, all the while Gyomei has to focus on continuing his job and relaxing you, ignoring the rather insistent erection pressing heatedly against his pants as a result of your sounds, the feeling of your skin, and the proximity of your scent.

And of course, you absolutely adore his fingers in the context of sex - one of them is enough to have you pleading with him to wait, please, the stretch is too much, you need a second to adjust, immediately pausing or pulling back, listening to you and asking if you’d like him to try again, if he should go slower, if you’d like to be done and instead do something else, or nothing else at all.

(He hopes, prays, even, that you’ll let him try again, that you’ll let him sink his fingers into you, curling and rubbing and mapping out every inch of you like some sort of sacred knowledge, like knowing you inside and out is his only purpose.)

And while Gyomei has never been an especially prideful guy, he can’t help the surge of satisfaction that rolls through him at the knowledge that he’s enough for you in bed, that he’s able to satisfy you and give you what you want at any time, sometimes even with just his fingers alone.

He had no experience before his infatuation with you began - he’d never even kissed someone, let alone fingered them or been inside them, but once he realizes how badly he wants to make you come, how desperately he needs to hear up-close the way you sound as your orgasm crashes through you, he’s suddenly learning as diligently as he can, taking into consideration your every whimper, moan and gasp.

Soon, he’s able to pinpoint your spot within the first three thrusts, and once he feels the way you tighten around him, almost as if you were sucking his fingers in further, deeper, he gets to work - he’s thrusting, curling, rubbing and stretching you out just how you like it, hearing the symphony of your noises and cries, along with the lewd squelching noises of his fingers pushing and pulling out of you again and again.

And when his calloused fingertips find your already swollen and sensitive clit? Honestly it’s game over – they’re never leaving the spot, quickly learning precisely how you like to be touched, the accuracy and ease of the movements nearly unfair as you squirm and writhe and gasp out his name.

Gyomei is determined, and he will get you to come, if it’s the last thing that he does. After all, how can he call himself good enough of a lover for you if he can’t even manage to do that?

DRIVE:

Before his infatuation with you began, Gyomei’s drive was quite literally nonexistent. The thought of sex hardly ever crossed his mind, and if it did, it was immediately shoved away, pushed aside for more important matters in his everyday life. Survival, hunting demons and saving innocents took all of his free time and energy, and touching himself was both unnecessary and a stark reminder of not having a partner.

(Something that doesn’t bother him up until he meets you – because now he’s suddenly hyper aware of what couples do. He’s constantly thinking of holding your hand, brushing back your hair and cupping your cheek, softly pressing his lips to the corners of your mouth and against your jugular, holding you in his arms at night to keep you protected from both the cold and any wayward demons. And of course, the other things couples do – the things that make him feel like some hormone-driven teenage boy for being so easily flustered, for being so horribly eager to try them out with you.)

His libido was essentially non-existent, and while he’d sometimes overhear Tengen talking in shockingly explicit detail to Rengoku about his latest sexual escapades with his wives, he genuinely never felt the need to even so much as think about intimacy like that, let alone indulge in it.

But once you worm your way into his heart, suddenly the urge to be with you in an intimate manner is just too much to ignore. Of course, it’s still very gradual – it takes years of friendship in order for Gyomei to even form romantic feelings towards you in the first place, much less feelings to this degree. And even once they’re realized, it’ll take a long while before he moves past fantasizing about simply sitting by your side and slowly breathing in the air you’re exhaling and instead towards fantasizing about fucking you until you’re crying.

But as time passes and he slowly gives in more and more to his better judgement, Gyomei finds himself idly toying with the thoughts lingering at the edges of his subconscious – ideas of how you’d feel underneath him, how your lips would curve against his skin, how you’d keen and sigh his name. It becomes too hard not to imagine the way your pretty cunt would suck in his fingers, clenching down and fluttering around him as he curls and thrusts them, listening to the beating of your heart and slowly but surely finding every spot that drives you absolutely crazy.

His drive is still quite low even once he realizes his infatuation with you (simply finding that while he very, very much wants to have sex with you, it’s not something he needs on an hourly or daily basis), but the more lewd, dirty thoughts about you are most certainly still swirling in his mind.

And really, how can he be expected to not fantasize about you?

You’re so beautiful, inside and out, and Gyomei is sure that if you were to allow him to touch you in such an intimate way, he'd be in heaven. The softness of your skin, the tightness of your throat, the warmth of your pussy…

(He’s heard, once again mainly from Tengen but also from others he’s unfortunately overheard, that vaginas tend to be warm, hot even. Initially, he’d just thrown aside this information, having no use for it, but the comments flow back into his head as he tries to picture what your cunt must feel like. Warm makes sense, but then he’s thinking of how it’s supposedly so very wet, assuming the woman is aroused, and Gyomei can only gulp at the thought, imagining the wet schlock noise that would ring in his ears when he’s got you bouncing in his lap. And of course, the tightness – he’s gripping himself harder at the mere thought, gasping sharply as he brings his fist up and down, varying the strength of his grip as he imagines where you’d be tightest, how your walls would squeeze and massage at him just how he’s been told it is.)

And you make it very, very hard to keep the thoughts from entering his head once he's accepted his sexual attraction to you.

When he notices the little sound you make when you throw your arms over your head and stretch, how can he not think of the way you’d squirm and cry out when he gently, sweetly presses a finger inside of you, curling and rubbing at the spot that Tengen promises will make you feel good? And although he knows it’s probably a bit inappropriate to be thinking of you in such ways despite you not being married quite yet, he honestly can’t help it - you’re too attractive to him, you mean to much for him to not want to be with you in every possible way.

After all, Gyomei wants to do everything in his power to make you as happy as possible, and if it means burying his face between your legs for hours on end and bringing you to your high a few times, he’s already plopping down onto his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

(And even if you don’t really want it, Gyomei is still more than happy to taste you, practically begging you without saying the words, reminding you that he can make you relax, please allow me to pleasure you, it should help with your headache. And while it’s mostly for you, genuinely, there’s still a selfish part of him that’s hurriedly settling your pretty cunt over his face because he wants your thighs caging around his head, the taste and smell of you enveloping his senses, to have every ounce of your attention solely on him him him.)

He's not perpetually desperate for you in a sexual sense, but once Gyomei’s infatuation settles in for long enough, he will not turn you down should you offer.

That said, Gyomei will never force anything physical onto you in any capacity.

(And this is true In all senses – obviously he won’t force you into sex if you don’t consent, but he also won’t do things like holding your hand or calling you petnames, wanting everything in your relationship to be as reciprocated as possible. Except, of course, where your safety is concerned – if he looks the villain for kidnapping you, so be it, but at least he isn’t pinning you down and taking what he wants from you. Though with his stature, you’re aware that he could take practically anything he wants and you’d not be able to do a thing about it.)

While he isn’t especially experienced with romantic relationships, he’s more than aware that consent is everything, that each action and step should be accepted by both parties, whether it be a peck on the cheek or bending you over the nearest counter and leaving you sore.

Gyomei hates when you cry, and as the target of his obsession, this works in your favor - while you’re likely to develop sympathy and possibly even some warped sort of love for him, you won’t ever have to worry about being taken advantage of, or being put in a situation in which you’re forced to do something physical that you’re uncomfortable with. His top priority in any situation is you, and how can he justify shoving his tongue down your throat if you’re cringing, pushing at his far too muscular chest, showing obvious signs of fear?

How can he enjoy spreading your legs and running a thick finger up and down your folds when you’re shivering, whimpering with a few tears trailing down your cheeks?

He’d never forgive himself if he touched you without your consent, if he hugged or kissed or - heaven forbid, fucked - you without your explicit agreement, and this honestly ends up advantaging him in a strange way. It’s wrong and you know it, but eventually you’ll begin to grow fond of his gentle touches, his way of treating you as if you were made of glass, far too fragile and breakable for this world.

Perhaps it’s Stockholm Syndrome or the extreme isolation of only seeing one other person on a consistent basis, but eventually you’ll stop caring, justifying your growing yearning for his touch as simply a natural response to your situation. And at some point, you’ll want him to go further - no longer is a soft caress of your cheek enough; no, you want him to press his thumb against your lips, tracing the outline and pushing in just enough to pop it past your lips, settling on your tongue and telling you in that calming, deep voice of his to suck.

At some point you’ll decide that instead of him simply placing the palm of his hand on the top of your head as a sign of subtle, noninvasive affection, you’ll want him to instead have you on your knees before him, that same hand pressing your head down as you choke and gag on what you’re sure is a very, very sizeable cock. And once you voice these needs, gathering the courage and confidence that he won’t reject you (he would never, no matter how compromising or humiliating what you’re requesting of him is), Gyomei will be shocked, flustered, nervous, even.

When you shyly tug at his belt, kissing along the line of his jaw and whispering his name in a way that gets shivers erupting over his whole body, he won’t fight you. And all throughout the process he’s asking for your consent, refusing to move his hands until he gets explicit verbal confirmation that he can touch your back, your waist, your tits, your thighs, your ass, your cunt, your everything.

(Honestly, the question of are you sure, is this okay, does that feel good that constantly falls from his lips is almost too endearing, the ever-so-slight tremor in his voice giving away just how excited and nervous he is to be getting so intimate with you, as if the very, very insistent bulge pressing against your ass isn’t enough to tell by.)

It’s in moments where he’s completely vulnerable with you that the Stockholm Syndrome really accelerates: he’s slowly drawing circles against your clit and listening as if his life depends on it to the changes in your breathing, your moans, feeling the way your hips and thighs twitch at certain stimulation. It’s sweet, really, how attentive Gyomei is and just how anal he is about making sure that you’re comfortable with everything, and with each soft moan of his name and each orgasm he coaxes out of you, Gyomei can only thank whatever is listening, savoring the taste of you like a starving man and trying to memorize every inch of your body.

(It’s in the times of post-orgasmic bliss that he finds himself incredibly grateful for having prioritized your comfort and not pushed you into anything too early – sure, covering his mouth with the section of his happi you’d touched early in the day and absolutely yanking at his cock, his fist moving so quickly it’s nearly a blur wasn’t ideal, but it lead to this. All those evenings spent desperately trying to orgasm to release some of the built up sexual frustration and to minimize your chances of seeing the rather massive tent in his pants were worth it – anything is worth it to have you cuddled up in his arms, cheek smoothed against his bare chest, your soft breaths puffing against his nipple and making him lick his lips. Anything at all.)

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Oral Fixation

Specifically, Gyomei absolutely adores going down on you.

In general, he’s a giver in bed. He’s not a selfish lover by any means – in fact, he’s almost infuriatingly generous, prioritizing your pleasure over yours no matter the situation to the point that it’s almost irritating. And because he’s so cautious and aware that he’s significantly larger than you and thus has a cock proportionate to his height and stature, he knows that he needs to take things slow and spend a very, very long time preparing your body to take him.

And Gyomei’s personal preference is to use his tongue on you – to spread your legs and leave you squirming against him, the taste of you invading every one of his senses and only driving him to lick with more fervor, to suckle harder, to give you more more more because he needs you to be ready and able to take his cock or he thinks he might go insane.

He likes the intimacy of using his tongue on you – it means you trust him, he thinks, and there’s something so wonderful about the lewdness and vulgarity of it all. Having his mouth on the most sensitive, personal place on your body, all while your thighs cage his head in, your hips twitching and your fingers tunneling through his hair. He loves the way he feels so close to you – like he’s experiencing the most real, raw part of you that he can, the feeling almost as euphoric and intimate as having his cock nestled inside of you, warm and snug and full.

He loves the smell of you – it’s musky and earthy, something that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head and something resembling a groan slip from him at a mere whiff of between your legs, often leading to his hips bucking on their own, unconsciously moving to come closer to the source of your scent, his body physically unable to stop itself from trying to rut and fuck into you.

(Something that embarrasses Gyomei slightly, if only because he finds it rather pathetic just how poor his body-control becomes around you, ashamed at his inability to stop himself from responding so carnally, so perversely.)

He’ll often lean down and press his face against the pretty hair covering your cunt, nose-deep into it as he inhales, pants growing tight embarrassingly fast because oh fuck, he’s practically Pavolv’d himself into orgasming the moment he smells you, arousal blooming through him even though he hasn’t touched himself even the slightest.

And he’s not shy to tell you that you smell good, either – he’s always praising you in bed, but he’ll murmur to you that you smell divine, the compliment sounding throatly and groaned, and he’ll always finish it off by pressing soft, adoring kisses around the junctures of your thighs and pelvis, making sure every inch of space has been touched by his lips.

(And he gets very, very into it, too – he’s groaning lightly against your skin, letting his lips linger, letting his tongue come out to rub at the skin of your inner thigh, sucking slightly and letting go with a wet plop sound that makes your face feel hot and your stomach twist. It’s often at this point that he’ll wind up unconsciously very slowly grinding against whatever object is available, often the blankets you’re resting on and even sometimes your leg when he’s feeling especially needy, often when he’s returned from a prolonged mission. On those rare occasions, you may even feel something wet and very, very warm seep against your leg, hot cum already staining your skin and only serving as an omen for what Gyomei wants to do to you.)

He’ll trail kisses up to your clit, little kitten licks while he listens and gauges your reactions, trying to discover if you’re more in the mood for circles, figure eights, stripes, or – when a strange, unusual bout of possessiveness surges through him – the kanji for his own name.

(He’ll always grip onto you harder when he does this, still trying to be mindful of his strength, but with enough force to leave you completely immobile, utterly subject to whatever he wants to do to your body – a fact that both frightens him and excites some small, carnal part of him.)

He’ll station a thumb to work the pattern against you, rhythmic and steady, while his tongue darts out to dig between your folds, pressing shallowly into you while you twitch and whine, his thumb insistent against you. He’ll take his time to explore you, leaving no area untouched, and he’ll pull back with a few hearty sucks against your labia, licking his lips as he presses kisses against your stomach.

How would you like to come, my love? He’ll ask between kisses, the emphasis on the word ‘my’ subtle but still there. If you want to come solely from his tongue licking and sucking at you, he’ll be more than happy to – he’ll shift his positioning, laying on his back with you perched on his face, keeping his tongue stationary and instead moving you to the rhythm he knows you like, just so that all you have to do is sit there and take it, leaving your body completely in his control.

He’ll bring you to your high solely through sucking at your clit if you’d prefer, puckering his lips and keeping the pressure up, running his tongue over the sensitive skin and keeping them attached even when you buck up, your hips moving uncontrollably as you near your orgasm.

He’ll do both, if you want, able to multi-task and keep everything exactly as you like it, desperation motivating him because he needs to feel you come for him, to feel the way you muscles clench and spasm around him, to hear your pretty cries and feel your fingers dig against his scalp, pulling and yanking and making him groan lowly at the pain-twinged pleasure.

He just loves to please you really, and he can spend hours between your legs – genuinely, and without a single complaint. He’ll bring you a single orgasm or twenty, whatever you want of him, all you have to do is sweetly ask, to say his name and say please Gyomei, need another one, you feel so good and I want to come for you again all the while you grind against his tongue.

(If you really want to get him going, do all that and grab his free hand, slipping a finger or two into your mouth and sucking yourself, making sure it’s wet and sloppy and full of drool. He’ll pause for a mere second, before swallowing hard and immediately diving into your cunt, motivated because oh god, you never use your mouth on him – his own instigated rule, simply because he’s terrified he’ll choke you and kill you should he lose control and thrust down your throat. But this? Oh, perhaps he does have a penchant for your mouth, too, the oral fixation extending both ways and leaving him dizzy and light headed because even your fucking mouth is perfect, all warm and wet and smooth, making his cock leak so much precum that he idly wonders if he’s undergoing a single long, drawn-out orgasm because of the sheer volume.)

And Gyomei will be eager for the entire time he’s between your legs, keen to take you in any position – you laying down, from the back, you sitting on his face, anything that feels right – in any setting. He just loves the way you taste – how it’s so earthy, heavy against his tongue, natural in a way that makes him desperate for more, finding himself craving the taste at the most inopportune of times.

(Thank god for the looseness of the uniform pants – you can notice the tent in them, of course, with just how often he’s sporting an erection in your presence, but this way his fellow slayers won’t notice – which is good, because as your sexual relationship progresses, it’s a near daily basis that a passing thought of your taste hits him, literally making him salivate and having to leave the room briefly.)

He just really, really likes using his mouth on you, and he won’t hesitate to offer himself up at even the slightest change of you wanting it. Even the slightest chance.

Praise

He’s not terribly vocal in bed, but when he speaks he makes it count.

His natural sounds during sex are much more controlled – he’s always letting out these long, shaky exhales, his lips parted slightly and his eyebrows drawing tight because fuck you feel good. He’ll groan your name and often hiss lightly through his teeth, soft little ah-ah sounds falling from his lips when you’re sucking on him just right and riding him with the rhythm and angle he likes best.

And yet, he was very, very quiet at the beginning of your sexual relationship – only breathing heavily and giving you a slurred, rushed I’m coming right before so much cum is stuffed up into your cunt that you’re literally leaking around his still-hard cock inside of you. He was quiet mostly because he didn’t want to turn you off by letting out some of the more intense noises, groans that start low but turn into this higher, whinier sound, or chants and mantras of your name like a prayer when he’s gently rolling his hips into you, every muscle in his body clenching in an effort to restrain himself and not absolutely pound into you like he so desperately wants to.

He didn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, but as he grows more familiar with your body and your sexual preferences, Gyomei finds that complimenting you seems to fall naturally off his tongue.

He already thinks of you as perfection in human form, idolizing you to such a degree that he knows it’s unhealthy but he can’t find it in himself to stop. He’s never seen your face, of course, but he’s sure that you’re beautiful, fingers having groped and traced out every feature of your face, every slope and curve of your body (even the inside of your body, too, of course) more times than he can count.

And before he knows it, all sorts of praises are filling the wet, thick air between you as he fucks into you – his voice is still low and timbered, the vibrations making shivers shoot up your spine and your nipples harden up, his strained praise of you take me so well, love only serving to get you going faster, grinding and scooping your hips more aggressively and feeling the way he sucks in a sharp breath and tenses up underneath you.

A lot of his praises focus largely on your performance during sex – always complimenting you for the way you feel, telling you that you feel like heaven and that you’re perfect and that you’re everything I’ve been dreaming of quietly under his breath the first time he carefully, almost fearfully cups your tits in his hands, squeezing gently and waiting pointedly for your response, forcing himself to not cave and squeeze as hard as he can.

He’s complimenting parts of your body, too – telling you that your skin is so soft, that your lips taste so good, that your ass is so warm and perfect to grip onto while you’re riding him. Of course, not in such vulgar terms – he only gets crude when he’s right on the brink of orgasming, some of his more lewd, risque thoughts coming to life because fuck fuck fuck it’s like you’re milking him for everything he’s worth, cunt sucking him in so tightly that he thinks he might die and oh god oh god oh god –

Even then, it’s still nothing terrible, but he’ll switch out some of the sweeter terms for cruder ones, calling it a cunt rather than your warmth or something equally virginal, really.

(Which makes sense, considering that it’s extremely obvious the first time that you touch him that he is in fact a virgin, his startled little gasps at every touch even against his torso leaving some sort of power trip rushing straight to your head because while he’s this hulking, huge, powerful man, you have him crumbling with a simple brush of your index finger, every muscle in his body flexing so hard it nearly hurts when you lick at his tip for the first time.)

Instead of asking you with a rather polite please go faster, angel when he needs you to bounce on him at a quicker pace, he’s throwing his head back a bit, Adam’s apple bobbing as he clutches onto you, losing his composure and telling you that you feel so – so good, oh keep going, don’t stop, you’re making me so close to coming – please tell me I can finish inside of you…

Which brings up another major aspect of his praise kink – Gyomei always seems to be asking for permission, even borderline begging at times. It doesn’t read as begging often, though, simply because he's still the one in control most of the time, even if you’re on top or dictating the pace. But he’ll always slip in a please, or bite his lip and wait for you to give him permission, managing to stave off his orgasm long enough to hear you moan out a yes, please come inside me, and suddenly he’s calling you beautiful and clutching onto you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear, cum spraying into you and leaving you squirming because you can feel just how hot it is and just how much there is.

During his orgasms he’s particularly vocal, not to an exaggerated degree but always babbling in that deep, groaning voice that gets high at the very end about how you’re perfect, how you take him so well, how you’re made for him, how he loves you he loves you he loves you he loves you –

He genuinely finds you to be perfect, and every sexual encounter with him will leave you uncomfortably aware that he feels this way. He’s always complimenting you, and due to his lack of vision, the compliments are often extremely specific and leave you more puzzled than flattered.

He’s telling you that you’re the perfect size for him (this is often size closer to his orgasm, when he’s marveling and unable to fathom just how fucking tight you are around him), that you smell like how he’s always imagined (followed with a loud, audible sniff that’s trailed off with a moan, his voice higher than normal), that you’re so soft and squishy (this is always punctuated by particularly hard thrusts if he’s fucking you, and he’ll bury his face against the warm skin of your neck, hands groping at any fatty, squishy part of your body in a frenzy that’s rather uncharacteristic of him).

He just finds that while he’s normally able to stay composed and can be judicious about just how much he reveals he knows about you when he’s not touching you, the moment your skin comes into contact with his, a bit of his judgements flies out the door, instead focusing on the way you feel, how he’s been dreaming about this moment for months, guiltily wringing his cock dry at the mere prospect of getting to touch your used clothing, of getting to hear you breathing in his ear while he thumbs at his tip and lightly squeezes his balls.

You’re just so, so damn good – and in those moments where his admiration and obsession with become dangerously on display, you’ll feel equal parts disturbed and flattered, because really isn’t it just so damn pathetic that you’re able to turn such a large, important, strong man into a groaning mess that’s holding onto you for dear life with just a grind of your hips and a few well-timed, sultry phrases in his ear? Pathetic, sure, but also erotic, sexy in a way that scares even you for feeling it.

But Gyomei can’t seem to care, unable to stop himself form laying on the praise thick, not even conscious that he’s doing it – you just affect him that much.

Orgasm Control

But specifically, Gyomei wants you to control his orgasms.

Most of the time, Gyomei assumes a more dominant role in bed. He doesn’t really adhere to the dominant and submissive roles per say, but it’s rather because he holds so much power over you outside of the bedroom that it naturally follows between the sheets. You’re his captive, after all, and while you’ve slowly come around to him, perhaps even returning his feelings in some sort of deranged way, Gyomei is still undeniably the one in charge in your relationship.

So while he’s not shoving your face into the mattress and mounting you like some sort of animal staking his claim on you (though if you begged him hard enough, he might consider maybe doing something along the lines, but significantly toned down and with a constant question of is this alright, my love asked before each and every motion), between his size and his aura you’ll often find at the start of your sexual relationship that you’re following his lead, doing what he wants to do.

And this bothers Gyomei – he doesn’t like the fact that you still feel a shadow of fear for him, obvious in the way that you look to him for guidance and approval during sex, even though you have at least as much experience as him if not more. It makes him uncomfortable and reminds him of the reality of your situation, something he wants to escape from when he’s being intimate with you.

He wants to think of you as wanting to be naked in his arms and kissing him rather than you having talked yourself into it simply because he’s the only human being you regularly have contact with now. And to remedy this, Gyomei does his best to let you dictate the timing of his orgasms. He has impeccable self-restraint and control, and while it’s not necessarily easy, he’s pretty adept at holding off his orgasms.

(It’s a lot easier to come on command, of course, simply because all he needs to do is focus on the feel of you under his palms and around his tongue or cock, listening to your heartbeat and the sound of your voice and he’s already halfway there, only needing a single, final push to get him groaning and letting go.)

And while he doesn’t explicitly say it at the start, you’ll notice pretty quickly that he only lets himself go when you beg him to, only warning you with a clipped I’m close to coming as a prompt for you to tell him to either hold it in or release.

You’ll soon figure it out, and Gyomei absolutely loves the power structure that forms when you finally understand what he’s trying to do. There’s something thrilling about letting go of his control and handing it totally over to you. No longer does he have to be the strongest, wisest, or most senior – no, now he can just be Gyomei, just be your lover, the man unequivocally whipped and subject to your beck and call.

It’s freeing, almost, and he looks forward to seeing what mood you’ll be in each time your clothing gets peeled off. He’s not sure which mood he likes most – there’s something arousing about the way that you tease him, denying him his orgasm over and over and over, leaving him pent up but still attentive to your words, following your instructions and holding himself back, even when you’re doing things you know drive him crazy.

(Like bouncing on him just right, the feeling of your ass clapping against his thighs making his mouth feel dry. Or when he’s hovering over you, fucking into you slowly and deeply, and you go and wrap a leg around him, drawing him closer, begging him to finish inside but stopping him just moments before his release, telling him nuh-uh, not yet, you only get to come inside me when you’ve earned it. Or one of the rare times you’ve convinced him to let you take him in your mouth, teasing him with tracing his tip over your lips and collarbone, alternating between suckling at his tip and pushing your breasts together to rub up and down his length, narrating to him the whole time exactly what you’re doing. They all make his face go slightly red, his fists clenching up and the muscles in his arms bulging, veins standing out and leaving you to drool slightly, entranced that this behemoth of a man is listening to your words like gospel, forcing himself to be good and do exactly as you say. Even if you’re not an especially dominant person, there’s still something that’ll get you going about that, some sort of power trip that leaves you feeling light headed in the best possible way.)

The edging only serves to make his orgasm stronger, to make everything feel more intense, his eventual orgasm ending up being way more powerful, arcs of cum shooting from his swollen, red tip with such intensity that it feels almost painful against your skin.

(And he’ll finish wherever you tell him to, too – his preference is always inside of you simply because it feels the most intimate and it satisfies some small possessive side of him, but Gyomei will do whatever you want – you want him to finish on your chest? He’s painting your tits in white, droplets dripping from your nipples and drying in thick smears against your skin. Grab his hand and let his fingers feel over the mess he's made and he’ll lowly gasp, a smaller, less impressive spurt landing freshly on your chest, the feeling of his cum on you enough to get the last, sad little bit out. He’ll finish on your back, your ass, your stomach, your thighs, anything you want – just say the word and he’ll do it, eager to please you and make you enjoy your time with him, even if it means leaving his seed somewhere other than where it really belongs – inside you.)

But of course, Gyomei also loves the other side of you dictating his orgasms – that is, similarly to his ability to hold himself off, his refractory period is short. If you were to take advantage of that, you'll see him at the closest to pussydrunk you’ll ever get – make him come in quick succession, your hand steady and quick as you jerk him off, and you’ll see how the first orgasm is the familiar heavy load, the second is slightly reduced, the third even more so, and by the fifth orgasm he’s shooting blanks, abs clenching and unclenching so quickly that you almost feel bad for him, but the sounds he’s letting out are filthy. His normally low and masculine voice rises with each one, until he’s letting out something that isn’t quite a whimper but isn’t not one, either.

He loves the way you bleed him dry, your voice soothing and alluring even as you push him to the edge of his comfort zone, tears pooling in his eyes as you tell him to keep going Gyomei, I know you can give me another one, please give me another one paired with a wet, needy kiss to his lips.

You unlock all sorts of kinks and sides to him that he wasn’t aware even existed, and he’ll let you play with him as much as you please, eagerly setting down onto your shared bed, spreading his legs and helping guide you to your place in his lap, already rock hard below you.

He’s too big and powerful to be called pathetic, but he sure toes the line when you’re touching him, when you’re driving him absolutely insane.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Size Kink

Though, only in very specific circumstances. By and large, Gyomei is painfully aware of just how extreme the size difference between the two of you is – and regardless of your height or weight, you are smaller than him. Small enough to make him worry constantly about accidentally hurting you, terrified that he’ll somehow crush you or bruise you or simply be too much for you. It’s his number one concern when doing anything sexual with you, worrying that even a single finger slipping into your cunt will make you squirm with more than just pleasure.

But by the same token, there’s something so inexplicably right about just how much bigger he is than you. It’s shameful, he thinks, and it makes him feel like some sort of freak for being attracted to the size difference, but it makes him feel stronger, more masculine, feeling like a true protector and provider for you because he can encompass your whole body simply by hovering over you.

And he’s reminded of it at every turn – his hand against your waist covers half the area, the skin soft and plush and warm underneath him, but he can feel the curve of your hip, the expanse of his hand just that much on your body. He can feel the way your fingers struggle to fully grab around his cock, fingertips barely touching even as you squeeze him tightly, and while it seems to frustrate you, Gyomei can only headily swallow, cock twitching in your hands because god, there’s no way that will fit inside of you, will it?

And yet as he swallows, oh so slowly eases you down as you straddle him, going slow and giving you ample breaks to adjust to his size, there’s something about the way he can feel you tremble, your cunt stretching to accommodate him that makes him fist at the sheets, struggling to maintain his composure.

(The warmth and wetness of your walls certainly don’t help his predicament, absolutely soaked and sensitive from the some three orgasms he’d already pulled from you in preparation.)

He’s cautious and terrified that he’ll hurt you, of course, and his concern for you weighs out over any sort of sexual pleasure he gets from the size difference, but it’s still present at the back of his mind, toying with him and begging him to just shove himself inside of you, to take a quick, harsh pace like his body is dying to, to use you as some sort of living cocksleeve for him to fuck into and fill up. He won’t ever do that, of course, but it’s one of the main motivations behind his deep, far-reaching thrusts, enjoying the way you gasp and claw at him when he’s nudged up right against your cervix, pressing and filling you to the point of you almost feeling that you’re being split in half.

He preps you well enough that you’re always able to just barely take him, too worried that he’ll hurt you otherwise, but he still can’t deny the allure of just how different your bodies are.

(And this extends beyond the bedroom, too – he loves the way you fit against his side when you cuddle against him, or how he has to lean down for you to press kisses against his face - something he absolutely adores and very does not mind leaning over for.)

It’s just sweet in his opinion, and while it gets blood rushing south more easily than he’d care to imagine, it ultimately only serves as another reminder that he needs to keep you safe and protected, that you’re too weak to survive in the real world without his aid.

(And, of course, some selfish part of him is satisfied with the knowledge that now that you’ve had him, you’d never be satisfied with another man’s cock, never able to feel the level of stretch and fullness that he can give you. Not that he’d allow you the opportunity to try with another man – he’s not terribly possessive, but the thought of someone else touching you, fucking you, is enough to get his nostrils flaring, rage simmering through him because he absolutely does not want anyone else getting even remotely close to you in that capacity.)

Thigh Riding

Gyomei lives to please you in bed. Every sexual encounter with him sees your pleasure as the absolute priority – he’ll have pulled some three orgasms from you before he even thinks about reaching one himself, before he even really pays attention to the fact that he’s so hard he’s soaked the front of his pants through.

And he’s not picky about how to get you there – namely, Gyomei doesn’t mind being quite literally used for your pleasure, his every limb and feature available for your use. He’ll let you do whatever you want to him; bending him into all sorts of positions, giving him directions for how to finger your pretty cunt, laying down and letting you grind and hump at his face like he’s a mere pillow.

He loves to be of service to you, and he finds that the best sex is where he’s nothing more than a toy for you, at least at the beginning – hence, Gyomei grows to absolutely love having you ride his thigh. He’s huge, a hulking man with muscles so thick and defined that you’ll quite literally be drooling the first time you see them, sucking in a sharp breath when you touch him for the first time.

(And he’ll feel a mixture of pride and bashfulness grow inside him when he hears your little gasp – he’s overjoyed that you seem to like what you’re seeing and feeling, some small, anxious part of him having been terrified that you’d be repulsed by his size and the scars littering his body, that you’d find him to be too muscular, too intimidating. And you can tell, too, because the way that he visibly becomes harder afterward the gasp is a clear indication that you’re doing something to him, your mere presence and breathing getting him hard as a rock.)

He likes the physicality of the act – he keeps you steady on his thigh, the muscle large enough for you to straddle, and the feeling of your hands gripping onto his chest for support makes him oddly giddy.

The first time it happens, Gyomei honestly isn’t sure what you’re trying to do - when you straddle his thigh rather than his waist, his lips part slightly, confusion evident across his features. But as your hips start moving, your exposed, wet cunt sliding against the toned, broad expanse of his thigh again and again, he’s suddenly grasping onto our hips, helping guide you up and down the length of his thigh, occasionally tensing his muscles in order to hear you gasp and cry out his name.

He wants to do everything he can to service you, to help you reach that wonderful high, and the only thing that’s rolling through his mind at that moment is how perfect you feel, the way his name slips from your lips as your body shakes in pleasure, how he can feel the pulses and clenches of your cunt even as you pick up the pace.

And when he snakes a hand down to thumb against your clit, he nearly comes from the sound that escapes you - it’s so wanton, so lewd and dirty but so fucking hot, and suddenly all he can think of is the repeated phrase of make her come, make her come, a mixture of desperation and determination leaving him frantically rubbing at your clit.

Gyomei will offer his thigh to you whenever you feel like riding it, and once you’ve finished, your body exhausted and laying down next to him, he’ll sneakily rub along the area where your slick has rubbed off onto his thigh, bringing his fingers up for a taste and groaning as your flavor coats his tongue, free hand reaching down to palm at himself, squeezing at his balls and shuddering. Gyomei can and will do anything to make you feel good in the bedroom, and he’ll never turn down the opportunity to see you fall apart on his thighs.

(And if he’s feeling particularly needy or knows he’s leaving for a long mission away from you, he won’t bother to wash off his legs afterwards – he'll let your slick dry against his skin, wearing it like a sort of badge of honor, feeling connected to you as he slaughters demons even while you’re miles and miles away from him. It’s dirty, sinful, even, but it’s enough to keep him satisfied, to let him bear to be away from you while he does his duty. And yes, he’s running his fingers along the area occasionally and sniffing, his knees getting ever so slightly weak because the smell has the taste of you flooding his mouth, the sound of your moans ringing in his ears, even phantom touches of yours erupting all over his body.)

BIGGEST FANTASY:

As a general rule, Gyomei prioritizes your pleasure in the bedroom. He’s not a particularly sexual man, and so he views intimacy as being all about making sure that you enjoy it to the fullest extent possible – in many ways, he sees himself as merely a tool for you to use to reach your high.

(And if he happens to orgasm – which he always does when it’s you touching him – then great, but it’s not a necessity.)

And this is largely true – he really does want you to enjoy fucking him, and he’ll go to extremes just to make sure everything is as perfect as possible.

But Gyomei is only human, and as such he harbors a few fantasies that are entirely selfish, entirely about him – one of which develops by complete accident. He’s so terrified to hurt you that he’s constantly looking for ways to satisfy you without using his cock, because although he loves the feeling of your lips, fingers, or cunt wrapped around him (to the point that just thinking about it makes his composure falter ever so slightly, his jaw going a bit slack and his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly), he’s always concerned that it’ll be too big and you could hurt yourself if he fucks you with it.

And so, during the rare times he’d get off before he begins any semblance of a sexual relationship with you, Gyomei’s exploring alternative options.

And while it isn’t necessarily a way to help you get off, per se, he’d been idly gripping himself while thinking one evening, biting his lip and feeling awfully shameful of his actions but unable to bring himself to stop. He’d reached down further, sucking in a sharp breath as he carefully and delicately cupped his balls, idly squeezing and rolling them between his fingers.

But he must’ve been too deeply in thought, distracted by the idea of you, that his hand continued down, reaching and pressing against his skin, until a sudden, odd sensation made him pause, eyes going wide. He’s never even considered anything involving either your ass or his own, but at the single press of his fingers against his hole, the strange, fluttery feeling in his chest makes him feel a bit light-headed.

It’s dirty, taboo, and he hadn’t explored the thought any further that night simply because he was too embarrassed to have found it pleasurable, but it sticks around in the peripheral of his mind. There’s this ever-present question of what if, a sort of far-off fantasy that he toys with every once in a while, when he’s particularly needy and missing the feeling of your skin on his or your attention on him.

And the idea of you taking your time, worshipping his body and guiding him through a new, pleasurable experience makes more than just his cock swell, because there’s something so loving and calming about it, and letting himself be vulnerable in that way is something he hasn’t done for years – something he can’t afford to do, no matter how wonderful it sounds.

Of course he’d never, ever bring up the idea to you for two reasons – it bothers him a bit that you wouldn’t be getting any direct pleasure or stimulation out of it, and he’s too embarrassed to admit that he wants you to touch his ass, afraid that you’ll find him disgusting or flatly reject the idea. He'll keep quiet about it, and if you were to bring it up, you’ll see the way he subtly perks up, body tensing as he swallows, telling you that you don’t have to, I understand that you may not wish to.

But if you’re insistent, and you see the way it affects him, Gyomei will be putty in your hands – you can do anything to his ass, and he’ll take it so well, the only sign that you’re affecting him being the small, barely-there moans leaving his lips, a slight flush across his cheeks, and the copious, copious amounts of precum oozing from his swollen tip.

So really, play around – he’ll never request it, but it’ll only make his feelings for you grow stronger, his desperation and dependence on you growing because only you can make him feel this way.

“Gyomei, I want to try something new tonight.” You start, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. He’s got you straddled in his lap, large hands resting on your hips and his back leaning against the near wall. At your words, he nods, encouraging you to continue.

“Anything you wish, angel.” His voice is low, deep, excited in a way that you can ever so slightly pick up on.

You take a deep breath, leaning up to whisper into his ear as you brace yourself on his chest. “Gyomei, I want to touch you. All of you.”

His hands lightly squeeze at your sides. “You have all of me, you know this. I am all yours, and you can do whatever you please with me.”

You laugh slightly and it makes Gyomei shiver, his grip tightening just enough to make you uncomfortable, but you don’t say anything. “No, I want to touch you where I haven’t before – somewhere new.”

You reach back and grab one of his hands, guiding it to press against your clothed ass, his index fingers landing on the indent between your cheeks.

Gyomei gulps. He’s silent for a moment, mind racing, but the semi-hardness underneath you throbs at your words, and you only smile as he shakily exhales, murmuring an “Are you sure?”

Carefully taking his earlobe between your teeth, you grind down onto him, your thumb finding his nipple over the fabric of his top. Humming, you let go of his skin with a kiss, telling him, “Yes, please… lay on your front for me, please Gyomei.”

Which leads to where you are now, with your big, strong captor laying on his front, arms kept tucked at his sides. This angle makes his muscles stand out, his sculpted back and the definition of his thighs nearly making you drool. And of course, the tan skin of his ass, muscular enough to make you grab handfuls of each cheek and spread them apart to get a good look at him. Coarse black hairs dabble over his skin, and Gyomei finds himself oddly self-conscious as he feels you staring. He’s laying with his head to the side, his breathing still a little quick, and he waits with baited breath for you to do something, to say something, anything.

What he isn’t prepared for, though, is to feel your soft lips press against the sensitive skin of his cheeks, making him jerk ever so slightly and stiffen up under your touch. Your thumb rubs soothing circles against his skin as you kiss a trail down from his tailbone to his thigh, the hardness of his muscles never ceasing as you continue.

“Gyomei,” you whisper against his skin, “relax for me, please. I want to take care of you.”

He hesitates, but forces himself to be less tense, only slightly shifting under the weight of your lips. You smile at that, planting another kiss. “So good f’me.”

That gets something small and uncharacteristically high sounding from low in his throat, but you don’t comment on it.

Your thumb comes down to press softly against his puckered hole, and Gyomei sharply inhales at the sensation, immediately clenching and shaking slightly at the feeling of you increasing the pressure, just idly rubbing circles over it.

The way you retract your hand without warning almost makes Gyomei grunt, confusion and disappointement contorting his face, but then your thumb is returning, something warm and sticky coating your thumn, and suddenly you’re pushing in, further and further until you break past the tight ring of muscle, Gyomei’s breath goes ragged because it feels strange –

It feels good, though, and as you settle in to your first knuckle, his toes curl slightly, the sensation odd but not unpleasant.

“How does it feel, Gyo?” You ask, pressing more kisses along his back and squeezing at his ass. He can’t quite answer, too overwhelmed by the feeling of your thumb inside him. Smiling, you lightly nibble at the skin of his lower back. “Know what I’m using for lube?”

He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to get used to the feeling.

Pressing your thumb just a hair further, you smile at the way he jolts, thigh muscles tensing hard enough to see visible definition. “It’s me, seeing you like this is making me wet enough that I’m using my own slick to prep you…”

That gets Gyomei groaning, the sound muffled by the pillow underneath him, but audible nonetheless. His cock’s painfully hard, pressed up against his stomach, and he can feel the wet pool of precum already staining his skin and the fabric of the sheets below him.

Humming, you press another inch or so in, curling your finger slightly and listening the way his breathing changes, trying to identify what he likes most.

“So pretty, Gyomei,” you start, and his eyes snap open when he hears the familiar sound of your fingers sinking into yourself, the small sigh you make only making him clench around your thumb and his cock throb underneath him.

Your thumb’s all the way in now, and as you slowly, shallowly begin thrusting it, you time it with your own pumps inside. “I’m fucking myself at the same pace as you, that way it’s like we’re together.”

Your voice makes him melt, and as you angle your thumb just right, a gasp tunnels its way through him, ripping him apart and making his hips jerk forward, humping at the sheets below him.

You smile. “There, huh?”

And immediately you’re abusing the spot, pressing tightly against it and rubbing it in a hithering motion, Gyomei’s hips twitching wildly at the feeling. He’s chanting your name under his breath as the pleasure begins mounting, eyes shut again and eyebrows drawn tight.

He’s embarrassed, truly, because even something as small as your thumb has him falling apart like this, desperation lacing his movements because this is building up to be a different feeling from his normal orgasms, something entirely different that makes his whole body tense up and stutter, a muffled groan sound, “It-It’s coming – “

And suddenly cum is caked along his front, your eyes watching transfixed as the visible portion of his balls clench and spasm wildly, his ass flexing and the tightness nearly forcing your thumb out. Instead, you keep pressing against his prostate, watching the way he clutches onto the fabric below him, grip so strong that the fabric rips under him, his strength uncontrollable as his orgasm rocks him.

It’s easily a twenty second affair, cum pouring out of him and visibly seeping into the fabric surrounding him, making you lick your lips because oh, isn’t this precious? Your big, sweet, strong Gyomei falling apart with your thumb up his ass, something like whimpers falling from his lips because you’re still rubbing inside him, reaching deeper with every curl and leaving his back to tense up, shoulder blades visible as he fights off the acute feeling overstimulation.

You only press a kiss to the back of his head, pausing your movements for a single moment as you murmur his name in his ear, telling him with a near purr, “You’ll give me another one, right? I know you can do it, my pretty boy.”

And the way he shudders, hand snapping out to grab onto your thigh as he nods tells you enough, as does his muffled, choked “y-yes”.

#yandere kny #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere ds #yandere demon slayer #yandere gyomei #yandere gyomei himejima #_lee's profiles #_kny #_gyomei himejima #yandere smut #kny smut #kny x reader #gyomei himejima x reader

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justhereforsubsevika · 1 day ago

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NSFW alphabet- Sevika!! Some sub some dom

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Dom!Sevi is extremely meticulous when it comes to aftercare. If she's been spanking you she ensures that she's coated your ass in aloe vera, the cool gel soothing and healing. She'll wipe you clean with warm cloths and kiss you gently, cradling you in her arms until you drift off. Sub!Sevi is a mess. She'll squirm and whine wherever you touch her, even if it's somewhere completely non-sexual (like her nose or forehead). She can stay in subspace for ages after, so you often find yourself staying up a while after you're done to coax her back into reality. She'll nuzzle into you and hiss when her thighs put too much pressure on her sensitive clit, poor baby :(

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

She loves her ass. Whenever she comes out she shower she'll drop her towel and stare back at herself in the mirror, gripping it and bouncing it in her hand(s).

She thinks your eyes are the most special thing about you. She loves to stare at you whether she's dom, sub or just living her day-to-day life. Eye contact never made her so weak until she looked into your eyes for the first time.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

I've touched on this recently, but cum-sharing is so major for her. She'll squirt into your mouth and immediately scramble to have you plant sloppy kisses on her, moaning at the way the liquid gushes over her face. She'll spit the cum she's gathered on her tongue from eating you out down your throat. Sometimes she just dribbles it over your cheeks and licks it back up again. She's gross, you love it.

Breeding strap yada yada she loves to fill you up and loves to be filled up yada yada

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It's a little sad but her femininity and submissive nature were her dirty secret when you first went out. She's glad she doesn't have secrets with you anymore.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Girl. She's 40. My girl knows what's what.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Sorry to be boring but missionary. It's the fact she can look into your eyes, press your breasts up against each others, grab at pretty much anything she pleases whether she's topping or bottoming. Also means you can hold hands for the days where either of you need a little reassurance.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Serious in the moment, goofy after (when she's not deep in subspace). She'll say dumb shit like "erm, what the sigma," after you guys are finished being freaktastic because she knows it freaks you out that she knows brainrot (sorry to bring isha up at such a crazy time but isha taught her the brainrot through sign language, so sometimes she pronounces words wrong- skibeyedi toilet being your personal fav)

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Let's be serious. Bae is natural, bae is wild, bae is free. That bush pokes out through thongs, pierces the material of her boxers.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Depends. Sometimes she's just in the moment, lost in her dom/sub space, Sevika gone and Sevi left in the room. Sometimes she's way more vanilla, still passionate, and she'll kiss you softly, press your foreheads together while you fuck, kiss your knuckles and hold your hands to her heart.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You know those websites where you can get a custom dildo moulded of someone's dick? She has a fleshlight version of that. She'll bury her face in it while she fucks herself, or finger it, or rub it against her pussy. She can't cum without at least something that resembles your pussy being with her.

Owns a fuck machine (which she still hasn't told you about) and uses it whenever you let her masturbate.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Sub!Sevi likes size. She likes to be stretched, likes to be filled. She is, of course, a masochist. Bae loves to be hurt above anything else.

Does cum sharing count as a kink? If it does then that.

Dom!Sevi loves to praise and degrade you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

She's freaky, she likes public stuff. She once booked a private beach so you two could fuck on it all day. She'll organise hikes to secluded hilltops so she can make you squirt overlooking your entire city. When you go on nature walks it often ends with you two ducking behind a tree, sucking on her clit and making her water the grass.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Noise. Audio. Noises and audios.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

CNC, sorry to the freaks in the room but nothing about the words "no" and "stop" are sexy to her. If she gets an inkling that you're pushed to your limit she'll freak out. The one time you safeworded when she was domming she locked herself in her study and cried for 3 hours.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

She'll take happily, she will give happily. She loves to have her face in your pussy 24/7, often times shuffling around the floor, arms wrapped around your hips, nose pressed against your clit while you get on with housework.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sub!Sevi likes it slow and soft when she's taking something big. She can get really overwhelmed really quickly so you never want to push her too much.

Sub!Sevi likes it rough if you're fingering her or using a vibrator on her. She'll throw her hips up whenever you press on her clit, needing the sensations as deep against her skin as possible.

Dom!Sevika will go with whatever pace you like, but she has the capability to jackhammer you if you're into that.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Loves. You both have busy lives so she loves to get a quick orgasm in whenever she can.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Since she loves outdoor sex, she's a huge risk taker. One time the police nearly caught you fucking in her car in a car park, but luckily you ducked down quick enough for them not to notice that Sevika was being eaten out.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

One time you went fo 48 hours straight. Her stamina's mental, despite the smoking.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

She loves toys! She couldn't survive without her strap (or yours), and vibrators will always have a special place in her heart since thats when she felt safe to sub with you for the first time.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

She doesn't. Bae is a horny girl, she physically cannot bring herself to be a tease and hates it when you deprive her.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Dom!Sevi will go from murmuring and whispering to roaring and shouting depending on the day.

Sub!Sevi is loud, high pitched, cracked and hoarse. Her sounds get you drunk on her.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

She does the cape reveal with the strap but it's extremely serious for her.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Big juicy muscles, nipples pierced, a tattoo she doesn't know she has on her hip (jinx did it on her when she was passed out after a long night of drinking) of a blue monkey, delicate thongs and garters under her trousers/shorts.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

She's on the asexual spectrum (demi) so doesn't tend to get celebrity crushes or enjoy casual sex (brothel was more of a coping mechanism than a place for pleasure), but is a super mega freak once you're in a relationship.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Sub!Sevika takes a lot of soothing for her to go to sleep.

Dom!Sevika (once finished with aftercare) will pass out and snore so loud you swear the walls shake. In the morning she'll deny all knowledge of this and insist that she doesn't snore.

#dyke #sevika #arcane #butch #lesbian #sevika arcane #headcannons #sevika smut #sevika x you

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kisses4kaia · 2 days ago

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ive revisited my twd era and i can’t stop thinking about daryl and his softness during intimacy.. lord happy new year

he’s always been gentle with you, that’s nothing new, but the pure vulnerability he displays as you sit in his lap, thighs on either side of his own, is something so beautiful—you don’t think a million words could capture it’s heaviness.

“‘m sorry,” he says after flinching at your fingertips feather-brushing over the scars on his back, and you can feel your heart break as you imagine the resilience your man has been forced to build over the course of his years. “do they hurt anymore?” you whisper, kissing him on his cheekbone, tenderly forging a path with your lips from his jaw to his neck. “no, not really. s’times, when i stretch weird, though,” he gruffs out as you feel his muscles relaxing beneath you.

right now, you’re pretty much just cock-warming him, humming noncommittally as he feeds you crumb after crumb of his walls’ bricks. his entrusting of you warms you, and you smile, bringing your forehead to his before kissing him square on his lips. you find yourself rolling your hips over his slowly, gasping into his mouth as he groans, grip on your thighs tightening before lovingly massaging the fat of your ass. “beautiful, really beautiful,” he says more to himself than to you, but you don’t find it any less charming. “feels good?” you laugh, allowing yourself to move ever slightly faster. “mhm, love ya, love ya, i mean it.” daryl mumbles beneath you, and you suddenly feel overwhelmed with a deep fondness for the man below you.

“i love you too, baby, so much,” you gasp out as his cock hits that tender lovespot inside of you. kissing him on the forehead, you find your hands in his hair, massaging and tugging on the chestnut tresses affectionately. beneath you, daryl’s sighing and smiling and gently groaning as you push and pull your hips eagerly into his, chasing your high. his strong arms wrap around your waist as he pulls you into him, pressing his lips to the junction of your neck and your shoulder, nosing at your jugular.

the pair of you fit together, perfectly. not like a jigsaw puzzle, but more like water and sand. bound by the salt of the sea, the testament to your love is that of your mingling sweat from working yourself onto, into him. your flesh, his hair, your bones, his heart, there was no distinction between muscle and tissue here in this moment, (you two were merely beings of soul-stuff, bodiless and one with each other) you realize as the heat in your core breaks through to the surface and wracks through you.

you think he came before you, because once you come to your senses, he’s basking in the afterglow, softening inside you.

sex with daryl was always special, but he accredits it all to you.

#it’s 4 am i am not proofreading this bye #.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 !#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead smut #twd smut #kaia writes daryl

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on-my-vigilante-sht · 1 day ago

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The Wall

Cregan Stark x Reader

Summary: When Cregan is forced to bring his wife to the Wall, he tries to ensure her protection but does not hesitate to defend her honor when necessary.

Warnings: no use of y/n, canon level violence and language, crude language, slight sexual assault, slight smut, men being disgusting, misogyny, cregan being protective, death, killing

Word Count: 8k oops

Masterlist

Rays of warm sun streamed across the Lord and Lady of Winterfell’s chambers, a rare sight in the North so near to winter. An equally rare sight was the lord and lady lounging in bed past sunrise. Typically, the Warden of the North was out of bed before or along with the sunrise. However, longing for his wife of only six months' embrace, he had allotted himself extra time to just be with her.

The two lay, just facing each other for several moments, basking in the warmth and intimacy. Cregan broke the comfortable silence, his hand reaching up to cup his wife’s face. “I am going to miss this sight.”

The girl quirked a brow but smiled nonetheless. “Miss?” she questioned. “Where are you going?” It then occurred to Cregan that his wife was not Northern. She was unaccustomed to the Lord of Winterfell’s duties at the Wall at the beginning of winter, dragging him from the warm embrace of Winterfell.

Slipping a hand down from her face, his fingers found her shoulder, rubbing against the bare skin. “The Wall,” he informed gently. “I forgot you were not raised with our customs. At the beginning of every winter, the Lord of Winterfell must go to the Wall for a few months.”

The woman’s eyes widened. “A few months?” she repeated incredulously. “And I am not to come?”

Cregan shook his head, keeping his calm facade so as to not ruin the soothing atmosphere. However, inside he was incredulous that she’d suggest such a thing. The Wall was no place for a woman, especially one as lovely as his wife. “No, my love, you cannot. It is too dangerous.”

She laughed softly. Her chuckle was not mocking, although dismissive. “I believe I can handle the cold.”

Cregan laughed as well, neither mocking nor dismissive, more so endeared. “As much as I believe you could, it is far colder on the Wall than it is here. But that is not even the concern. You know the Night’s Watch? How a man faced with prison or death may choose the guard the Wall instead?” His wife nodded, her expression slowly being overcome with concern. “Well, that makes them…” he paused, trying to think how to put this delicately, “not the best group of men. Now, when a man joins the Night’s Watch their past is forgotten and forgiven. However, part of being a brother of the Night’s Watch means giving some things up. Including the companionship of women. Now, they are my men,” he assured, “I fight with and for them, but they are not my friends. I do not trust them with the most precious thing to me,” he explained, his hand briefly leaving her arm to cup her face for a moment.

Despite the disheartening answer and explanation, his wife could not help but blush at his adorations. “Should I be concerned with you going there?” she asked, her concern thinly veiled by a laugh.

“No,” he assured. “I trust them in battle with my life. My law gives them another chance at life.”

His wife nodded, still unconvinced. “When do you leave?”

“A fortnight,” he answered, satisfied that the matter of her wanting to go was laid to rest. “And I should like to savor every moment of being home,” he said, his voice gaining a teasing lilt as he leaned over to kiss her. She laughed as his arm encircled her waist, allowing him to pull her body on top of his.

Cregan did not think about their conversation again, considering the matter to be done. His wife did not bring up the topic again for a week. Until she strolled into his study lazily one day.

Cregan looked up from the documents on his desk, a smile gracing his face as he saw who the intruder was. “What are you doing here?” he asked pleasantly. Her visits were not uncommon as she sometimes just stopped by when she missed him so he did not expect much of a response from her.

“I just wanted to see you,” she said with a smile, buttering him up. She took a seat across the desk from him, eliciting a furrowed brow from her husband.

“Why are you sitting there?” he asked, feigning offense. “Come,” he waved her over. She complied, rounding the desk. As soon as she was in reach, Cregan grabbed her arm, practically yanking her into his lap. She fell into him with a laugh, allowing herself to settle into him. “There, I much prefer this.”

She laughed again before her expression fell. “Oh, I am going to miss you so much,” she professed, reaching up to cup his jaw.

Cregan’s own expression softened. “I know,” he conceded. “But it is only for three moons.”

Her eyes widened. “But that is half our marriage!” she cried.

Cregan sighed. “I’m afraid I do not know how to comfort you, my love.”

“You could always bring me with you,” she suggested coyly, to which her husband’s expression morphed into disapproval.

“My love, you know I cannot bring you with me.”

“But they are my people too. Or am I not also the Lady of Winterfell as much as you are the Lord?” she challenged.

“You are!” Cregan agreed. “But there are some responsibilities that are mine alone.”

Before anyone could argue further, there was a knock on the door. The lady attempted to stand from her husband’s lap for the sake of whoever wanted to enter. But a firm arm around her waist kept her planted. “Enter,” Cregan called, his grip on his wife’s waist still tight.

As the door opened, revealing Maester Kennet, he paused for a moment at the sight that greeted them. All of Winterfell knew how affectionate their lord and lady were, but he had not expected to enter to find this. After clearing his throat, the man greeted them. “My lord, my lady,” he began. “I’m afraid I bring you regretful news. Maester Alden of the Wall has passed. The Lord Commander is requesting you bring a healer to the Wall with you. He has already requested a new Maester from their Order, but it will be several months until one is sent from Oldtown.”

Cregan sighed, letting go of his wife’s waist to rub his eyes. It seemed there was always a problem. There were no other maesters that he could summon from the north. He could not imagine the uproar he’d receive for pulling a maester or healer from a village no matter how small. And Winterfell could not lose Maester Kennet who had yet to take on an apprentice. The closest thing he had to one was the woman sitting on Cregan’s lap.

The woman in question perked up. “I could go,” she immediately offered.

“No,” Cregan was quick to dismiss.

“My lord, if I may,” Kennet began simultaneously, “your wife is an excellent healer.” Being born a Hightower she was raised under the tutelage of the Order of Maesters who occupied The Hightower alongside the noble family.

“She is not going to the Wall,” he rebuffed, speaking as if she weren’t there yet grasping her waist even tighter than before. He sighed, before looking at the woman in his lap. “I have to speak with Maester Kennet alone,” he said softly.

Despite her wanting to argue she just nodded, seeing just how stressed her husband was. She pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before freeing herself from his grasp. As she stood, she nodded to Kennet before taking her leave, both men watching her go.

“Cregan,” the older man began, “I know what you are thinking but she is your only option. I cannot leave Winterfell, especially with you away. And with winter coming no one can afford to lose their healers. Nor could one be expected to travel between villages in the heard of winter.”

“I know,” Cregan mused. “But you have been to the Wall. It is no place for a woman.”

“You entrust her with the guards of Winterfell and bring many of them to the Wall as well. If she is not with you she can always be with them. Besides, the brothers of the Night’s Watch respect and fear you. I am confident they wouldn’t dare hurt her under your watch, or the watch of the guards.”

“But that is precisely my concern. What if she is left alone? You of all in Winterfell know she hates being shackled to someone, a guard or myself.”

“If you tell her protection is the condition of her going to the Wall I trust she will obey your wishes. I know she enjoys breaking the rules occasionally but if you express the importance to you she will listen to them.”

Cregan considered the older man’s words for a moment. He hated having his hand forced, especially when it became personal. The idea of bringing his wife to the Wall made it personal despite the lack of someone to blame. Still, he could not shake the image of the members of the Night’s Watch laying their eyes on his wife, the first woman that many would have seen in years. Gods, he could already predict their thoughts if he were in their shoes and they were not kind. They were the thoughts that only he should have as her husband.

“I will have an answer for the Lord Commander by the end of tomorrow. If I am unable to find another healer, Lady Stark may come,” he conceded. He let out a deep sigh. “Do you think there are any eunuchs that may be able to watch her?” he asked sarcastically.

Cregan reluctantly trudged down the hall to his wife’s study. He had spent all day wracking his brain for another healer that could make it to Winterfell in a week but there were none. And no one could even temporarily replace a village healer before the new one for the Wall would arrive. So he found himself reluctantly knocking at her door.

“Enter,” her voice came.

Entering the warm office that she had really just turned into a library, Cregan was greeted with his wife sitting by the fireplace. She turned to see who had knocked, a smile breaking out on her face when she was greeted with her husband. But that smile quickly faded when she saw his tired expression. “What is wrong?” she asked, turning in her plush seat to face him.

Her husband did not answer as he took a seat on the chair across from her, just looking in the fire. “I cannot find a healer to bring to the Wall,” he began reluctantly, the flames dancing in his tired eyes. Across from him, the flames seemed to make the light growing in his wife’s eyes dance. “So, you will come with us.” The lady gasped in excitement at his words but Cregan snapped his head to look at her. “But,” he dampened her excitement slightly, “there are some rules that you must follow if you are to come.”

“Cregan-”

“Don’t protest,” he reprimanded. “I love you, I could never forgive myself if you were harmed by anyone or anything on the Wall. Especially by the men who are sworn to me.”

The lady took a breath, finding the sincerity in her husband’s eyes. She could see just how scared he was of this, just how much the thought of her getting hurt scared him. And she could empathize, as she could not bear the thought of being without him for three moons. Much less that she now understood how dangerous the Wall could be. “Okay, I will obey your rules,” she conceded.

Cregan nodded, “Thank you. I do not intend to scare you but you should know these things. First, that there will be many men of Winterfell coming with us. If you are not with me or in our chambers, you are to be with one of them.” He paused, waiting for a response to which she just nodded in agreement. “Next, you will act as a healer so you will likely operate out of Maester Alden’s turret. Alden was an… experimental healer so do not touch anything unless you are absolutely sure you know what it is. And the Wall is cold, far colder than even here so ensure you bring clothes to keep you dry and warm. If you become too ill to care for yourself then all my men on the Wall are at risk.”

She quirked a brow at him. “Are you truly telling me to bring a cloak to the Wall?” she questioned.

“Well you brought practically nothing here,” he retorted lightly.

His wife just sent him a playful glare before he continued. “And finally, you are not to be in the common areas with the brothers. That includes places such as the dining halls, the practice yard, the brothers’ quarters, the stables, any place where they congregate. And, of course, you may not go beyond the Wall. Is that clear?”

“Cregan, you needn’t treat me like a child,” she chided lightly. But her soft smile wavered seeing his stony expression. “I understand,” she conceded. “I will be careful and stay with those you trust.”

“Good,” Cregan nodded. “I know you think me too protective. But it is my job to protect you, I swore an oath to the gods to it.”

“I know,” she acknowledged.

Cregan grew more and more nervous as the Stark party drew closer to the Wall. Sending a glance to his wife, he found her just behind him, sitting side saddle wrapped in furs and cloaks. Despite the long, arduous journey to the Wall she had not complained once. It got to the point that Cregan was concerned something was wrong. She just dismissed his concerns as not wanting to be sent back to Winterfell.

“Are you alright?” he asked, checking in on her as he often did.

“Yes,” she agreed with a teasing rolled eye.

Cregan nodded, her amusement doing nothing to quell his nerves. “We are approaching Castle Black. Remember, many of these men have not even seen a woman in years. Stick close to me.” The amusement left her features as she nodded. Cregan looked over to one of the guards in front of him. “Garrat, ride ahead. Let the Lord Commander know we are an hour out.”

“Aye, my lord,” the man agreed, not even turning on his horse before taking off.

The rest of the trip was led in relative silence. The only person who had been remotely excited to go to the Wall was Lady Stark but that excitement had been quelled by the numerous grave warnings she had received from her husband and the men who had been.

Soon enough, she was staring up at the peaks of Castle Black as they approached the gates. She observed the fabled Wall she had heard so much about. In stories from her childhood and in preparation of this trip. To say she was underwhelmed was an understatement. She had heard fabled stories of a seven hundred foot wall made of ancient ice. Rather, guarding the fortress that monitored this Wall, were indeed ice walls, but they looked to be maybe fifty feet high at their peaks, along with some man constructed walls that served similarly to the walls of Winterfell, containing the fortress. She would have expressed her disappointment in a jest to her husband but did not for the sake of appearance.

As the gates of the fortress opened she felt just like when she had entered the gates of Winterfell. Compared to Oldtown in the south, Winterfell felt cold and cruel, with the local Northerners’ hard gazes making her skin crawl. But she had found a comfortable home there and made friends with many of the fortress’ occupants. Compared to Winterfell, the Wall was like the seventh circle of hells. Whilst the cold initially felt biting in Winterfell, she had grown accustomed to it. Here, it felt as if the cold was sinking into her bones as the gates closed behind them. She had thought Winterfell to be dirty and barbaric as if it was made for war and war alone. But here, she felt as if she had actually entered a war camp and was now trapped in by its walls and the miles of snow between here and her home. And when she had first felt the curious gazes of the Northern folk upon entering her husband’s home, she had taken them as hungry, sending chills through her body. Now she truly knew what it felt like to be looked at with hunger as their group approached a welcome party of men dressed in black. The lady resisted the urge to pull her hood up to cover her hair that gave her away, but doing so now would look weak.

Instead, she looked to the four men stood in the middle of the courtyard, separate from the rest of them. Whilst three of them kept flickering their gazes towards her, the man who seemed to lead them stepped forward, only looking to Cregan.

“Lord Stark,” the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch greeted him as he dismounted from his horse.

“Carron Vander,” Cregan greeted the man with a smile, shaking his hand.

“We appreciate you bringing your wife,” Lord Commander Vander said in a lowered tone. “Trust that I have told the brothers exactly what will happen to them if they harm her.”

Cregan thanked the man. “Might I get my wife inside? She was born a Hightower after all,” he laughed.

Vander let out a booming laugh, observing the girl wrapped in furs for a moment. “Of course,” he agreed. “You know where your chambers are,” he gestured to the Commander’s house.

Cregan nodded, going over to his wife who was still sat upon the horse. She was sure that if she jumped from this height, with her feet so cold, her toes would break off. Without a word, Cregan grabbed her waist, sliding her off the horse. A movement that for a reason that could only make sense in the minds of sex-deprived men, elicited several murmurs from the men. Cregan gave no indication that he noticed it but his wife’s eyes nervously flickered around the courtyard full of men.

Holding her close, Cregan whispered, “Come, let’s get you inside.” As the couple and their men were ushered in, the brothers of the Night’s Watch received pointed glares from their Lord Commander, First Ranger, First Steward, and First Builder.

As the shivering woman was quickly ushered into the chambers of the Lord of Winterfell, she let the warmth melt the cold from her body. She took a moment to observe the room, finding it constructed of stone with wood furniture and more than enough fur and cloth to keep her warm for the winter. Along with a crackling hearth that made the room warm enough for her to begin stripping off layers. “No windows?” she mused.

“No,” Cregan answered, also shedding his cloak. “The buildings were designed to hold as much warmth in as possible. Windows just allow the cold in.” She nodded, observing the room. Cregan could not help the sigh that left him as his wife wrapped her arms around herself. Going over to her, he wrapped his own arms around her. “Are you okay?” he asked, his chin resting on top of her head.

“Yes,” she dismissed. “Just a bit cold.”

Cregan still held her, unconvinced. “If anyone makes you uncomfortable please come to me or Vander, Weaver, Graen, or Staelle.”

“Who are they?” she asked.

Before Cregan could answer, there was a knock at the door. Reluctantly, he pulled away from his wife to answer the door. Opening it, he revealed the four men that had greeted them outside. The short door made all the men look huge, especially Cregan who stood taller than all four.

“My lady,” they all greeted, bowing their heads as they entered. She could not tell if that was out of respect or so they would not hit their heads on the low doorway.

“This is Lord Commander Carron Vander,” Cregan introduced the first man. Vander stepped forward, reaching for her hand to press a delicate kiss on her knuckles. He was tall, just like the others, with greying hair and a black beard littered with silver. “The First Ranger, Adian Weaver,” he introduced a slightly younger man who repeated the actions of Vander. His hair was cropped short unlike the rest of the men, but his beard was full and held no silver. “He leads the rangers who go beyond the wall. This is the First Builder, Karron Graen, he is responsible for maintaining the wall.” A man with purely white hair stepped up, taking her hand as well, his beard was so long the wispy tip reached where presumably his navel was. “And this is the First Steward, Myle Staelle, he is responsible for keeping this place operating,” Cregan introduced the final man who had no hair but a great bushy brown beard, and repeated the movements of the other men.

“Lovely to meet you all,” the Lady of Winterfell greeted, feeling a bit intimidated. “Thank you for welcoming me. I know you do not typically have women here.”

“We appreciate you coming. Without a healer we are only as strong as our ill,” Vander commended.

“If you need anything do not hesitate to approach any one of us,” Weaver welcomed.

“Thank you. Winterfell truly appreciates all you do. The entire realm does, although I regret that they don’t show their regard.” The men all laughed at her joke. “Although, I must say, I had thought the wall was larger. I never thought it was actually seven hundred feet but-” Her words were cut off by a resounding laugh. “What?” she questioned as the booming laughter died for a moment.

“That wasn’t the Wall you saw as we entered, my love,” Cregan said. “We are on the Wall as we speak. And it is in fact seven hundred feet.” He could not help but be endeared by her confused expression.

Despite the dedication of the four men from the Night’s Watch to their oaths, they could not help but also be endeared by her cute expression. Nevertheless, they pushed their feelings down as their lord turned to them, his arm slung across his wife’s shoulder. “Should we show her the Wall?” he asked.

“Aye,” they all agreed. This woman’s presence was by far the most amusing thing to happen here in a long time.

Throwing his wolf fur coat over his wife, Cregan eagerly steered her out of their chambers. She did not say a word as he led her out of the house, back into the courtyard. Fortunately, most of the men had dispersed, leaving only a few working in the yard. The group led her to a wooden structure that looked to be some sort of tower against the ice wall that formed the back wall of the fortress. Pushing her onto the platform, Graen uttered some words to a few men standing at some sort of crank.

“Lord Husband, what ar-” she began to question when the men started pushing the great pieces of wood. Her worlds halted as they were slowly hoisted into the air. She could only look at the slowly disappearing ground as they were lifted higher and higher into the air.

“This is the lift, my lady. There is one on the other side of the wall. It is how we get up and down it,” Graen explained.

She just nodded, looking at the horizon in awe. It was nothing but the white and green of the snow and the trees. But it became hazier the higher they were lifted. She did not even care about the cold as the wind whipped around them, too entranced by the magnificent scenery.

Cregan could not help but smile adoringly at his wife as she stared in awe at seemingly the entire North. But as the lift stopped, his smile grew wider as he suddenly turned her around, greeting her with the sight of beyond the wall. He actually quite preferred the sight of the North, but seeing just how high up they were would surely shock her mind. And he was not disappointed as she took in the incredible sight, the white of the snow stretching for miles contrasted against the brilliant blue of the sky. But the most impressive sight was just how high they were above the snow.

“Holy…” her awestruck voice came, eliciting chuckles from all the men as her eyes shone with the light reflected from the ice beneath them.

“Seven hundred feet, my lady,” Graen confirmed with a smirk. “It is a grueling trip up and down,” he gestured to a structure that peaked up from a slightly lower edge.

As the lady stepped forward to observe better, her husband kept firm hands on both her shoulders, ensuring she did not get too close and plummet down the wall. “So you do actually climb up and down this wall?” she asked in astonishment.

“Aye, my lady,” the man smirked proudly.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“Come,” Cregan said, pulling his wife back to the lift to return, “let’s get you settled in the maester’s turret. That is, after all, why you are here.”

Heading back down the lift and through the courtyards, they all headed to the maseter’s turret. It was in a tower connected to the dining hall and Cregan made a point of steering the in through the main entrance rather than through the hall.

“This was Maester Alden’s workshop,” Staelle explained, glancing around the room. Upon entering the rooms held by the old maester, Lady Stark could not help but wonder what was in the various bottles lining the shelves. She’d have to explore them further without Cregan there. “I’ll show you to the sickroom where you will be treating the brothers,” he explained, gesturing to a door housing a hallway.

Still holding his wife close, Cregan nudged her in that direction, leading them through the hall to a door and through to another room. It was large, made entirely of cold stone with two fireplaces on either end of the room working to keep it warm. There were a dozen or so beds lining the walls for men to rest after injury. But most alarmingly was the Winterfell guard suddenly standing up as the group entered.

“My Lord, my Lady, Lord Commander,” he greeted the three most senior in the room.

“Karden will be here in the infirmary at all times. And Drommen will always be outside this door as it leads to the dining hall,” Cregan explained. They were her two primary guards in Winterfell, always stationed outside their chambers or her study.

“Karden, I am so glad you will be with me,” the lady could not help but be overjoyed at seeing a familiar face. She knew they would be coming with them but it was nice to know that one of her most trusted guards was nearly always with her.

“I’m glad I can be of comfort, my lady,” he returned.

The atmosphere was then interrupted by a knock at the door. Drommen opened it without waiting, much to his regret as his eyes opened wide upon seeing his lord, lady, and the commanders of the Night’s Watch all before them. “Oh, my apologies. I had not realized you entered, my lady.”

“No apologies necessary,” she was quick to dismiss. “What is the matter?”

He opened the door wider, revealing a strange man of the Night’s Watch. “My apologies, my lords but I need a healer. You see, my—and I don’t mean to be crass—balls are quite sore and I think I might have an infection or something because my cock is leaking. My lady, if you don’t mind, as the healer, rubbing it to make the pain go away?” he dissolved into laughter.

Vander let out a growl, going over to the younger man, planting a large hand on the man’s head and pushing him out of the room. He then slammed the door shut just as the lady glimpsed Drommen dragging him away from the door. “My apologies, Lady Stark,” Vander began, turning to face her with a tired voice. “Trust that he will be dealt with.”

Cregan’s grip on her shoulder became impossibly tighter as she resisted the urge to shrink into his side. “It is alr-” she prepared to absolve Vander of responsibility.

“It is not alright,” her husband cut her off. “Stay here,” he said to her softly. “I am going to deal with him personally,” he declared, finally letting go of his wife. She just watched as he and the other men of the Night’s Watch all left through the same door Drommen guarded, leaving her with Karden.

She just turned to him slowly, clutching Cregan’s far too large cloak closer to her. Her guard watched her with concern. “Are you alright, my lady?”

She nodded, taking a breath to compose herself. “Yes, just a strange place, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he agreed. “My first trip to the wall was two winters ago. I admit I did not enjoy it at first but you get used to it.” She just nodded, hoping that by the end of three months she would not be quite so eager to return to Winterfell.

At dinner, the brothers of the Night’s Watch all observed their lord sat at the head table. “Fuck, they bring Lord Stark to eat with us so we feel better about being on the Wall but not Lady Stark?” Kerith, one of the brothers of the Night’s Watch cursed.

“You really think they’d let her eat with you lot?” one of the Winterfell guards scoffed. “Especially after that one guy said to her in front of Lord Stark and all of them,” he gestured up to the head table.

“Yeah, well he’s an idiot,” another of the men answered.

“Tell us, what’s she look like under all those layers?” Kerith asked the guard. He just rolled his eyes, continuing to eat. “C’mon,” he begged. “You realize I haven’t even seen a woman in five years right? Tell me, has she got big tits?”

The man from Winterfell just sent a glare to all the horny boys listening in eagerly. “I’ll answer that if you are okay with me telling the Lord Commander you asked such a question.” All the boys just grumbled going back to their meals.

The Lady Stark had been up to her elbows in wounds all day. It seemed that ever since Maester Alden died, all training had ceased. And it seemed that, according to her patients, sparring and training was part of what kept the brotherhood of the Night’s Watch going. After weeks of no outlet for conflict, combined with the sudden influx of Winterfell guards who operated by different rules, and the presence of a woman—unbeknownst to the woman in question—things had become quite heated. With several scuffles breaking out in the training yard and the Lord Commander allowing them to occur as a form of catharsis.

Lady Stark had even made Karden into an assistant as he worked to bandage less severe wounds and run interference against the boys who simply wanted to come see a woman.

Venturing over to a bed held by a younger boy, just barely six and ten, she approached him with a kind smile. He had come in so sheepishly, clutching an arm to his chest and looking at her like an angel. “How are you feeling Clarreth?” she asked.

“Better, my lady,” he practically beamed up at her. He had not been at the wall long but it seemed the lack of women had gotten to him as his eyes never left her as she worked through all the beds of legitimately wounded men.

“That’s good,” she smiled, the boy practically melting under its warmth. “Do you feel well enough to return to the barracks? I’m afraid I’ll need this bed for one of the other men.”

Clarreth practically deflated at the suggestion. “But I’m still a bit sore.”

The woman could not help but contain her smile, the situation reminding her when her nephew was not even four years and had developed an affection for her. Yes, this boy was old enough to understand the boundaries he was breaching but at least he was not being disgusting about it as many of the other men had been. Plus, his round face and wide eyes made him look harmless.

She sunk down beside his bed, speaking to him as if he were a child despite being only three years younger. “Clarreth, someone else needs that bed.”

He sighed. “Fine,” he conceded, reluctantly getting out of bed.

He began reluctantly heading to the door just as a large figure entered. Lady Stark’s face visibly lit up as her husband entered the infirmary. “What are you doing here?” the joy clear in her voice.

All the injured members of the Night’s Watch could not resist glaring at their lord as he passed, jealous of his wife’s favor towards him. The only glare that Cregan noticed was Clarreth, but seeing that the boy was so young and unassuming, he did not bother to address it with him. “I thought I should check in on you,” he answered, settling a hand on her waist. “Who was that?” he asked, nodding over to the boy’s retreating form.

“Oh, that’s Clarreth. He was knocked over during sparring and insisted on having a bed. I think he holds some affection for me.”

“My love, all the men here hold some affection for you. Even the Lord Commander,” Cregan stated bluntly. His wife just blushed, especially as he absentmindedly tugged her fichu up, maintaining her modesty. “Well, I can see that you are busy and I am in the mood for some sparring. I will see you at dinner,” he bid, pressing a chaste kiss to her hairline before backing away from her, a grin on his face.

She just stood there, smiling after him for a moment. Her trance was only broken by repeated attempts to get her attention from wounded soldiers.

“My lady! My lady! Lady Stark!” a voice finally caught her attention. Surprised, she whirled around to find a man who she had previously treated lying holding his arm. “I believe my stitches tore.”

“Oh!” she cried, grabbing a rag to begin putting pressure on the wound. She held the man’s upper arm firmly. “Karden, come hold pressure,” she shouted across the room. The guard came running over immediately.

“Are you sure?” the man questioned. “I much prefer you to hold my arm,” he flirted.

The lady just rolled her eyes as she moved to grab some thread and the needle she had used earlier. Crouching by the bed she observed his arm, finding the first three stitches missing rather than torn. With a brow furrowed in confusion, she found bloody clumps of thread on the bed along with the man’s bloody fingers. Her jaw fell slack with disgust and surprise. “Di- did you rip out your own stitches?” she gasped.

“How else was I supposed to get your attention?” he smiled.

The woman looked at him like he had three heads. She took a breath, gritting her teeth. “I will stitch you up one more time and if you rip them out again, or even accidentally tear them, I will leave you to bleed. Is that clear?” she demanded.

The man only smirked. “Understood, my lady,” he smiled before settling back against the bed.

Reluctantly, the woman began stitching before looking to the new injury that stumbled into the room. Quirking a brow, she observed two men entering, one clearly not well as his arm was slung over the shoulder of another man, looking like he was near unconsciousness.

“Take him to bed three,” the healer directed. The man holding him complied, staggering under the weight of his friend. “What happened?”

“Said he wanted to spar with Lord Stark. He got him onto his knees and knocked him out with the hilt of his sword.”

“Mother,” the woman breathed, observing the large welt forming on the man’s hairline. “Here,” she said, grabbing a rag from a freezing bucket of water. “Can you have him hold this against his injury? Get it cold again as it warms but just keep him awake,” she asked.

“Of course,” the uninjured man agreed.

She thanked him before moving to check on the other wounded men occupying the beds. “Karden,” she called over her guard.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Can you bandage him up and kick him out?” she asked, nodding over to the man who had ripped out his stitches. But as she looked at him he winked, blowing her a kiss.

“Of course, my lady. Would you like me to report him to Lord Stark as well?”

She thought for a moment before shaking her head, heading over to one of the beds that held a bleeding member of the Night’s Watch, checking on his bandages. She made her rounds as Karden removed the man from the infirmary. Fortunately, he didn’t make too much of a fuss, just a few angry remarks before walking himself out.

After another hour of bandaging up injuries, many of them reportedly coming from Cregan as he seemingly sparred with every member of the Night’s Watch, Lady Stark was exhausted. But it seemed she had settled most of her patients. The men stopped coming as often and those who truly needed to stay in the infirmary were all resting, the rest having been sent back to their duties or the barracks.

Taking a seat at the desk set up in the infirmary, she took another moment to breathe. The door then opened again, revealing the side of Drommen as he allowed another man in. Reluctantly Lady Stark looked up at him with a polite smile. “What may I help you with?” she asked.

Feigning the best hoarse voice he could, Kerith spoke. “I was in the training yard and got knocked down and something feels wrong in my chest,” he rasped, holding his chest.

Genuine concern drew over the healer’s face as she stood. “Go over to one of the empty beds and remove your furs and tunic. I will come check on you in a moment,” she directed. The man nodded before going over to the furthest bed.

After giving him a moment to undress, the lady went over. “Okay, lie back,” she instructed. “I am going to listen to your breathing.” The man complied as she stooped down, placing an ear against his bare chest. “Take several deep breaths for me.”

Kerith did as instructed, his breathing sounding perfectly normal. Confused, the woman moved to his other lung, listening again, but before she could pull away, the man grabbed her head, pushing her down. She let out a yelp of surprise as he shoved her face into his fortunately still clothed crotch. But as she tried to pull away, his fingers grabbed a fist full of her hair, shoving her face further into his body.

Hearing the scream, Karden immediately ran over, a hand on his sword as he grabbed the man’s hand. “Let Lady Stark go,” he demanded. But Kerith just ignored him, savoring the feeling of something other than his own hand touching his cock. Unsheathing his sword, Karden brought it to the man’s throat. “Unhand her or I will kill you right here,” he threatened.

Reluctantly, Kerith let go, releasing the now crying woman who slumped down onto the floor next to the bed. Karden wasted no time yanking the man from the bed, his torso still bare, and marching him out of the infirmary.

Meanwhile, Drommen was rushing over to his lady’s side as the conscious men watched on from their beds. “Are you alright, my lady?” he asked, kneeling beside the weeping woman. She did not answer as she tried to make the tears stop but they just kept coming as she found her breath becoming shallow. “Come, I will bring you to Lord Stark,” he told her, helping her up.

Outside, Karden found his lord in the training yard, standing with the Lord Commander and First Ranger, observing a fight. Knowing that the Warden of the North would not let this transgression pass, he shouted across the training yard, “Lord Stark!”

The crowd fell silent, even the fighters ceasing as the Winterfell guard marched the half naked member of the Night’s Watch to his lord, throwing the man at his feet. “My lord,” Karden began, “this brother of the Night’s Watch has committed a transgression against you and your wife that I will not let go unreported,” he practically spat. “Whilst Lady Stark was attempting to help this man, he grabbed her by the hair and forced her face into his crotch.”

The yard was deathly quiet, no man daring to speak as the Lord of the North processed his loyal guard’s words. Inside, fury burned within Cregan as he stared down at the man like he was scum on his boot. He gifted these men with the thing most cherished by him and they disrespected him in such an egregious way? He could not allow that.

Beside him, the Lord Commander took a step forward to look at his man. “Is this true?” he questioned.

Kerith sat up on his knees, angrily spitting the dirt from his mouth. “Aye. Just because he is the Lord of the North, why should he get to bring a toy just to parade it under our noses?”

By now, Lady Stark had entered the training yard, under the arm of Drommen. Cregan observed his wife’s tear-stricken face, the rage inside him burning brighter but the words dying on his tongue as he looked at her across the yard.

“That is your liege lady,” Vander spat.

“Fuck her titles,” the man spat. “She’s meant to fuck. A man was meant to have the pleasures of a woman and well, she’s the only one around. I say, whoever beats her husband gets to fuck her.”

Several murmurs erupted from the crowd, with a few of Winterfell’s guards stepping forward to detain him. But Cregan just held up a hand, a cruel smile finding its way onto his lips. Stooping down, he got close to Kerith’s face. “You want to fight me for the right to fuck my wife?” he repeated incredulously. “Is that really your proposal?” he dared.

“Aye,” Kerith agreed. “I know we give up women when we take the oath but the way I see it, if I best the Warden of the North, then I am released from the oath and gifted his wife.”

Cregan wanted nothing more than to shove the measly little worm before him back into the dirt but kept his composure. The cruel smile once again graced his features as he stood. “Fine,” he agreed, releasing his cloak from around his shoulders and grasping his greatsword, Ice. “Someone get him a sword,” he called, his eyes never leaving Kerith. “I’ve been making quick work of your brothers all day.”

The murmurs among the crowd returned, louder this time. Next to Drommen and a few other Winterfell guards who had noticed their lady, Cregan’s wife let out a whimper. She moved to step forward but Drommen’s firm grasp halted her. “Don’t,” he warned.

In the center of the yard Kerith stood determinedly, a sword in hand. He had bested nearly every ranger here, surely the lord who spent his days cooped up in a cozy castle was slow and clumsy with a sword as large as Ice.

Cregan circled the man calmly, waiting for him to make the first move. It seemed he was quite slow as Kerith did not strike until Cregan had nearly completed the circle around him. But the Lord of the North saw it coming as the man’s body tensed in preparation to attack. He dodged the repugnant man easily, the flat of his sword swinging around to slap the man’s back, sending him crashing to the ground. Cregan created some distance between the man and himself, allowing him to recover.

Incensed, Kerith made another wild attack at his lord, to which Cregan met with a surprising defensive force. Bringing his sword up, he held strong against the watchman’s attack, his large frame easily pushing the smaller man back.

At the display of strength Kerith began to appreciate the gravity of the situation. The Lord of Winterfell was strong and trained in combat by the best swordsmasters the North had to offer. Perhaps a more erratic approach would throw the large lord off enough to earn him a victory.

So he approached the lord wildly, swinging his sword as if he were merely a boy again swinging a wooden sword. Cregan met it surprisingly well, managing to block all the man’s blows. Whilst he had merely been toying with the watchman before, as he came at him with a new ferocity, Cregan was ready to end the man that had so egregiously violated and dishonored his wife.

He met Kerith’s attacks with ferocity, finally putting his opponent on the defense. That was, until he got in close, giving advantage to the man with a shorter sword that allowed him to barely swipe the blade against his side. It was hardly a slice but a slice nonetheless. But ever the experienced fighter, Cregan did not let it hinder him, rather the rage that this man could defile his wife and then wound him fueled the lord. Drawing his arm down, his elbow knocked into his opponent’s blade before striking up again, his greatsword plunging into the man’s abdomen so far the Valyrian steel emerged from his back.

Cregan watched with cruelty in his eyes as the vanquished man’s eyes grew wide before his legs gave out, sending him crashing to the ground, his body coming free from the blade. The lord looked away from the dead man at his feet towards the men surrounding him. “Would anyone else like a go for my wife’s hand?” he shouted with such ferocity that even if he hadn’t just killed a man, the rest of them would be too frightened to approach.

After several beats of silence, the Lord Commander spoke. “Everyone back to your duties. Go!” his voice boomed across the yard. The men needed no reminder as they all quickly and quietly headed to various buildings.

Finally, Drommen relaxed his grip enough so his lady could reach her husband. She wasted no time ripping out of her arms and going to her husband’s large form, immediately placing a tender hand against his side, careful not to hurt his wound.

“Cregan, oh my gods,” she cried.

Disregarding her gentleness, he wrapped his strong arms around her, crushing her into his side but she was quick to pull away, far more concerned about her husband’s wound than he was. Turning, she found the guards that had surrounded her still standing there, “Prepare Lord Stark a warm bath in our chambers,” she requested before turning back to her husband again.

Cregan practically melted looking at her teary, concerned eyes. “I am alright, I have suffered worse,” he assured. “Are you alright?”

She nodded, although her sniffle was unconvincing. “I am. Come, let’s get you stitched up and in the bath,” she said, pressing herself against his uninjured side, meaning to support him but Cregan just walked with ease like the war tested hero he was.

Once in their chambers, they found a steaming tub of water. “Sit there,” she directed him towards a short stool that had been left.

Cregan complied as he watched his wife fretfully go over to her trunk, pulling out a sewing kit. As she came back over to him, kneeling next to him, he noticed her trembling hands and her distraught face. “Hey,” he stopped her, grabbing her shaking hands in his large, still ones. “Take a breath,” he advised her. She listened, letting out a shuddering breath. “There,” he praised softly, his hand running down her arm. “I do not mean to offend, my love, but I’d prefer if you weren’t shaking when you stitched me up.”

Fortunately she laughed at his teasing, nodding in agreement as she took shuddering breaths to compose herself. Reaching over, she grabbed a fistful of his tunic’s hem, pressing it up. Her husband took the hint, helping her to remove it. She then pressed on his shoulder so he would rest his back against the wall, stretching the wound so he would not be restricted with his stitches. But before he would let her begin, he tapped his fingers against her hip, urging her closer to him. He kept pressing, in a silent request, until she had climbed into his lap, but she moved herself to straddle his thighs, careful to keep her skirts away from his wound. She then sent him a teasing glare to his proud smile as she got to work stitching him up. By the end, he hadn’t complained or even moved once. The only indication that he was conscious as she stitched was his firm grip on her hip.

“Okay,” she said, climbing off of him. “I will bandage you after your bath,” she gestured to the still steaming tub that had probably cooled down to an appropriate temperature.

Cregan didn’t say anything as he stripped his clothes, getting into the bath without hesitation while his wife cleaned up. After he settled, she came over with a rag, intending to clean him but a strong yet gentle grip on her wrist stopped her before she could even begin.

Looking up at her husband in confusion she found nothing but pain on his face. “Please forgive me,” he begged quietly.

Shocked confusion ran through her. “What?”

“Forgive me,” he repeated. “For bringing you here where a man, one of my men, tried to take advantage of you and your kindness.”

“Cregan, it is not your fault,” she was quick to assure, pulling away slightly. “It is no one’s fault but his.”

Cregan looked unconvinced but nodded anyways. After a beat of silence he finally let go of her wrist. “Join me?” he asked. She hesitated for a moment making him think the worse. “If you want to,” he added. “I understand if you are uncomfortable wit-”

“No,” his wife was quick to dismiss her concerns. She just nodded, beginning to strip her layers off and untie her dress until she was bare before him. A sight Cregan had missed between all the travel and cold.

Seeing as her husband occupied the entire tub, she settled on his thighs, just below his hips. His fingers found her womanhood, teasing her in the way he knew made her putty in his hands. She let out soft moans as he tried to coax her to rest her chest against his but she just stayed upright, wary of his injuries.

As her husband’s fingers coaxed her closer and closer to the edge, she reached down, finding his already hard cock, her fingers giving it a few strokes before she moved her hips, making Cregan’s fingers pull away as she settled herself sinking down onto his cock. Her whine matched his groan at the intrusion, both missing the other’s body.

“Gods, Cregan,” she whined, her hips already falling into a smooth rhythm. “Tell me I’m yours,” she begged.

Cregan smiled softly, agreeing without any hesitation as his hips met hers. “You’re mine,” he confirmed, wrapping an arm around her to pull her even closer. “You’re mine,” he repeated, pressing a kiss to her temple before burying his face in her hair again.

Masterlist

#x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #got #got x reader #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragons x reader #house of the dragons #cregan #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #stark x reader #house stark #house stark x reader

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sonic-heat · 2 days ago

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Hello!! If it is okay could I please request Sonic NSFW headcanons? 🫶🥹

thank you and happy new year!!!

Absolutely! He's my favorite to write about if it wasn't already obvious ✨ happy new year to you too anon!

You didn't specify which sonic so I'm going for normal canon/mainline games sonic!

Side note, this turned into more of an x reader than anything else- still headcanons regardless! That's what I get for not writing in forever...

NSFT under the cut;

⚡Sonic the hedgehog NSFW headcanons⚡

This post uses gender neutral/multi gender options for inclusivity, depending what you're comfortable with!

Warnings: mention of protected sex, praise, masturbation, penetration. Let me know If I missed any!

To start off with; he is a switch. He's pretty adaptable given what circumstances he is in, he's more in it for the other person than himself unless it's a special occasion. Expect him to be in whatever place you want him✨

He is way more sentimental about it than he is casual about sex and intimacy. If his partner is comfortable he will warm them up to the idea if the partner doesn't initiate first. Expect kisses, licks, nibbles, and sensual touches.

In addition to the last bit, he will always ask if what he's doing is okay. He wouldn't want to overstep a boundary. He will never start rough unless you tell him, he will gradually grope, stroke, or touch faster or more roughly as you allow it.

Sonic is generally very safe. he is a risk taker, when it comes to things like kinks or new positions, but he will always make sure proper aftercare is done, the area is comfortable for his partner, and proper protection is on/in. Expect to be treated like a prince/princess!

His favorite things on a partner is probably the chest/butt, either or for him. It's more to grab and touch and if his partner likes it then he's even more inclined to do things with it.

He is NOT quiet. He might start off quiet but oh boy- his voice can be kind of deeper in bed (like sonic frontiers type of deep) but he also has a very whiney and high pitched sound to him when he really gets into it, but it's not grating. He just can't help it if you just feel that good.

Expect is instincts to kick in, what I mean by that is he might lose himself into the feeling and get a bit over his head; he might go faster unexpectedly or too fast for you to keep up with.

Sometimes he might growl during sex. Probably from the werehog stuff still being present...

He's very body positive, any insecurities you have he will give extra kisses and adoration on when having fun with him. He loves to make you flush red and smile from his compliments, it makes him happy to let you know how beautiful/handsome you are.

He probably doesn't initiate as much as you would. He isn't sure when's the right time not to mention he can be awkward with love interests-

On the last note, he actually is very sexually active. He tries not to show it at all, but you might catch him on an off day having to deal with an "issue" the thought of you caused.

The age old question everyone has about sonic....does he keep his shoes and gloves on? Depends, actually. Typically he will take his shoes off but leave the gloves and socks on for comfort reasons, he will take the gloves off if he uses his hands on his partner/himself.

Very verbal. He will tell you he loves you and other affirmations. Sometimes he will teasingly play onto what he's doing/you're doing by saying things like "do you like that?" Or "that's it, that's what you want huh?" With a lower, sultry voice. He will do the same for encouragement, like "you're doing so good at this" or "you're taking this so well". He gives credit where credit is due!

He has sensitive spots behind his ears, on his tail, and between his quills that make him squirm when you touch them. He will jolt and melt into the touch.

Size? Given he's 3'3....I'd argue it's about 4 in. Idk, mobian sizing would be hard to figure out- so I only give an estimate.

He somehow has a large stamina, he can go for like 3 rounds and not feel tired.

He has a fondness for holding onto his partner during it, or wrapping his arms around them. He is mildly protective in his nature, and it adds to the intimacy for him.

He is quite flexible, do with that what you will. He also has no gag reflex (literally canon if you look at the intro to SATBK, he deep throats a chili dog??)

He can also get sappy during the deed, and tell you how he deeply appreciates you and other sentiments, this can also be the opposite end of the stick where he says or does something silly that makes you both laugh and lose focus for a moment.

Not really NSFW but he likes pets and belly rubs, like any creature would. Especially if they're soft and gentle, it'll instantly make him relax and melt.

Hes a big fan of holding your hand(s) while moving against/in you. It feels right to him.

Although he has a fast stamina, it takes him a little bit to recover from reaching his peak.

Oops made this very long oh well

I hope this is sufficient, anon! I might add onto this later if my noggin thinks up anything else, but here you go for now!

Requests are always open, I have a few requests to work on next, see you then! ~🌹

#minors dni #sonic the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog x reader #sonic x reader #nsft #headcanons #🌹

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em-harlsnow · 15 hours ago

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i feel like people forget when they’re writing mickey that his issues with intimacy were not just internalised homophobia. obviously, internalised homophobia was a huge reason why he struggled with ian and coming to terms with loving him. but it’s not the only reason he was so scared of being close to him.

mandy and mickey are eerily similar people in my opinion. their abusive home means that both of them find the concept of someone caring about them unbelievable and ridiculous and fake because they never had care as kids. if mickey had no internalised homophobia, he would still probably not have kissed ian until season 3 in my opinion just from fear of intimacy and affection.

i don’t like when people seem to think internalised homophobia is the only thing going on. they act as if once mickey gets over that, or terry dies or something, that he’d just be totally fine with ian or a guy. i don’t think that’s true, because mandy clearly struggles with things like expressing emotions, people caring about her, people loving her (things u need in a relationship) and she doesn’t have any internalised homophobia (because she isn’t gay). I think mickey’s the same way.

In a way i think the struggles mickey has are slightly different because he’s a guy and men have the whole toxic masculinity ‘boys don’t cry’ issues, so i think mickey would probably struggle more with emotional connections and being open about feelings than Mandy (again, in a miracle world where internalised homophobia isn’t a thing). we even see that idea with how mandy tells lip she loves him much earlier than mickey.

i would be interested to see what mickey would be like without the internalised homophobia because he’d still have issues. He’s a victim of severe child abuse, he’s going to take more from that time than just ‘i hate myself because im gay’. i don’t like when people write him with that very narrow narrative, because there’s so much more stuff to explore in his character.

anyway, this was a huge ramble and i don’t know if it made much sense. i understand why people focus on the internalised homophobia, but in my opinion that’s not by any means the only thing he struggles with. i love fics that explore his issues beyond that.

#shameless #gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #ian x mickey #shameless opinions

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vaguely-concerned · 3 months ago

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rook x lucanis: romance with a commentary track! solas and spite contribute with their thoughts and opinions along the way whether anyone wants them to or not. it's like a MST3K episode up in here as you try to get hot and heavy. in. in the pantry. love among the radishes at the end of the world (rifftrax version)

#still not sure who I'll romance first but I *am* starting to find lucanis just like. inherently hilarious. which is often how it starts.#for me. because of my many faults and flaws as a human being. I can't resist anything I find even slightly funny #dragon age #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: the veilguard spoilers #lucanis dellamorte #solas #dragon age spoilers #god please PLEASE let there be a fade section where solas and spite could interact just to complete my Vision here #anyway I think this concept could bring out the absolute troll side of solas that I love and treasure so much #if you annoy him too much in your little fade talks he'll start loudly critiquing your kissing technique in the back of your head #'oh is that how people go about it these days. well. not how I would have done it but to each their own of course'#pls pls I want pass agg dread wolf roasts constantly he's such a bitch he was born for this (affectionate)#I mean only lucanis and the player can hear spite apparently so it'd be more like lucanis looking into the camera like he's on the office #it's so cruel I think he's already going to be real weird at emotional intimacy as it is he shouldn't have to deal #with being bounced against the fourth wall like a little rubber ball on top of it all. sorry about your life (?) lucanis

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peppermintmochafem · 7 months ago

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#Um she told me she's in love with me and if anything happens to know I'm hot and she wants me #And then went into a lot of detail just repeating over and over the things she wants / fantasies about me incoherently #Which I'm sure means nothing right #I know this is complicated for her she hates being attracted to me but it is hard to have her be like this is bad when she says she wants m #I don't know what to do #personal #tbdeleted #Triggering for me yikes #messy messy messy #Honestly think she is just grieving so its latching onto me as a woman she can love in a safe way #And I am glad I can be that I guess like obviously she needs that and I want to keep her safe #But I know I can't and she even said it #Like I know she will go home and then be gone forever #I think I am already grieving her in a way #And she has hurt many people I love dearly #Hurt them in deeply upsetting triggering ways that aren't okay and don't make me feel safe #She really lacks understanding of consent and that hurts people but I know she does want me and i think if I tried to stop her I could #I shouldn't be in situations where I am unsure of that though but at the same time it's like if something happens it happens #Idk how much of this is my own issues and thinking I'm not deserving of safe respectful sex and intimacy and my own guilt for everything #And how much of it is her own issues and guilt and grief #But I know I can be safe and loving for her #And I do know there is genuine love there no matter what other factors there are #Anyways sorry if you read all that I am giving you the biggest forehead kisses #I just think about how different it might have been if I had *** **** *** ** *** *** ****** ** *****#I thought I couldn't cope if I had but how can I cope that I didnt #I should have *** *** *** when I could have #This is unrelated but its all tangled up and it's just been bad trauma day already #If I had **** * ****** **** if I had *** *** if I had **** ***** or #Anyways **** ***** ****** **

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iz-star · 4 months ago

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His first kiss.

Twitter

Zayne's birthday is coming soon and I've been thinking about Dawnbreaker a lot. I wanted to give this drawing some shades of innocence considering that Dawnbreaker lives alone, doesn't talk much and has no close relationships or deep connections (Georgie seemed to be his closest friend, in paralel to what William was to Dr Zayne [and they both lost them the same way]) so even tho Dawnbreaker's work is really heavy, he must be kinda innocent for certain things like physical intimacy and what being loved feels like. With this I don't mean that he doesn't know what a kiss is or the notion of sex (he watches Doctor TV shows anyway xD) but more like he'd be really overwhelmed by it, especially knowing that... well, it wasn't a kiss for him.

#love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #zayne #lads zayne #fanart #l&ds zayne #l&ds #lnds #dawnbreaker zayne #dawnbreaker #dr zayne #my art

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fushitoru · 4 months ago

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rainy days and brownies

pairing ⸺ college/modern!au: bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you wake up for some soft moments with your boyfriend that involves brownies (turned freaky)

warnings ⸺ smut, tooth rotting fluff, some mild angst?, gojo unfortunately mentions skibidi toilet, I think I made gojo gen z here, boob worship, brownies and baking, established relationship, oral (f!receiving), gojo eats pussy like a champ, NOT EDITED, might be incoherent to everyone except me, product of a forceful effort to escape writer’s block, rainy mornings <3, lots of intimacy, art by 3-aem, probably in the same universe as this

general masterlist

Rainy mornings with Satoru means baking.

It’s a ritual the both of you have fallen into. On a day like this, where the air smells like rain, you blearily wake up from your nap to smell the warm distinct aroma of overly sweet brownies.

The slutty brownies were Satoru’s masterpiece. Even if he did overdo the sugar, you can’t admit that your stomach was growling as you rubbed your bleary eyes and frowned while raking a hand through your head. This bed head was going to be a bitch to untangle with the hairbrush.

“AND IIIIIIIIIIIII, WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUU—“

You jumped, caught off guard by Satoru randomly deciding to pay homage to Whitney Houston. Standing up, you headed towards the living room of you and Satoru’s apartment—-not before you adjusted your tank top so your tits weren’t out and the boy shorts you chose to sleep in properly covered your ass.

“WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUUU—-“ You cringed at Satoru’s attempt of a high note, grumpily looking at him use his chocolate covered spatula as a makeshift mic. He was in the kitchen—-shirtless, of course—-now bending over to peek at the state of his brownies in the oven. Deciding the brownies weren’t done yet, he closed the oven door and stood up once more, reaching for his phone to undoubtedly scroll through TikTok. Continuing to hum different variations of the chorus, he swiped at his phone, ignorant to your presence behind him.

You think he’s kind of sweet like this. If it weren’t for him, the both of you would never be in this position. You would always be the cold frigid bitch he saw in freshman orientation and occasionally at parties across campus, and he would be the sweet, friendly guy that all the girls would continue to fall head over heels for.

To be honest, you don’t really see what he sees in you. You’re like a Disney villain, the witch that entraps him in her webs of insecurity and jealousy, but he remains the valiant prince, fighting to get to you. When he finally has you in his arms, he kisses you into believing that you are his princess instead.

It’s obvious in the way he fought for you—memorizing your schedule, rushing across campus just to walk you to class, pleading with you to grab dinner. And each time, you’d brush him off with sharp rejections, finding excuses to keep him at arm’s length.

But when he finally had you, finally cracked all your defenses—he was never going to let you go. You could see as much; the way he proudly walked on campus with you at his side, across the main quad so he could boast that he got you. You were his, and he was fully, undoubtedly yours. At parties, his eyes would always be on you, raking his eyes up and down your figure in your nurse outfit, conjuring up the hundred and thirty four positions he would fuck you so good in, even if there were prettier girls clinging onto his arms asking for a morsel of his attention. Pettily enough, you would just need to sigh and mumble “This party isn’t fun,” to have Satoru whipped, ushering you out of the frat house while those girls glared at the back of your Halloween costume, angry beyond measure that a nobody like you has the campus sweetheart wrapped around your finger.

Loud booms of the Vine gunshot sound effect snaps you back into the present, where Satoru is snickering at some god awful brain rot. You choose to approach him, wrapping your arms around his waist and smothering your face into his muscular back.

“Hi baby,” you mumble.

“Guess which sleepyhead is awake!” He announces to the world and turns around, and your traitorous heart jumps in its chest while looking into his eyes. It’s stupid. You’re both in your PJs on a morning where the rain thuds against the window pane, blurring both the window and all outside life, suspending you both in this moment. His eyes look affectionately down to you, and he plants a wet kiss on your forehead. “How was your nap, baby?”

“It was good.” You watch him turn around again to peek at the oven, and he hums, upper arm flexing as he grabs the heavy bag of flour, dragging it closer to him. “When’d you get up?”

“Around 7.”

You shoot him a bewildered look as you hop onto the counter, a better space to observe your boyfriend. When he realized that you had woken up, he had left his phone open to give you a kiss, reel playing noises. You peek over and almost snort at what is playing.

“Satoru, why are you watching alligators get chased away by a shovel?”

He looks up from the bowl of brownie batter he was now cleaning—-with his tongue, mind you—-and grins boyishly. “Isn't it crazy how hundreds of years of evolution get destroyed by a shovel?”

”Your feed is not normal,” you shake your head, keeping a stony face as you continue to scroll through his TikTok. In fact, it’s hilarious—-the things he got were weirder than one could dream, with toilets producing heads of men taking over whole cities. You’re not sure what that means about your boyfriend, but you accept it as you watch the nonsensical video.

“Wait,” he makes his way over to you, standing in between your legs. “Is that skibidi toilet?”

“What the hell is that.”

“Baby,” he whines. “You don’t know the lore? I don’t know if I can be with you for any longer.”

Your bite back a grin. “And subjecting me to hours of FNAF backstory wasn’t testament to how much I love you?”

Before he could whine back, you noticed he had some leftover chocolate on the side of his mouth and leaned over to lick it. Humming at the taste, you grabbed his hands and took in his brownie coated index and middle finger into your mouth.

He frowns. “Are you trying to seduce me into forgiving you and giving you more brownies?”

You laugh softly and give him a soft smooch on his shoulder. “No, silly. If I ate any more than half, I would have diabetes.”

He grabs the back of your hips and pulls you closer into him, nuzzling his nose against yours. The physical contact rubs at your nerves the right way, firing off that emotional part of you that makes you think loving him is so easy. How lucky you are that he’s chosen to give you his love.

His god-awful alarm blares—same annoying sound he keeps hitting snooze on for his 7ams—and the moment breaks as he reaches for the oven mitts to pull out the brownies. The aroma hits you instantly, making your mouth water. Satoru blows dramatically on the brownies, pouting and mock-yelling, “Hurry up and cool down! My girlfriend wants to eat you.” You can’t help but giggle. Once Satoru finally decides they’re cool enough, he grabs one and offers it to you. “Make way for the choo-choo train!” he snickers, guiding the brownie through imaginary tracks, a shit-eating grin on his face, before plopping it into your mouth.

You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the brownie melts on your tongue, its warmth enveloping your senses. Rich, velvety tones of chocolate overwhelm your mouth, with each bite releasing a symphony of deep, indulgent flavors that linger long after the brownie is fully swallowed. “Wow, this is actually good.”

He pauses, brownie and hand held in mid air. “Why do you sound surprised?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug innocently but stick your tongue out to him regardless.

Popping the brownie in his mouth--but not before sending you a pout---he brushes his hands together to remove the brownie crumbs as he makes his way back in between your legs. The way he settles between them makes you all too aware of the heat of his groin encompassing you. He lazily drags his eyes up your figure, but not before settling on your outfit. His eyes then flick down to watch his hands trace the hem of your tank top, and your eyes follow his hands, a little dizzy by the action.

You’re always a bit sensitive in the mornings, and before this day, you and Satoru’s interactions have been limited to a kiss before he runs for his 7am and then doing college work until 3am, where you’re both too tired for anything particularly frisky. So, yea, you are kind of pent up---and judging by the bulge that’s starting to form in Satoru’s sweats, you assume he is too.

You put your elbows on his shoulder blades to give him head scratches from behind and lean towards his jawlines giving small kisses. You can feel him close his eyes, purring silently like a cat, and underneath your hands, his back and shoulder blades tense and relax as you rake your hands over his scalp.

“This new?” He uses his index finger to snap the strap of your tank top against your shoulder, using his mouth to given open mouthed kisses to your collarbone.

“Mhm,” you hum, a little deliriously at that---he’s begun to trail down, mouth working at the swell of your breasts.

He slowly pulls the collar of your tank down, down down down until your breast pops out. His eyes trace the swing urgently and groans. “I missed these, sweet girl.”

You gasp sharply when he puts it in his mouth, tongue swirling around the nipple. Satoru’s always been a boob guy, joking about his hands being your bra to support “those mommy milkers.” Right now, he’s doing just that; groping the hell out of them and giving them kisses, as if they were God’s greatest creation.

As much as you were enjoying your boyfriend’s boob worshipping, you need more. You were throbbing in want of contact on your pussy, and you made sure to relay just that. “Toru, I need more,” you whined.

“God forbid a man appreciate nice boobs.” He rolls his like the sassy man he is and parts with your nipple like lips after a messy and wet make out session. Your breasts are gleaming with his spit, a string connecting your nipple to his lips. He trails his face down your torso, making his way down to his knees until he was facing your crotch.

You whine and clench your thighs together to draw his face closer to the space between your thighs. He looks up at you and coos, giving your inner thigh a kiss. “I can smell you from here, cutie.”

His statement reminds you that you’re not too wet in the mornings. As soon as you wake up, some of your morning sessions with Satoru require the aid of lube to ensure no pain. Irritation flares at you at the thought that you might need to leave your position to grab some l—-

Oh.

“What the hell. I thought you wet your pants,” Satoru giggles. The finger running through your folds glides messily, as you both marvel to how wet you are. You’re also on another plane; you haven’t felt his touch for weeks, and the feeling overwhelms you as the squelches your pussy makes echo throughout the kitchen.

Satoru gives you a kiss on your neck. “Baby, can I?” You deliriously remember that he’s lightly circling his finger around your entrance and when you finally give him the okay, he pushes in.

Both of you groan at how tight you are. “Satoru,” you moan and proceed to bring him in for a kiss as he pistons in and out of your pussy, curling them just the way you like and making you see colors.

“Pretty, pretty girl,” he groans. “Left my baby so pent up.”

At that, all you can do is nod and whimper in agreement. All that leaves your mouth are gasps of his names and oh my god’s because he’s making you feel so good.

And then, you almost scream as you feel him blowing hot air onto your folds, leaning down to give teasing kitten licks around your clit, but not directly on it. His tongue drags up and down until he finally stops it right next to your clit as if feeling the sensation of your pussy throbbing, echoing your fastened heartbeat skin-to-skin while drooling.

Frustrated, you try to move your hips, but Satoru grabs them to stay in place. He’s so close to the place you want him, but he’s stationed in one place, spit flowing down as his tongue is still and his dark eyes are staring at you as if enraptured by your struggling.

“Satoru, please lick my clit,” you moan wantonly, begging for him to change his position.

But Satoru Gojo wouldn’t be Satoru Gojo without some teasing. “What was that, baby? Avoid your clit? You got it.”

“No,” you sobbed, grabbing onto his hair and directing his tongue to your clit. This time, he relents, sucking the bud into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks, making you see stars.

But soon, his quick and fast lapping turn into lazy licks, and you get frustrated, grinding against air and pussy oozing out wetness as Satoru keeps his tongue outstretched in front of you but not close enough to make contact with your skin, teasing. You hate the feeling of your pussy throbbing and the inner thighs and pussy wet with your slick, lacking the sensation you needed to finally climax. “Oh my god, Satoru, please make me cum.”

“I don’t know baby, you sound pretty commanding to me.” The motherfucker shrugs as if he has nothing to do with your dilemma and starts trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His touches were close to where you needed him most, making you ache for the sensation of his wet laps against you.

“Please, baby,” you beg. “You feel so good, you’re making me feel soo good. I love you so much. Please let me cum.” You’re full on sobbing, hips writhing to get any sensation in.

Satoru, at your display, seems to give in, because he’s coming in once more, giving you a sweet little kiss on your clit. You nearly ascend.

He’s diving in, making a rhythm of dipping his tongue into your entrance and coming back to give sloppily wet laps on your clit. It’s when he groans while his tongue is inside, hot air and vibrations needily simulating your clit, that you come up with a gasp. You roll your hips, Satoru giving you little licks to help you ride out your orgasm.

For how hard you came, you’re bucking your hips frantically, body on a mind of its own as you almost fall off the counter. Satoru has to grip your thighs to prevent that potential injury and rubs soothing circles on the outside of your thigh as you pant, wetness and sweat likely painting the counter beneath you. It’s not until your breath returns back to it’s normal pace that you notice Satoru’s head against your thighs, looking up at you with lovesick eyes.

You’re probably giving him the same look back, you realize, given he made you ascend to heaven and back. He gives an affectionate kiss to your mound, moaning corny shit like “Your pussy tastes sweeter than the brownie.”

And then he stands up, knees popping on the way back up, and despite your fucked out state, you can’t help but giggle. “You old man with the popping knee caps.”

He glares at you playfully, but you know his expression too well to know there’s no real offense in it. “Hey. Rude to say that after I just made you cum your brains out.”

”And you’re about to get the same thing,” you purr, putting a hand on his hard-on. He hisses but looks at you with lust blown eyes as he grabs the back of your thighs to carry you to your shared bedroom.

Yes, rainy days do mean baking with Satoru, but not without intimacy with your even sweeter boyfriend in bed.

general masterlist

comment or reblog to let me know your thoughts! I appreciate all of them <3

a/n lol this was a bitch to write. this might be a word soup or salad or whatever for all readers and that’s ok! I’ve written this primarily at 1am so…

eugh ok im going back to writing ch5 of bridgerton!gojo and fixing the em dashes in this post when i wake up LOL

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nereidprinc3ss · 5 months ago

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kiss it better

in which spencer notices your bruised knees and tries to make it up to you

18+ (fluff, allusions to past intimacy) warnings/tags: gn!reader i believe, reader has bruised knees lol, guess why, implied intimacy, hurt/comfort, sorta implied d/s dynamics maybe?? spencer is so smart and not very smart, but forever my no. 1 cutie pie a/n: why do i love writing about smut like before and after smut way more than i actually like writing smut LOL anyways here is this cause i haven't been posting very much!!! (also ik I said I don't like babe as a pet name but shhh) and GIF :D

“Hey,” you grunt as you flop on the bed in your pajamas, rumpling the neat covers. “Pay attention to me.”

Spencer holds his Sudoku off to the side and watches, eyebrows raised, as you scoot closer, tossing your leg over him. Soon he’s abandoning the book and pen on the bedside table in favor of hooking his fingers under your knee and stroking your leg, much to your delight.

“Okay. What kind of attention would you like?”

You allow him to put his other arm around you and settle your cheek on his shoulder.

“This is pretty good.”

“Oh, good,” he says with only a hint of teasing, leaning down slightly to kiss your lips and then the tip of your nose.

When he pulls away you can’t help smiling up at him like a lovestruck idiot. Obviously he’s perfect all the time, but in his glasses, with his hair messy, wearing a navy crewneck instead of a button up and tie… he’s just… he’s just so…

He’s just so alarmed?

“Honey, your knee.”

“My knee?” Your own brows furrow and you track his eye line, craning your neck to look down to the blotchy sprawl of purple and red marring your skin. “Oh.”

The pillow is soft under your head where it falls, unconcerned even as Spencer gawps at you, baffled by your nonchalance.

“What did you do?”

You snort.

“What did you do, Spencer?”

It’s cute, the way his lips move as he silently repeats the sentence, trying to discern the meaning of your words.

“What do you mean? I did something?”

“Babe.”

The knot between his brows has not loosened any—in fact you’re worried he’s going to give himself a headache. Or at least make himself dizzy, with the way his eyes cycle between your own. You try again, covering his anxious hand on the bend of your leg with your own.

“When we got back from Penelope’s thing, the other night?”

Slowly the understanding seeps into his expression—soft guilt in his eyes, and a deep red stain in his cheeks. At least his face relaxes.

“Oh.”

God, he’s so cute. He can’t hold eye contact, looking down once the shock of embarrassment has faded and swallowing, a little frown twisting his features once more. You reach up, brushing his cheek with a thumb and adjusting his glasses.

“What’s wrong?”

The question comes out too smiley, but you can’t help it.

“I hurt you,” he says, quietly, utterly ashamed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I kinda think you did,” you tease, and Spencer says your name with a serious edge. You try to quit grinning so much. “Baby, it’s fine. You didn’t hurt me. Don’t you ever get mysterious bruises?”

His eyes are wide and honest on yours when he meets them again.

“No. My iron levels are optimal.”

Naturally.

“Okay, well, lots of people do. Sometimes I get a bruise and I have no idea what it’s from because it never hurt. These,” you look down, gesturing to your knee, “never hurt. It’s just what happens when your knees hit the floor.”

“Well you shouldn’t have been on the floor,” he scolds, countering with a sweet touch on your cheek. “I’m never letting you touch the floor ever again.”

Your shit-eating grin is back and better than ever. “Oh, so you’re going to carry me everywhere we go?”

“If that’s what it takes. I don’t like seeing you bruised up.”

“It’s okay. I bruised myself doing something I love.”

At this Spencer rolls his eyes and kisses you once more before gently pushing your leg away and getting out of bed.

“Where are you going?” You ask, all smugness gone and more concerned than you ought to be as he flicks the bathroom light on. For a moment you receive no answer, but then he reappears bearing a white tube.

“Give me your legs,” he says, sitting next to you on the bed. You swing your legs over his lap and watch on in mild interest as he dispenses lotion from the bottle and tosses it aside, carefully rubbing it into the bruised skin. Every few seconds he glances up to gauge your reaction, and though it’s definitely tender, you avoid wincing. “You don’t have to do that. I can tell it hurts.”

You laugh.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t until you started trying to fix it.” The ointment is pungent and you make a face. “What are you rubbing all over me?”

“This is vitamin K and Arnica. It will make the bruises go away faster.”

“Aw. You don’t think they’re pretty on me?”

He sets the bottle on the nightstand and retrieves the pen he’d been doing Sudoku with earlier, uncapping it. Your heart swells as he draws tiny sad faces by the bruises on your knees, glasses slipping down his nose as he focuses intently.

“I always think you’re pretty. I just never want you to be hurt, ever.”

“Are you done taking care of me now?” You ask, reaching out for him. The pen joins the bottle and suddenly he has no concern for your bodily health, practically crushing you with a hug. When he speaks it’s muffled by your shoulder.

“Never.”

You hum, nose tickled in his hair and forming a dastardly plan.

“You could kiss them better.”

Spencer laughs and presses his lips briefly to your neck.

“I might just do that.”

#spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x self insert #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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webism · 2 months ago

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on the “fuck you like i hate you whilst telling you i love you” note, i think the opposite applies to geto.

he’s fucking you slow and nice and kissing you all gentle and giving you a taste of domestic intimacy. his hands splayed over your body in a sort of reverence under candlelight—spends an hour just making out with your pussy because he loves how you taste. he’s so sweet on you, so kind with his touch and wholly devoted to your pleasure.

but he’s so mean with his mouth. calls you desperate and pathetic and a needy little slut who’s not good for much else than whoring yourself out as his toy. he speaks with a poison laced tongue that tastes like sugar when he kisses you. he fucks you like he loves you but wouldn’t refute telling you he doesn’t.

#IM IN THE CLOUDS #geto smut #suguru geto smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto x reader

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lenaswritingandstuff · 4 months ago

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Dating the Slytherin boys (+ Harry) ▪ HEADCANONS

Requested: No

Characters: Mattheo Riddle, Tom Riddle, Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Regulus Black, Harry Potter (+ y/n)

Warnings: NSFW mentions, English is not my first language

A/N: I'm not sure I like this but here we go. However I have to say I like Regulus' one so I might turn his version into a one shot one day (when uni won't be killing me slowly). This will include also the pre-dating/flirting stage as well. SORRY FOR THE TYPOS. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Enjoy! ^^

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus

Tag list for this story: @anawritez-posts @pumpkinchee @alwayslatetothefandoms

Mattheo Riddle:

His feelings for you probably confused him at first

If he falls first, he either won’t let you know or will do everything to get your attention (‘Hey, y/n, come sit here, the seat is free!”, “y/n, do you mind helping me with the homework for Snape? I can’t bloody do it”, “How about we go to Hogsmeade, just you and me?”, “you look beautiful, y/n”)

Your love for him always calms him when he gets anxious or when he’s upset, especially after his father comes back

Will tell you things he never told anyone

Would rather spend time with you than with his friends

Is terrified something will happen to you because of his father

VERY jealous, but trusts you

Despite easily getting angry, he can’t get mad at you. Even during arguments

LOVES sleeping in your arms or when you just hold him

He's crazy about your body

Loves showering with you, and we both know how it often ends

HOT, passionate sex

Will randomly eat you out without expecting anything in return (doesn't mind if you return the favor, though)

100% calls you "baby" or "love" all the time

Doesn’t care about what anyone thinks of him as long as you love him

Your love makes him feel lighter and stronger

You're his whole world

Feels bad when he hears someone criticize you for dating him

Always makes sure you don’t overwork yourself, and makes sure you get enough sleep, water and food, and comforts you when you're anxious

Holds your hands when he's anxious or stressed

Will listen to anything you have to say

Crazy about your perfume

Theodore Nott:

Struggles to express his love or feelings in general, at least in the beginning

Has never done serious relationships before, and it may cause some trouble in your relationship, as you end up believing he doesn’t care about you

It causes many fights, and the last one will be the first time he says ‘I love you’

Always goes to you for comfort

Loves sleeping with you in his arms, or cuddling, and with time he can’t sleep without you

Loves watching you sleep

Loves having you on his lap

Always gets you great gifts (even randomly)

“Well, it thought it was pretty, and…it reminded me of you.”

Will fight any guy who is rude to you or acts like a creep

Very jealous (trusts you, doesn’t trust others)

Doesn’t mind PDA at all, will gladly hold your hand or kiss you in public

Always has a hand on your waist or his arm around your shoulders

Very supportive in everything you do, even when he doesn’t understand it/isn’t really interested in it

Isn’t very good with comforting people (mostly because he's not used to it), but will hold you and listen to you as long as you need, can even give you advice/reassurance

Every compliment/'I love you' you say melts his heart and means much more to him than he shows, same goes for anything you do for him

Loves doing fun things, even if it’s just throwing snowballs at each other during winter (which ends in loving kisses, just savouring the joy of being together)

Love getting in a pool with you and playing "childish" games during summer

Any form of intimacy means A LOT to him

He's used to hooks up and "fucking" but it takes him a bit of time to have sex with you (despite being crazy about you and your body) because you mean everything to him and with you it's really making love instead of just "fucking"

The first time is loving and slow yet passionnate (eye contact at all times, hands holding, desperate kisses from him), and it gets a bit rougher and passionate the next times (but aftercare, which he isn't used to, is always on point and keeps getting better)

Is secretly very insecure, and is terrified you will leave him (especially for another “better” guy)

Craves your touch and your love but won’t admit it

His boggart is probably you being dead alongside his mother

Will tell you sweets things in Italian

Very clingy in private - and also in public with time

With you he learns to be happier and discovers a happier side of himself he didn't know he had

Loves you much more than he actually shows at first

Will often say you're all he has (and means it)

But with time, you have no reason to doubt his love and he’s the perfect boyfriend

Blaise Zabini:

Probably will court you like the gentleman he is

He doesn’t trust people easily and might be a little distant (while always polite and kind) in the early stages of your relationship

But with time he becomes very warm and smiles a lot

Always kisses the top of your hand or your forehead

Doesn’t do much PDA except for holding hands and kisses on your forehead

However in private he’ll 100% cuddle you and hold you

Dates in parks or restaurants

Get you flowers at least once a month

Will always defend you against others

One of his love languages is acts of service

Lorenzo Berkshire:

You either were friends before dating or he fell in love with you at first sight, there is no in between

Takes you on fun dates (arcade, funfair, theme parks)

Can be shy at the beginning, which will make it a bit hard for him to talk about how he feels about you

Movie nights where you two eats lots of snacks and sweets while cuddling

Always smiles when you enter a room

So supportive

Loves when you're on his lap

He has no problem with PDA

Quickly willing to meet your family if you agree

He’s a great listener and mostly gives good advices

Loves taking naps with you

Always makes you sure you get enough sleep, water and food

Won’t let you get yourself into dangerous situations

Loves to go anywhere with you, no matter the activity and even if he just follows you around

Many pet names

If you're Muggleborn or grew up among Muggles, he will totally ask you questions about the muggle world

Passionnate sex, will get rough if he hasn't seen you in a long time or if it's angry sex after he got jealous

His aftercare is the best, and he's always thankful you trust him enough to have that form of intimacy with him

Draco Malfoy:

Won’t flirt at first with you but keeps wanting your attention

Tries to seduce you with expensive gifts, and is a bit taken aback when you say it doesn’t work

Continues to get you gifts, but will make sure they match your interests/tastes, and keeps expensive gifts for your birthdays and Christmas (even though he’d like to get them all year for you)

At first he doesn't show any weakness in your presence

With you he’ll learn patience and to focus of more positive things, and also to stand up to his father

Takes you on dates every chance he gets

Will ditch his friends to spend time with you

Probably makes Crabbe and Goyle carry your bags or do things for you

So proud to be dating you, it might even make him more arrogant

Gets grumpy when jealous but after a kiss on the cheek he’s back to his normal self

Will invite you to his home and write you nearly every day during holidays

Hates it when Harry or any Gryffindor boy tries to talk to you

Surprisingly has no problem with PDA

Loves when you come to see him play during Quidditch matches

Tom Riddle:

Oh boy

It started with him admiring/watching you from afar, for a reason he can’t understand

SUPER confused by what he feels for you and why

Will probably try to get closer to you through homework or through books if he sees you read one

Will know everything about you, and will secretly follow you, saving you if you’re in danger with you never knowing who saved you

Crazy about your perfume, so much so that it makes him steal one of your clothes just to be able to smell it anytime he wants

After a while, he’ll spend most of his time with you without ever admitting he likes it

Will probably let you know his feelings for you after he cast a spell on a guy for being a creep with you

Won’t let another man touch you

Will ask Mattheo for advice to be better or to make you fall in love with him

Will do your homework without hesitation, even if he pretends that he hates it, and will leave explanations so you understand his answers/his work

No PDA except for holding hands or your hand under his arm, but will make sure to stay close to you at all times

Is a surprisingly good listener

VERY jealous, but surprisingly isn’t mad or suspicious at you

“Did you enjoy having his attention? Do you wish for me to show you how my attention is better?”

He doesn't stress over homework or stuff like that, so he finds it ridiculous when you do (learns with time to be more understanding)

Will let flowers in your room with a note on it

Pretends to not care about the gifts you get him for his birthday or Christmas but it actually means so much to him as no one ever got him any gifts before

Nothing the others say about him gets to him, but he gets angry when he hears someone say that you deserve better than him

As book!Tom who grew up in an orphanage: he's secretly insecure about his background and the fact that he’s poor, and thinks you deserve better

As Voldemort: Might be torn between continuing his goals for power or spending a simple life with you; is aware you’ll leave him if he gets on a darker path

As Voldemort’s son: would do everything to protect you from his father, and if he’s forced to get the Dark Mark, he will makes sure you don’t know

Possessive kisses

Would hurt anyone who does you wrong

Borrows money from Draco to take you on dates or to get you gifts, as he feels like you deserve the nicest things, even though you keep telling him his mere presence is enough

May feel a little bit guilty that he can’t properly show you his love like “normal” boyfriends do

Won’t admit it but considers you the only good thing in his life, and if he ever lost you he’d get on a dark path

Won’t cuddle at first, but if you wake up first you’ll find him sleeping close to you, with at least one of his hands touching you

Always notices when you don’t eat, sleep or drink enough

You’re the first (and only) person he will feel romantic love for

He has a bit of sexual experience before, but with you it's completely different - once you guys have sex for the first time, he becomes obsessed with your body and how it makes him feel

Loves fingering you

"You like it, dove?"

Even if you guys don’t work out, he won’t ever be with somebody else

Would ask your parents for you hand in marriage, but honestly it's just out of politeness, the only answer that matters to him is yours

Regulus Black:

Like Blaise, he was raised the old fashioned way

Acts coldly towards everyone except you, his tone and eyes gets warmer and kinder when talking/looking at you, and you’re the only person he’ll smile at

You were his best (and only) friend and he has been in love with you for years

He hides his feelings very well, but one day you start dating someone else (thinking Regulus doesn’t share your feelings) but he can’t bear it and confesses his feelings

Always defends you

He’ll take you on restaurants or picnics dates, always bringing flowers

Mostly fine with PDA (holding hands, hands on your waist)

Thinks he’s very lucky to have you

Probably already starts thinking of marrying you during your last year at Hogwarts

A bit jealous, but can’t stand it when Sirius tries to talk to you

Will gladly do your homework with/for you

Loves it when you sleep in each other’s arms, loves feeling you close

Loves it when you call him “Reggie” (only you is allowed to)

Will literally do everything you ask him to

You’re everything to him

Can’t stay away from you for long

Will get worried if you’re five minutes late

Always calls you “sweetheart” or “love”/”my love”

Slow, romantic sex most of the time but sometimes he needs to be rougher

Thanks to you he’ll feel lighter and he will become kinder

You’ll even make him change his views on blood purity and stand up to his parents, and with time he gets closer to Sirius thanks to that (and you)

If that doesn’t change and he still joins Voldemort, he’ll leave you a letter before going to the cavern, saying how much he loves you and how much you mean to him

Harry Potter:

Don’t expect any pet names from him, but he might create a nickname with your name (like he calls Ginny ‘Gin’ in the Cursed Child)

His love languages are fierce protectiveness, loyalty and a patience he didn’t knew he had

Has no problem with PDA because he doesn’t care about what other people think

Loves cuddles

Rarely gets mad at you, and feels guilty when he does

Mostly gets mad at you when you hurt yourself (for example during Quidditch) but it's also because he was scared for you

Hot kisses in private

Will be jealous if he sees you with another guy

He’s passionate in a lot of things he does, and it includes you and everything you do

Will fiercely defend you again anyone, can even throw hands

Gets FURIOUS when Umbridge hurts you during detention, and will cuddle you for hours and do everything he can to make the pain disappear

Knows people are mean to you during fifth year because you're dating him and he hates it

During that year the only peace he feels is when he's holding you or when you sleep in his arms (it's also the only time he doesn't get nightmares)

Very supportive

Loves getting you gifts

You make him feel SO happy, he’ll just keep smiling for no reason

Gets more and more clingy with time

Always write to you during the holidays (you always invite him to come to your house)

I'm not sure about sex while you guys are at Hogwarts but he 100% feels lust for you, there will definitely be hot making sessions when you guys are alone in a dark corner of the castle and it often ends up with you against the wall with your legs around his waist while he kisses your neck and caresses your legs

However sometimes he just can't stop himself and will eat you out (even maybe finger you at the same time), and will be proud when you come

Any act of service you do for him means a lot

You're always worried about him when he's at the Dursleys but he reassures you that he's fine

Comes to you in the middle of the night if he has a nightmare and generally comes to you for comfort or to rant

Needs you more than ever after Voldemort comes back and after Sirius’ death

Misses you like crazy during his quest for Horcruxes, and he can’t bear the thought of something happening to you

Might struggle to show it, but he knows and is thankful of how patient and comprehensive you are with him, and that makes him want to be the best boyfriend he can be

Terrified Voldemort might hurt/kill you

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darkdemeter · 6 months ago

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THE THREAT OF INTIMACY

⚤ Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Angst — insecure reader and depictions of negative thoughts and fear of sexual intimacy — profanity — SMUT 18+ mdni — virgin!reader/loss of virginity — unprotected sex — hurt/comfort — oral (female receiving) — le dasha of body worship —cream pie — mafia bucky being a huge softy for his wife — I think that's it ✎ 7.4k A beautiful bride marrying the man of your dreams. But when faced with what comes after the vows and first dance as Mr. and Mrs Barnes, you suggest that a particular arrangement be made.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

It’s not so much of a grand show once the curtain falls. There hangs a greed of mischief and ominous silence. He looks at you, blue eyes piercing the exposed skin of your back, the white gown hangs an elegant silhouette on you. Its embroidered sculpts become melded into the fabricated folds as you stop midst the gate of your saunter forwards, each step a reminder drawing nearer as you do to the bed.

Did you really have to do this?

It was an era of change after all. But his seniors were old school, and so you expected him to be as well in the matters of the marriage bed. It is expected of you — the both of you. Your hands fish through the elaborate style of your hair, musing it loose and gaining a comforted scalp as you turn away from the bed and walk over to the large windows that extend from top to bottom, overlooking the twinkling space of stars fallen to earth.

Being far away from it means you are torn from it. Once you step foot back in that place, you are no longer the girl you once were.

You are now Mrs. Barnes. A wolf among sheep. The queen of the Bratva. A cooperation of mobsters who have bought police eyes and silenced officials of the government. But was this status and power worth what is intended to follow?

You didn’t have a real choice in the matter. Well, maybe you did. You fell for him, you won’t deny it, and you fell hard for him. Other pickings were not as savoury, nor did they explode with the chemistry you shared with him. But this wasn’t the only factor.

It’d been clear that your hearts were set on one another. With the subtle whispers into the other’s ear, hugging and kissing, fingers entwined, or the more assuring hand on the low of your back. This intimacy had been a flavour sweet – loving – and you came to embrace these softer textures of your life at his side. His proposal was impossibly expected but even then, you couldn’t contain your surprise and eagerly said yes.

You never gave the thought of what came next exactly. The very intimate aftermath. Until his mother pulled you aside, a smile on her painted ruby lips as she guided you to walk with her through the hedged gardens. That conversation is one you will never forget. Her love is shocking, her devotion to her husband and family, you can hardly stand the thought of not loving her in return.

But that talk shocked you.

Half of it because of the gory details she regaled, but the other half because of your own mind. Your poisoned mind that festers with anxious insecurities.

Of course it’s expected. Your virginity doesn’t exactly wave you as an expert, no matter what talks of womanhood you are subjected to. But by the standard of Mr. Bucky Barnes, his former bachelor days had given him what you lack: experience.

What if I’m so bad that he’s repulsed by me?

He’ll only need to take one look at me and that’ll be enough.

What if I can’t make him cum?

What exactly am I supposed to do— I don’t think I’m ready.

You continue on in your panicked, internal reverie, hand raised to rest your lips against your knuckles, the shine of diamonds catching in the dark reflection, a momentary blindness befalls you that then causes your stomach to writhe with unease.

“Hey,” your husband whispers, breath warm over the shell of your ear and his lips tease the curve of your exposed neck with light kisses. Your body flinches at the suddenness of his appearance right behind you, his chest to your back; you feel tears deep into the corner of your eyes, hot and wet and annoying. The stronghold of air chokes you in the back of your throat.

“Mm, hi…”

Your forced smile is quick to fade, just barely passing back a glance at him before looking away. He catches this falter. His expression is shadowed by a troubled frown. He noticed the way you flinched before him. And that glistening of tears is hard to miss when it comes to you.

“Talk to me,” he presses gently, “you okay?”

His hands are strong and sure as he holds you, turns you to face him directly now, putting the window to your back. Your ring bound hand massages over your face with a breath hollowing out in a deep sigh.

“Yeah. I’m good, I think we should get some rest. It’s been a big day.”

Before you can step around him, his hand circles the entirety around your forearm, holding you in place.

“You don’t want to…” At the trailing end of his words with his blue eyes alluding to his meaning, the sting of tears prick your vision again and a flush paints your cheeks and neck red. He lets you walk away with the train of your dress flowing behind you like a silken shadow.

“I don’t think tonight.”

Or any other night…

Bucky’s throat bobs with a thick swallow, nodding as he watches you. Always a man who knows what to do, how to maintain composure — his power — he feels that confidence wane like the fading moon. Powerless.

The words brewing on your tongue are tart, poisonous and unpleasant. Not the sort you would ever want to say to your husband, no less on your wedding night.

You’d ventured over to the vanity by now, you say beneath a shaken exhale, “I’ll look to hire a mistress.”

“Excuse me?” He gasps sharply.

Your reply, voice short of anything joking or playful. You sit before the vanity and bend forward, unfastening the golden clasps on your heels before you set them aside. “I’ll have a mistress contracted for you. We’ll do everything else together but she will… provide the sexual affairs.”

“And you?” His question makes you pause midway of turning fully towards the mirror, only barely do you see him trail the outskirts of the room, just only in focus of your view. With a sigh, you pluck your earrings out, saying more so to your own reflection than him, “I’ve gone this long without sex, Bucky. I’m sure I can go on the rest of my life without it.”

“No, no, we’re not doing things like that. I married you — I want you.” Why is that just too hard to believe? You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes in the mirror, so you look away, anywhere that doesn’t meet his gaze. “Honey, where the fuck did this come from?”

You don’t answer. The man is practically brought to his knees before you like a servant ready to obey you like a goddess. Treatment he committed to you, though you don’t feel deserving of. He spins you slowly on your stool until you face him, knelt before you, he tries to find the stunning awe of your eyes only to find you hiding away from him. “Did somebody say something to you? Who was it?”

Quick to spare someone needless bloodshed, you stand abruptly, almost knocking him back and storm away from him by some feet, putting distance between you both, your voice carries over your shoulder, “Nobody said anything. I just think this arrangement will be better for us.”

You’re blinking back a curtain of tears that threaten to unleash. A wave rises high like a tsunami in your soul with these stupid, incessant thoughts.

You’re imperfect.

You’re ugly.

Let another woman – a beautiful woman – please him.

He’ll regret marrying you once he sees you.

Fingers ringing the course of massaging your temples, you are slowly being drowned by many, many thoughts like these. They're endless. They’re relentless and they are loveless. Not once do you give yourself the internal piece of mind that maybe, just maybe, there is hope in this relationship. That they are wrong. That he won’t judge or run from you. But who can say for sure?

It’s best to play it safe and keep what dignity you have left. Despite the spitefulness of seeing him become satisfied by another woman, it would be better than depriving him for the rest of his life. And you care more for his own happiness. It’s all you want for him.

He speaks up again, his voice going stern in his verbal study. “So, let me get this straight: I marry the love of my life, the very essence I love and breath for, only to… fuck another woman. After I swore a vow to you.”

“Bucky, you’re making it sound—”

“I’ll go without sex for the rest of my life than have some whore in our bed.”

You spin on your heel, mouth agape. Finally you look at him long enough as he works to slowly approach you and he sees just how badly you’re hurting on the inside. “Bucky—”

How quick he is to cut you off before you can even utter another heinous thing, now reaching you. “I wouldn’t stand at the altar for just anyone. I gave up that bachelor life to have you. I chose you. I want to have all of you.”

You mutter, mumble off-centred excuses that come out as broken noises on a record, and then you let out a shaken breath, chest feeling like it's being cleaved and ripped apart to the point your body trembles. You try your hardest to suppress your quiet sniffles as the flow of tears begin, fingers hastefully dapping away as to not smear your makeup; your only means of perfection that you’ve felt in a while.

When you saw yourself in the white dress every little girl dreams of for the first time in a bridal shop far too expensive for the average, then again in the dressing room with hair and makeup done to the nines, it all almost made you forget about the gut-wrenching aftermath once the reception concluded. That you were walking down that aisle with a purpose you would never come to regret.

Was it all a foolish fairytale to idolise this facade of beauty?

The hand bearing his ring uses a force so gentle you think it’s the end, that when you look up, he will be gone. That your wedding dress will fade into your everyday jeans and grandmother’s patchy sweater you treasure too much to throw away, her scent still lingering there to inhale on a bad day.

He drives your focus upwards until your eyes meet, your vision hindered behind a blur that wets your lashes as you blink. A vibrant colour of blue that once intimidated you now attends to assure you, to quiet your riled fears, but there is a reluctance to let your guard down this time.

His hands cradle your jaw in his hold with a promise to never let you go. To never let you know this fear again.

“I won’t judge. I won’t run in disgust or whatever you think I’m gonna do. I think my vows can be credited to that, yeah?”

Your bottom lip sinks inward slightly, teeth biting down hard on the plump of flesh, muttering a softly broken, “I-I guess.”

“You’re scared.”

It is shame that brings your eyes to falter, chin wobbling until it crinkles. “Yes…”

It’s like he could read you, knowing that your next move is to shove him off – push him away – he leans down and presses his lips to your own. Warm, a little roughened yet still retaining a softened plush of texture, he breathes some sort of cooling flame that soothes you if not for a short while. A rattled, sharpened gasp teeters on the edge of your voice and he parts from the kiss with a low and silky drawl. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, love. We can take our time with this.”

You’re hoisted into his arms, strength unyielding as he carries you over to the bed and sets you atop the mattress like porcelain. For him, he’s scared how easily it is to break you, no matter how hard you hide this fragility. You use the outside of your hand to wipe at your nose and exhale loudly, mind prattling on with your swirling thoughts.

Pathetic.

He’ll definitely need a mistress after that display.

And all you’re better off getting is a toy.

His family will ridicule you. He’s going to tell everyone that his little wife refused to have sex with him on his wedding night.

Poisonous thoughts. They aren’t going away. With a sniffle, you watch Bucky begin to strip himself down, leaving himself to his boxers. However much you admire the act in itself, it’s far too intimate than anything else. The idea of you doing that for him sickens you. You become repulsed by yourself.

Your mind is a hideous beast.

Like you.

Shut up!

You make this wedding dress look ugly.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky’s voice breaks through the hazardous cloud like a lighthouse awaiting for you ashore, guiding you to safety. He offers you a smile you try to match only to feel your lips twitch, muscles cringing as you keep the well of tears and cries inside. He invites you to join him and you move up the bed. You can’t bear to shed the second skin of your dress to reveal the lavish, risque lace and frilly lingerie you’d picked out at the encouragement of your bridesmaids.

You never really gave it much thought before until it was too late. This culture of intimacy you perceive as a threat.

Your husband doesn’t question you. Instead he lays beside you, arms stretched out to invite you into his embrace. An invite you half-heartedly indulge in, inching yourself awkwardly to his side but remaining to keep some inches from him.

Head laid on the tucked shelf of your arms, hair mused to fall over your features, you intend to wallow in silence until exhaustion overtakes you into sleep.

You’ve ruined his day.

“What are you thinking in that pretty head of yours?” The question is directed to you, you’re sure. But it also sounds like he’s asking himself for the answer to a riddle he cannot begin to understand.

“I’m sorry I ruined your day…”

The contortion of his features almost has your body locking up into a tightly wound position, the form of his dark brows bevelling in the middle, eyes widening until the blackened pupils shrink into tiny dots.

“What?” he sputters, “No– no, honey. This is our day.”

Our day?

There is a storm of emotion battling in his own eyes, however, he is just as quick to hide it from you. He trails again to caress the line of your jaw, his thumb strokes along your bottom lip. “Love, I will never force you into anything. Not your first time, not your hundredth. You hear me, yeah?”

Your eyes only look to stare at him with a stillness, before you absently nod. Then you turn, putting your back to him. You cannot bring yourself to look at him out of sheer guilt that no matter what, he cannot silence the honest and cruel torment of voices in your head. Not forever. They will find something to pick out and gnaw at to send you into this spiral.

If you could do so without the judgement of your husband, you would cry and howl into your pillow for hours until the perfect mirage of your makeup fell apart, you’d spare the dress from being a ridiculed taint by being on you any longer. You’d be on the phone to your sister pleading for her to keep you company and distract you from this pain, you’d cry into her chest as she held you with all the strength she possessed. You’d ask your parents to call you beautiful, even though it’s a lie.

But you keep it all in. And it breaks you so harshly on the inside that it cuts you like thousands of shards shredding you apart.

You’re not sure exactly how much time has passed between the void of silence. You can’t sleep. The tyrannical storm of emotion swarming inside you makes it impossible to even try lest you break and let it all out, letting it show.

“B-Bucky?” you squeak, clearing your throat and you hear him hum immediately in response, the weight of him rolling over until his body is a ghost along your back. “Can I… uhm, can I ask you something?”

Aside from the odd hiccup and sniffle here and there, you hold firm to sounding as you were before, the bubbly and playful girl Bucky couldn’t help but tease until you were a flustering mess, the girl who attempted to flirt back only to fumble over your words and proceed conversation with a shy smile. The girl he fell in love with. The one he gladly stood at the altar for. Before the voices.

“Of course, doll. Anything.”

Nervously your fingers flex and wind together, thumbing the fabric over your breasts, the enclosed circlet of cleavage pressed closely together. You wish you could giggle at the way you caught Bucky gawking numerous times in supposed awe of you throughout the day. He often is like that every time he sees you though, now that you come to think about it.

Supposedly.

Not likely real…

I’m going to regret asking this, aren’t I?

With a heavy swallow coated heavily in your hesitance, you take a breath in hope that proves to fail to settle your nerves. “You’ve been with plenty of girls before me… you know how to please them, what did…” you pause upon a whimper, “were they all the same?”

The amount of strain behind your vocal cords makes you cringe in disgust. You sound like—

“No, they were all different. Unique to each girl.” You can almost sense the way his head props up to look at you. His eyes staring a cool layer of heat into your back. “Just like you.”

“How can you say that?” Your voice betrays the toxins of a heart and mind poisoned together over far too long. Bucky hears the loathe of self in your words, dry and cynical, unbelieving in his words and your own image. “You’ve never even seen what I look like… you don’t know how I’ll be, I’ve never—”

Your hands press over your eyes in hope to suppress the tears glassing over your vision.

“Hey,” Bucky admonishes with a low drawl, tutting you, “hey. I’m not expecting the fucking grandios of perfect sex. I’m expecting you and only you. I want what makes you and your body unique.”

You turn your head to see him, chin wobbling slightly. How he’d crawl through hot coals and glass for you, seeing the beauty of what you see are flaws. He then grins and for a moment, it disturbs you how he could smile when you’re like this.

“I wasn’t the best for my first time. In fact, I’m telling you–”

“Bucky, no, you don’t have to,” you interject with a stifled cough. You shoot to sit up and your husband follows, chuckling.

“No, I will tell you I was shit at sex. Horrible. My first time—”

Your hands paw and pat at his mouth to silence him to no avail, your chorus of hiccups and sniffles turn into shy giggles.

“I–couldn’t–”

You giggle a little louder this time. “Shush, Bucky! No-ho!”

“Couldn’t even– find the cl—”

Your fingers are a heavenly pillar even as they hold his lips prisoner from speaking aloud. He smirks behind them and plants delicate kisses to them, enamoured by the faint smile on your face and the softness of your eyes. Seeing you cry and be tied to these human emotions makes a fire burn in his chest. Like for the longest time, he’s finally found someone who can make him feel whole. If only he could help you feel the same. In the make of those blue, puppy dog eyes, you crack and scoff out a snort. “New York’s infamous Mob Lord…”

He beams from ear to ear at the unfinished implication, taking the time to fall so hard in love with you all over again. He leans his forehead against yours with a rumbled, “Mhm.”

Mascara smudged under the barrage of wet lashes and tears, your lips part with a shaky breath. “Bucky?”

He hums again, so you press on, throat suddenly tight. “Do you think you could make me feel that way?”

His response is instant, deep voice trailing along the bridge of your neck, much like it had done earlier as his arms circle the lower curve of your arse and hoist you until you balance atop his thighs, keeping his weight on his haunches. “Moya zvezda, that and more.”

Your arms drape over the burly muscle of his shoulders, breath mingling with his in hot gusts laboured with anticipation, you hear him groan as you ever so slightly lower your hips against his and he pushes you that little higher on the pedestal he holds you on, it’s height greater than any earthly accomplishments men can dream of.

It’s why you’re his star.

I love this man.

With all my heart.

His front presses fully into you, he works to weave one hand beneath the shower of your gown and feeling along the sheer stocking attached to your garter; he groans again, more feral sounding in his sensational marvel of how perfect you are. How blessed he is to be the one to touch you like this. To hold and have you so intimately.

At his touch, your body erupts with a shudder, momentarily staggered by the electric push and pull and thriving buzz between your legs; though the stir of arousal isn’t foreign to you, it certainly is a stark contrast with his attentive action.

His lips smother the embers of your trembling gasps with a kiss, passion tasting as a fine wine on his tongue. The kiss is paced slowly to attend to your cautious nature, an utter surety that he won’t make any move against you. You take no part in stopping him as he pushes aside the obstructive barrier of your panties.

The way his fingers are gentle to stroke your core has you keening, teetering on a choked whine, his work deliberate in focusing on the pearl of your sensitive clit and the slickened beginnings of your folds. His hands that have sinned many times now amend themselves with the purity of worshipping every inch, exploring you with the intent to please. His thumb rolls in drawn circles, eliciting from you mewls and heated pants of air too heavy to stay in your lungs, cooing at your slow induction.

“Atta girl.”

I’m alright.

“You’re doing amazing.”

I’m safe.

His two fingers run along your entrance, causing your spine to arch slightly and he smirks, pulling from the kiss.

“You like that, doll? Yeah?” he asks smoothly, seeing you nod shakily with eyes half lidded.

Your hands entangle themselves to the bedded roots of his hair, tender as you can to pull with each spark that has your stomach tying knots and your muscles tensing, his thumb begins to roll a little harder and faster. At hearing the apparition of a moan escape you, he applauds you with his encouragement despite the way your hand covers over your mouth to silence these noises.

“Fuck, please again, zvezda. Please.”

“I want to hear you.”

“Please… fuck you sound so beautiful…”

In your stun over his pleas, your hand lowers away and you continue to let your moans lull him, hips moving at a slow crawl against his fingers that press to your core and with a single look you let him know you’re willing. He fights the tantalising grip of your fingers to reach your lips as he pushes two fingers past your folds. Your gasp is a sharp sound to his ears, one of alert that he seeks to comfort you through the kiss.

The trajectory to pull your hips away stabilises and you begin to find that rhythm with each grind and thrust onto his fingers, the waves of pleasure coming from your clit has your stomach tightening.

“B-Bucky…” you whisper and he swallows your words with a deep moan. Your walls clench around the intrusion of his fingers, moreso when he adds a third, curling them as if to beckon your body furthermore to his touch, to yield your fears and let him set alight that bloom inside your core and unto your bliss.

You pant harder, “B–ngh… Bucky… th-there.”

“Right there?” He asks with a sultry grin. Your voice comes out in a strangled response. “M—mhm.”

The voice of your whine is his commandment. He installs a level of dedication at gently fucking you with his fingers right where you needed him – wanted him. That swell inside you grows and grows, furthering into a maelstrom that leaves your body shivering, unexpected of where this sudden burst will implode.

“Good girl, you’re doing so well, doll,” he praises with a low timbre, groaning with a prided grin when you tug a little harder at his hair, your softer nature betraying to act out this darker side of yourself; this almost forbidden wanton.

I feel…

Your hips move to become greedy and much to Bucky’s approval, feeling the swollen bulge of his cock straining against his boxers has you weak and some instinct to move against it drives you, a louder moan slipping past your lips. Bucky’s mouth leaves a heated trail of passionate nips and teasing flutters of kisses against your neck, spoiling you.

You gasp and your hands fly to his shoulders to hold you at bay, the sudden shockwave a prelude to ride as your orgasm ascends upon you, he hears the feverish whimpers you make and he purrs, pumping his fingers, “That’s it, love, let go. C’mon, let me feel you cum for me. I’ve got you.”

The suppression of a scream hides in your chest, leaving only a choked sob to rack through you as you thrust and claim your first release, a hot flush of white behind your eyes blinds you, your muscles convulse in tensing and relaxing as you ride out your high.

Your arms that wound around his shoulders squeeze a little tighter in your recovery, your breath timed to slow down after a few minutes but your body remains to quiver against him. The form of his aroused cock clear and unhidden has your core weeping for more.

“There you go, that’s it,” he coaxes softly with a smile while he eases a kiss to the corner of your lips, “how’re you feeling?”

“G-good… really like… wow.” The words come out jumbled to you, as if you were still influenced by the strong wine at the reception, having made you reserve your consumption to a very limited amount.

Bucky hums and withdraws his fingers, leaving you to mewl at the loss. The sight before you has you in some chokehold, a crimson heat flushes into your cheeks and down your neck, rendering your blood into fiery rivers beneath your skin, a sudden jerk picking up in your heartbeat as Bucky cleans the slick of your release from his fingers, the crystalised shade of blue dimming with a certain darkness as the taste of you rolls over his taste buds.

He’s tasting me…

He moans with a thunderous growl. “Fuck… you taste amazing,” he grins, teeth gleaming with that cute, charming esteem.

I do?

The warmth in your cheeks glows ten fold, bringing a sight for Bucky to admire. That cute girl who’s face becomes rosy with embarrassment. It’s like he could read your mind and the way he says your name has you at a loss of breath, drawing your attention back to the shine of his eyes.

“You are exquisite…”

Following in action as the continuation of his proclamation, his hand finds the spine of your dress and upon reaching the apex between your shoulders. He seeks to pause and his eyes seek out your permission, brows slight to bevel. “May I, Mrs. Barnes?”

The crescents of your palms brush the exterior of his stubble, every inch of your hands covered by the sensational prickling that leaves you like putty. How he stares at you with this amass of love and fondness that feels overwhelming at times.

He’s just so… perfect.

The return of tears glasses over your eyes and you smile, brightly and toothy and nod, cupping his jaw in your hands before you press a softened kiss to his lips. You feel it in unison with him; it steals the breath from you both.

“You may, Mr. Barnes.”

With your approval, he draws the zip undone. Anticipation lines your nerves like a trail of gunpowder ready to be set ablaze. He’s testing the waters, ensuring that this is what you want and when you give no indication of refusal, he glides the dress from your shoulders, revelling in the delicate sculpt of your body; the warm, ambient light hitting the surface creates a heavenly glow upon your skin. With the overhanging light above, it frames a golden halo around you as his sights steer upwards.

Your gown drapes a sultry form over you, accentuating the mounds of your breasts pushed close together and the nakedness of your shoulders and neck. Bucky growls under a vice of hunger. But something lays in the glassy waver of his stare.

“Please be real?”

His voice barely rises above a near shattered whisper. A man who fears losing you just much as you fear losing him. His voice pleads with you. Your lips part, jaw coming to drop slightly as your eyes widen.

Please be real for me?

“I-I am, Bucky. I’m real…”

The man before you exhales loudly, gasping for breath to keep himself drowning. “Good. Because I want this to be real.”

He doesn’t waste another moment. His mouth clashes against yours, hunger succumbing as he ravishes you with the heated intensity of his kiss, tongue running a pleaful line along your bottom lip. You part them and he awakens the stir of arousal flooding through your veins, tongues dancing in an artistic battle for dominance he undeniably wins. You moan a muffled song and he drinks every lyric of it, intoxicated by it.

His hands are wild in their exploration, peeling your dress lower to reveal the laces and frills of your lingerie, not permitting you to shy away and hide from him this time, his hands feel every inch of it, mesmerised by the way it fits to you so beautifully that even the most talented of sculptures would struggle to capture your raw and enticing beauty to its complete and apex design.

Your hands scour to claim the roots of his hair again. This time, you hold no restraint and he loves it. He loves the radiance of confidence you find in every following second. You are claiming what is rightfully yours as his wife. As his one love that he will kill and die for without question. Though time and mortal breath dares to intrude and part you, you find ways around the schemes, momentarily gasping for air within the clash of your lips, too far entranced to pull away.

His hands glide up your sides until his thumbs are able to tease your stiffened nipples through the thin fabric, groaning at the noises you create from it, his touch sending those blissful tingles throughout your body. When time comes to see you both departed from your kiss, you each still remain to linger, tasting one another in the inch spared between you, chests heaving madly and brushing together. Dress pooled to a rolled belt over your waist, Bucky drinks in every detail of your body.

Why does he look at me like that?

His nose buries into you, nestling into the warmth and softness of your body as he utters phrases of praise to your skin, a trail of his devotion painted upon your skin with the invisible ink of his love and adoration for you.

“You feel what you do to me?” he asks, strong hands guiding your hips down to roll in unison with his, the swollen mound of his erect cock still suffering in confinement has you hiccuping in your stun.

Though your voice is light, you nod as you answer. “Yes.”

“That’s how fucking hot you are,” he says with a deep, velvety drawl, his words slightly muffled by the way his mouth caresses you. “You have me so hard right now, fuck, the things I wanna do to you, doll.”

His confession has you blushing.

He can’t possibly mean that…

He can’t help himself. He’s a man enslaved at your whim. Though you try to bring this madman to his senses with an embarrassed huff of his name, he only leans in to claim your lips with his, the melding of hunger brings you both into that feverish haze again. Tongues entangled with one another, Bucky’s hands paw and pluck the garments of your lingerie from your form, peeling away the details of floral patterns and lacy sheer to feel the heat of skin below, the way your muscles twitched under his touch.

You moan between the kiss and allow your hands to feel the soft tresses of his hair between your fingers, carefully weaving through the darkened locks and nails scratching at the roots against his scalp, a rumbling purr escaping him.

The rock of your hips move together, a desiring fire burning in your core to the point it borders on a painful ache between your legs. Your dress is discarded, left aside with your undressed garments to be reclaimed at a later time. He lays you on your back, your head nested atop the plush cushion of the pillows, bodies flush together without leaving so much as a morsel of space apart.

Entrapped by his lustful kiss, you thrust and grind your heated sex against him with shocking eager, a whine is tugged from your throat, unsure.

Bucky is quick to assure you of your arousal, that its intoxication is a vice wanted. He uses one arm to support his weight above, caging you, as his other takes hold of your thigh and gropes at it fervently while somewhere in the mixture haze his boxers are tossed aside. His swollen tip oozes with glistening, droplet streams, his size heavy and long that has a gasp escaping you.

W–will he fit?

Such worrisome thoughts are snuffed out like speckled embers as he deepens the kiss, tongues gliding together and moans and limbs entangle. His tip brushes over the sensitive spot of your clit and your hips take languid actions against his practised thrusts.

“It’s going to hurt at first,” he mutters across the skin of your jaw, “but it won’t for long. I’m right here, moya zvezda, I promise.”

A crystalline glint appears on the waterline of your eyes, a tender smile on your lips as your lips connect with a chaste kiss.

“I’m ready, Bucky…”

His blue eyes take the time to carefully read your expression. For a man so immersed in being so gentle and caring with you, you have come to know that with the very same hands he caresses you with – he has broken jaws, bloodied and bruised noses and strangled the very life of more than one person. He can tell when a man is lying just by looking into his eyes.

He sees you’re telling the truth. That you want this with him. You want him. Cock nudging at your folds, you push your legs a little wider to better accommodate his size after hearing him chuckle at the crimson blush creeping into your face, flustered at the thought of his entire cock sheathing inside you.

“Gonna fit all of me, my sexy little wife?” he’d teased with a wink.

His eyes retain their focus with yours as he pushes the head of his cock into your cunt, meeting the slight of resistance and surged forward, a sigh heavily laced on his breath that has his head bowing to press his forehead to yours, eyes scrunched tightly.

A hitched note on your throat is silenced, cut out with a high pitched whine as he sinks deeper and deeper, breaching past the wall of your hymen. Your nails mark their bite into his shoulders and down his back with angry red scars, tracing over the blackened inks already imprinted there.

Your walls constrict around the intrusion of him with a searing pierce that brings your tears to streak down your temples, chin slightly trembling, you feel Bucky’s lips hover over yours.

“O-ow,” you mewl, “It hurts…”

“I’ve got you, zvezda, I’m here.”

Your chest feels tight, suffocated, but his words comfort you. You cling to him tighter, thighs trembling at his sides and you feel his hand resume its place there, gentle to knead and rub soothing circles as he coaxes you through the blight of your pain.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he whispers to your lips, the crinkle of a smile forming on his features. Just as quickly as it had come, the pain subsides and you feel so full at the point where your bodies meet, you finally nod for him to continue.

He goes slowly.

He sets a rhythm paced to ease you into the forcing motion of his cock gliding through your hot, velvety walls that clamp and shudder with each movement he makes. Your gasps turn to softly sung moans as you begin to grind your hips to meet his and he smiles down at you. “There you go, love. That’s it, you’re taking me so well.”

“This body… so perfect, so beautiful… I love it, I love you.”

Another moan escapes you. He heaves a deep breath with every thrust, still focusing hard to keep this steadiness, until you moan for him,

“Bucky… please, I-I need…”

“What do you need, love? Tell me.”

“I– need more– please.”

He groans, the thought of ruthlessly fucking you with abandon crosses his mind in flashes, the way you’d look spread out while being pummeled by his cock that ruts into your pretty pussy until you’re stuffed full of his cum that it overspills as a creamy ring around his girthy base.

To fuck you the way of a mafia lord.

“You want that, sugar?” he asks, his voice sudden to drop lower into a silken, deepened purr with a darkened smirk. “You want to be fucked the way a mafia queen should be? H–hmph, you want it harder? Faster?”

You choke on the release of your words, sounding breathless, “Y-yes!”

Your walls clench tight around him, a series of moans spilling from your parted lips as he then picks up his pace, the incentive of your permission driving him to thrust harder, his hand fists and squeezes the flesh of your thigh within his grasp, holding you fast to him as he strikes deeply into your pussy. His muscles bend, curve and tense and your hands greedily explore every single portion of him, granting you this chance to be upheld by the prison of your thoughts that may hold you back later.

You howl, whine and cry – all for more, for him to keep going, to not stop. His body arches over yours, hands now ahold of you at the hips he uses the advantage of his strength and position to forcefully piston himself back and forth, back and forth until you’re writhing beneath him Your hands attach themselves to the veiny reins of his wrists, your hips arched up until your lower half is lifted for his leisure to fuck into that spot that has you seeing an galaxy of stars.

“Bucky– Bucky, oh Bucky!” you cry out.

“Fuck— yeah baby, fuck you sound beautiful, shit— baby, keep screaming my name, I want to hear you.” Each word is intensely laced with an exerted breath or guttural groan. “Fucking hell, zvezda, you look fucking amazing like that—”

“You’re taking my cock so well.”

“I’m never getting over the sight of this.”

His eyes burn with lust at the sight of your breasts bouncing without restraint, the shudder of your body with each clash of your thrusts, how your face contorts so beautifully with pleasure and the holstered grip of your legs hooking around his waist repeatedly only to falter each time after several pumps, only kept upright by his hold. A knot coils inside you, a tidal wave of pleasure coursing through your veins that sets your nerves aflame and your vocal cords to strain with every sound you make. The more and more he slams his cock into you, your neck is forced to arch back against the pillows with a pleasured shriek.

You call out to him, “Bucky, I— I’m gonna… ah!”

“Cum for me, doll, I wanna feel how tight your pretty pussy is around me.” Your back arches further as his tip continues to hit that spot and the sensational toying of his thumb rolls on your clit, eliciting a flourish of sparks to ignite until you’re suddenly overcome with a flush of white, that euphoric hit crashing over you while heat pours into every inch of your skin with your eyes rolling back.

You chant his name like a sacred prayer, the meaning of your vows imbued within your slurred, intoxicated mantra. He pants, hot and heavy in your ear,

“Shit, shit— fuuuck, baby— ‘mgonna cum, gonna cum for you. I want my seed in you, I want it in you so bad.”

His thrusts increase, the sound of skin slapping skin is erotically loud. You don’t want it to stop. You don’t want him to stop and so you beg him to keep going.

You continue to whine, low and cooing, walls stretching and clenching around him, milking him of his release that sweeps over him with a long, baritone and throaty moan. His head presses into the crook of your neck to suck at the skin of your collarbone, marking you with dark bruises of his love and possession as he paints your pussy with his seed. The air is faintly filled by the sound of oozing slick of your combined orgasms that leak and drip around his still thrusting cock.

The erratic pace in which his rhythm held eventually wanes, instead he moves to a slow-crawling grind to ease you off your combined highs. His chest rises and falls and you allow your eyes to admire his form above you, A balance of skin and ink layered in a thin coating of sweat, as is your own, the muscles of his body rippling with each motion he makes.

His hands release from your hips after he’s lowered you back down to the bed, allowing your body to succumb to the exhaustion undoubtedly taking hold of you. Your gaze meets his own, the colour of them haloed by the shine of tears and his heart yearns for you.

He fears he’s done something wrong and his hands quickly raise to caress your face, thumbs stroke over your cheeks.

“Moya zvezda, are you—”

“I’m…” you trail off, blinking rapidly to see him through the watery veil and you grin up at him and nod. He’s relieved to see that smile, coming to mirror it himself.

She’s okay. My girl’s okay.

You reach your hand up, the warmth of your palm contrasted by the cool adornment of your ring. Bucky leans his face into your touch. “You stayed… you didn’t—” Though your words fail you, Bucky sees what you mean to say in your eyes.

“Of course. You’re everything I ever wanted…” Your brows furrow, touched by the sincerity in his words. Before you is a man whose heart is held in your very hands. And his heart is one you wish to cherish, hold dear and never break. To think you almost bargained him off to another woman—

“Have me again tonight, zvezda. Have me any other night. I promise, I will be there every time, every moment.”

He doesn’t want a mistress. He wants me.

Those voices are gone, replaced by newer, kinder ones.

You’re perfect.

You’re beautiful.

I’m not scared anymore. Not with him.

You now realise that intimacy was never the threat. The voices in your head were.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Did you want some tissues?

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @mostlymarvelgirl @hollyseb @sebastianstansqueen @openup-yourmind @kandis-mom @calwitch @cjand10 @identity2212 @ashdoctor @missmarvelophilic @boobsbeesbongos @mrsnikstan @floralwsloki @mcira @schneeflocky @greatenthusiasttidalwave

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky au #bucky x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x reader smut

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