#i was still sobbing over crest

[serien-grl-22]

There I was, thinking that I've already hit my lowest point with Jason's death and then, Rick sent Leo.

[rowarn]

everyone stop what you're doing i just had an idea of simon who likes to edge himself.....omg....

afab!reader, no prns, edging obvi, ruined orgasm, simon being selfish <3 not edited oof

when he's fucking you, hips pumping in a rhythm that basically melts your brain. he's got you pinned beneath him in a press, legs spread obscenely wide so your knees are against the bed. he's got you stuck there under his massive weight. you can't do anything but stare up at him with wide eyes as he fucks you.

he looks so good above you, muscles flexing with every movement and his dark eyes lidded with pleasure that he's getting from working his fat cock into your dripping little cunt.

"fuck, that's good," he groans, blunt nails biting into the tender skin under your thighs, "feels so fuckin' good 'round me, love."

you clench around him at the sound of his voice and the corner of his lips twitches up at the blatant, shameless reaction you have to him. he brings one hand up to his mouth, meeting your eyes in a heated stare as he licks the pad of his thumb, quickly bringing it down to press against your swollen clit -- twitchy and sensitive from neglect since he'd just settled for fucking you so far.

"you gettin' close?" he practically coos, making you whimper. the sound goes straight to his cock and god, he loves the sounds you make, "yeah, i know, pretty thing...i treat you real good, don't i?"

you're tightening up around him and he practically feels the breath punch out of his lungs. you're getting close; he's learned all your tells by now. the way your back arches and your mouth open as you whimper his name. you get wetter and wetter, gooey cunt making a nice little mess for him to fuck into. it makes lewd, squelching noises as he sinks balls deep with a slow roll of his hips.

"s-so close, simon!" you cry out, blindly reaching your hands down to press against his hips.

you always do that -- it's adorable. you actually think that'll stop him from sinking deep, deep inside. his cock knocks against your back well, the little pang of pain making your body twitch. usually, he bats your hands away just to be mean and watch you whine. you really think your trembling hands would be enough to stop the powerful movements of his hips.

he's close to his own end. his cock throbs the closer he gets with every deep thrust he gives you. both of you racing to your ends -- it would be so sweet to cum together, he thinks.

but he knows that's not going to happen.

it's his favorite thing to do. he just can't explain what it is he loves about it.

just when his orgasm starts to crest he pulls his cock free from the hot clutch of your cunt. he feels a little bad, he knows you had just fallen over the edge as he did -- leaving you nothing to cum around, little pussy clenching and cumming all empty and no pleasure from it. a sob tears free from your chest and the sound goes straight to his cock. you squirm under his weight as he watches his own cock twitch against your drooling cunt from his own denial, willing himself not to cum untouched at the sight of you cryin' for him. he closes his eyes and waits for his orgasm to wane before he looks at you again.

"simon..." you practically wail in despair, drawing his gaze up to your face. and fuck, you're so sweet for him.

your eyes are teary and he clicks his tongue, "sorry, love...that was mean of me, huh?"

you nod your head, pouting up at him. despite the ruined orgasm, you're still sensitive enough to twitch beneath him when he sinks his cock back into you with a swift grind of his hips.

"let me make it up to you, yeah?"

your sweet, trusting eyes makes his heart melt and he almost feels bad. almost.

because he knows for the rest of the night, he's going to be edging himself using your pretty little pussy until he finally decides he's ready to cum. and he's not going to care if you actually properly cum or not, because this is gonna be about him using you.

by the end of the night, his cocks so hard that it fucking hurts. he'd edged himself more times than he could count, the more he did the less time he got in between. he started simply dipping his length into you and pulling it right back out, eyes rolling at the sticky strings that connected the head to your clenching hole.

"please, simon...please, please, please..." you're breathlessly begging. he has no clue if you'd even properly cum the entire night, he had practically entered a trance and become a mindless beast thinking only with his cock. theres tears on your cheeks, dried and new and the sight is so lovely that he wants to take a picture and keep it on him at all times.

he finally takes mercy, however. your pretty little clit is so swollen and he just has to press his fingers against it. it's so sensitive that you almost immediately start cumming -- this time around his cock, he makes sure of it.

you pull him over the edge with you, letting him dump a nice, hot load into your pussy while you cum nice and hard around him.

when you sag into the bed and sniffle, cutely reaching out for a hug, he can't help but press a kiss against your forehead <3

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Instinct (S.R.)

Summary: Spencer explains the biology of sex to Reader during the act. Request: Spencer Reid explaining what happens to your body during an orgasm while giving you one 🥵 Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Fingering, biological processes, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, mild degradation/dumbification Word Count: 1k

MASTERLIST

When you find yourself in Spencer’s bed, there is no time to wonder what led you there. You have no interest in debating it, either. Your attention is diverted, devoted to more pressing things—things like the feel of his hands on your hips and his lips on your neck.

You’d never even allowed yourself to wonder what instinct drove you straight into his arms… not until his mouth shifts to your ear.

“Do you want to know why you’re really here?” he asks.

You nod before you’ve even considered the question.

This was the correct answer, and he rewards you by sneaking a hand between your thighs.

“You’re here because I want you to be,” he says, “and humans are, at their core, simple animals acting on the same instinct as everything else.”

You try to focus on the words he’s saying but you’re too caught up in how beautiful his voice sounds. You are also distracted by his fingers that gently cup your heat.

He pauses, his chest heaving with excitement as he taunts, “You wanna feel good, right?”

You try to nod, but he’s already speaking.

“I know, sweetheart.”

Mercifully, two fingers slide between slick folds. Your back arches forward, seeking to feel the weight of his body but he stays too far away.

He just watches you with a clever smirk. Your stomach tenses under the lustful gaze, but you say nothing.

It’s the right answer.

“You know, your brain actually changes when I touch you like this,” he chuckles.

His fingers continue to trace the outline of your heat but fail to breach the entrance. He is movingly entirely too slow and seems to be taking far too much pleasure in your squirming. 

“The part of your brain that dictates your values and how to make decisions… that’s long gone.”

You know you’re supposed to nod, but you whimper, instead.

“No fear, no anxiety, no pain,” he hums, “your mind can only focus on one thing…”

“Please,” you beg.

He punishes your interruption by sinking both fingers into you without warning.

“Me,” he confirms, “All you can think about is how to get me to keep touching you like this.”

You cry out for him, reach for him like a tether.

He more than lets you. He revels in your nails digging into his skin.

“Your heart and lungs are working so hard, but they can’t keep up.”

Spencer’s motions are faster, his fingers thrusting into you with a ruthless pace. Exactly as he said, you are gasping for air between desperate moans.

But he just prattles on, still sporting that dark, almost condescending smirk.

“Do you want to know why your thalamus is active during sex? It’s because it helps integrate memories. Memories about touch and those secret last-second thoughts just before you fall apart.”

You can’t focus enough to even try to conjure a fantasy beyond his fingers that you are figuratively and literally wrapped around.

He has you exactly where he wants you at the precipice of oblivion. Only then does he remove his fingers and drags them over the swollen pearl at your crest.

“What are you thinking about?” he teases.

“You,” you gasp.

It’s the right answer.

Spencer is quick to kiss you, his lips crashing against yours while his fingers feverishly stroke at the most sensitive part of you. His tongue sneaks between your teeth until you feel there is no part of you he hasn’t claimed.

You sob against his lips while your body writhes beneath him. You tremble with tension and overwhelming relief until you collapse back into the bed.

Spencer, though, seems unfazed by your exhaustion. Instead, he pulls his hand back and continues his lecture despite your glazed-over eyes.

“Now you’re here. Dopamine is rushing through your body. You might think it’s just about pleasure, but you’re actually learning.”

He stalks closer, crawling over your half-limp body. His eyes are still burning with that same predatory look.

“Right now your body is telling you that I know how to fulfill your needs and it’s trying to figure out how to make sure I’ll do it again and again and again.”

With the same hand he used to touch you, Spencer touches himself.

“But see, this is where it happens. These formative moments when you’re nothing but a blissful mess, that’s how I make sure you come back to my bed.”

He lines himself up against aching folds. He groans at the nearly formed wetness, but he hesitates to push forward.

“Right now your body is begging you to find someone, anyone to take care of you,” he says with great satisfaction. “This is the most important moment, when your blood coursing with dopamine, oxytocin, vasopressin, and prolactin…”

Then, right before he fills you past your breaking point, he chuckles against your lips.

“This is where you fall in love.”

As if on command, your body clings to him. You wrap all your limbs around him and try to bring him closer somehow.

But he’s already too close. Each time his hips crash into yours, you can feel him bottom out with an almost euphoric jolt of pain.

You can feel it, the truth in everything he’s said. His skin burns into yours as your heart struggles to keep up with the slew of sensations. Your chest, face, and neck are on fire, and he seems dedicated to trying to quell that heat with feverish lips.

After what feels like forever and not nearly long enough, he fucks you even harder. His teeth sink into your neck and the almost-pain makes you shiver.

“Do it again,” he growls against bruised skin, “Come for me.”

With a particularly brutal thrust, he fills you until you have no other choice. Your body snaps, seizes around him and begs him to reward you one final time.

You feel the gentle waves of warmth, the heavy throbbing of his cock as he joins you in the bliss. Your bodies begin to slow from frantic motions until you are left cradled in an exhausted embrace.

Spencer moves just enough to be able to kiss you, soft and slow and without any hint of pain.

And you know that… is exactly why you're there.

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

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Thanks for reading!

[mx-monster]

request: male rabbit monster x human (any gender) dubcon

M!rabbit monster x f!human

cw: heat/rut cycle, dubcon,

It was a such normal morning.

You were startled awake by the piercing shriek of your alarm. You dragged yourself from the comfort of your bed, ate breakfast, got ready for work, clocked in five minutes before your shift and sat at your desk.

A morning like any other morning. No hint that something was wrong. No sign that your whole world was about to be turned upside down.

Until your boss called you into his office. Until you damn near fell over from shock at the sight of your boss fisting his large cock. Until you were pressed up against the wall with his arms planted on either side of your head. His face buried in you neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive flesh.

“I’m sorry,” your boss whispered. But his apparent remorse didn’t stop him from grinding his hard cock against your thigh. His hand stuffed down your panties, rubbing your clit and dipping his fingers into your cunt. To say that you were stunned was an understatement. While rabbit monsters often got stereotyped as walking HR nightmares that didn’t think about anything other than food and fucking, your boss had been nothing but professional with his employees.

“Uh, Sir,” you managed to stammer out, “would you like me to call someone?”

“No,” he groaned into your neck, hot breath sending pleasurable chills down your spine, “I need you.”

While you weren’t an expert on rabbit monster heat and rut cycles, you knew enough to know that they were frequent and brutal. Often reducing the rabbit monster to their basest instincts.

You swallowed thickly, “Sir, you aren’t in your right mind right now.”

Your boss, the man who you’ve seen reduce grown men and women to tears, whimpered.

“Please,” he was full on sobbing now, but his hips remained unrelenting. Continuously grinding into your thigh searching for relief. “I need it. I need you.”

Heat pooled into your stomach at the desperation bleeding into his words.

“Okay,” you relented. You just hoped that you wouldn’t be the one to regret this.

That was all he needed.

There was no time for grace and finesse. He hiked up your skirt, pulled your panties to the side and thrusted into you.

“Thank you,” he whined in relief as his thick cock speared your swollen pussy. He set a brutal pace, fucking into you with wild abandon. With no care about the ethical codes you were violating or the dozens of employees right outside the door.

Sharp pain melded with molten hot pleasure. You bit down on your lip in a desperate attempt to keep you noises down. You were failing epically. The harsh thrust of his hips punctuated by the tell tale thump of you bodies hitting the wall. Your whines, his desperate growls, the squelch of your wet sex all melded together in a debauched song of primal fucking. There’s no way nobody knows what you two are doing.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Your mind grew increasingly obsessed with the fullness, blocking out any rational thought. You focused only on the orgasm you were rapidly careening towards. You reached the crest of pleasure with a broken sob. Pussy spasming around his cock, your vision whited out at the force of your orgasm

On a whim you reached up and gripped both of his long, snowy white ears and pulled. He snarled, throwing his head back as he pumped you full of his hot seed.

“You’re definitely getting a raise. If we both still have jobs, that is.”

[hans-wh0re]

A.N: this is a drabble that m thinking of expanding as a fic

"Fuck, that's it baby..." Hyunjin rasped out in a low, filthy growl that made you shudder. His scorching gaze raked over your lewd display through the phone's lens - spine in a debauched arch, mouth fallen slack with blissed-out moans as you eagerly speared yourself on his thick length again and again.

The harsh smacking of skin on skin reverberated through the room in tandem with your desperate, cloying whimpers. Each time you ground your asscheeks flush against his pelvis, Hyunjin's cock would split you apart with that soul-shattering *stretch* that had stars bursting behind your screwed-shut eyelids.

"Nnghh...that slutty little cunt just can't get enough, huh?" he rasped out, voice gone rough with lust. "Taking my cock like you were made for it."

Hyunjin shifted positions then, grabbing a fistful of your sweat-damp locks to wrench your head back at a punishing angle. You gurgled out a pitchy whine past your spit-slick lips as he brought the phone up unbearably close, the lens zeroing in on your ruined, slack-jawed expression with sadistic focus.

"Look at you..." he sneered in dark gratification, studying your glazed, vacant features. "Such a desperate cum-hungry slut. Is this what you wanted? To be my personal fuck-puppet while i records just how much of a messy little whore you are?"

Despite his cruel vitriol, you could only keen out a shuddering, mewling whimper of bliss. Lost in a hedonistic vortex of sensation, you mindlessly shoved your hips back to impale yourself in one long, shuddering grind on the punishing density of his cock.

Hyunjin hissed out a harsh breath through gritted teeth at the feeling of your abused, sloppy hole fluttering and clenching around him in spasming milks. That iron-hard length somehow managed to split you open even wider as he surged in with a vicious snap of his hips. Thick ropes of your essence immediately started to dribble free in vulgar gouts, trickling down over your puffy folds to soak the bedsheets beneath you both.

"That's right you little whore..." he growled, nostrils flaring. Using his grip in your hair, Hyunjin pulled your face up and forced you to meet the camera's gaze while he treated you like a twisted little pocket pussy.

"Give the people what they want. Drool all over yourself while i utterly ruins this messy fuckhole..."

He punctuated the threat with a series of harsh, pounding jackhammer thrusts that instantly punched a shrill, gurgling wail past your swollen lips. Drool collected obscenely at the corners of your mouth as your eyes rolled back in delirious rapture - you were completely gone, nerves thrumming from the onslaught of sensation.

Everything became a spiraling vortex of feral rutting, filthy squalor, and erotic bliss. Hyunjin's physique glistened with a sweat-sheened sheen as he plowed into your squelching, convulsing cunt with relentless, animalistic fervor. The room filled with a cacophony of your pitchy howls, his rough grunts, and the lewd wet sounds of your essence being messily reamed.

The camera (and subsequently Hyunjin's burning stare) didn't miss a single degrading second - greedily capturing every graphic detail of your debauched defilement. And still you craved more, grinding back to meet his brutal thrusts with wanton keening whines.

Stars exploded across your vision as Hyunjin buried himself in one last cruel, obliterating grind that had you choking out a ragged, open-mouthed sob. He held you there impaled on the swollen, pulsating crest of his cock as rich, viscous ropes of seed immediately began pumping into your abused, fluttering hole.

"That's it, sweetheart...fucking milk me..." he snarled against the sweaty nape of your neck, voice utterly guttural with possession. "Take every fucking drop like the filthy cumdump you are..."

[shooting-love-arrows]

Hi! Can I request more on the Yandere! Barabarian? I dont of anything specif besides that but, maybe about his and darlings' life now after marriage?

Hello to you too @misfortunateleprechaun,

Here it is! Hope to hear from you again and have a nice day (even if it's not a daytime)!

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 and marriage headcanons

PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 x reader (gender not mentioned/specified/implied) Tw. kidnapping, implied murder, blood, possessive tendencies, raids, marking, (at the end) horny yandere, grinding, mention of sex but nothing specific. A/N: There's a mention of a random name and celebration so don't fret that you don't know about something. Everything here is made up!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

When you are officially married to 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧, you not only become his lifelong partner and a soul connected to his own for all of eternity but you also become one of his people. This means everything related to your past should end up just like your village – turned to ashes. Forgotten and left behind. The only good things your parents did were creating you. The village? Don’t make him laugh! He never saw a more pathetic excuse of one before in his life. So stop wasting your tears on them and embrace your new family and him!

“Shh…my treasure…shhh…” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 tried to console you. Even when you continue to trash in his hold, hit him in the chest repeatedly or scratch at him, he only brought you closer and tightened his hold on you. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 didn’t understand why you were acting like that, hysterically sobbing and pushing him away. Nor ever was he forced to comfort the person who was acting like that. “Why are you shedding tears for them? Shhh... Let’s celebrate Night Of Miracles (made up celebration) with your new husband and family, hm?”

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 teaches you about his culture and language. In those quiet moments shared between you, sitting by fire, he tries his best to be a teacher (and he fails miserably). Although he’s a scholar by no means, he truly wants to make you feel like you belong. To make you understand that what he did and was doing was good. And he finds it amusing when he has to point things out to you like to a toddler. What he can’t teach you about, he requests for someone in his tribe to take his place (of course not without marking you beforehand just to be sure everyone will know who you belong to).

“...and that’s why Trinus I (made up character) brought his beloved the head of his first wife.” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 finished the old tale and sighed in content. The story leaves you more traumatized than you already are. There were a few seconds of silence, before he smirked cheekily. “Now, let me tell you about their wedding night.”

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 marks you a lot and daily. Either by leaving big and deep hickeys in the most visible places or by braiding your hair in a similar way, making you wear his family crest/sigli, offering his clothes to wear and so on. One thing for certain, everyone must know (if they don’t already) that you’re his.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 could only admire you when you walked out of your shared tent, wearing his shirt, hair braided with similar braids to his and hickeys displayed on your neck. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 didn’t know whether to be more aroused or start trotting like a peacock. 

Just like any good husband, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 brings you all sorts of gifts from his raids. It doesn’t matter if you want something or not. Either way, he’s going to bring all sorts of objects to choose from. 

“W-what is it?” Your voice cracked after 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 pulled away from a searing ‘welcome back’ kiss. He was still covered in blood, sweaty, smelling like smoke and panting heavily. But what caught your attention was a big woolen bag thrown over his shoulder, material stretched to the max.  𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 only smirked and you watched, horrified, as he carelessly let the items from the bag spill on the floor. You saw clothes, silver dinnerware, money, jewelry (is that a finger with a ring still on?) and many other knick knacks. You gulped thickly. “For you!” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 proudly announced and puffed out his chest.

(NSFW-ish) A lot of sex. This man has high libido and – just like all barbarians – are led by their carnal desires. It’s guaranteed he’s going to bed you on a daily basis. It doesn’t matter where or when. If he wants to have sex with you, then he’s going to do so. It’s especially rough when he returns from raids or hunting trips, covered in sweat and oozing with adrenaline and need of you. Those are wild nights ~

“I need you…” 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 growled in your ear and aggressively nuzzled his nose in your neck. Since the moment his body touched yours, he started grinding into you. He just loved your scent. It was working on him like an aphrodisiac, turning him into an untamable beast ready to devour you. His chapped lips continue to aggressively leave a trail of wet kisses from your earlobe, down your neck and – after tearing open your loose shirt – your shoulder. “I fucking want you. Now.”

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

[azzibuckets]

now that we don’t talk part 1 [paige bueckers]

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: you and paige break up and neither of you know how to move on properly with your life

a/n: decided to go for some angst again…didn’t really have an aim or a direction when writing this so not sure if i should turn this into a series or not ? lmk what yall think

word count: 1.5k

masterlist | next

The First Week

In the first week, Paige had fallen into her daily routine. Her moments of forgetfulness were instinctual; she’d laid a dollop of minty Crest toothpaste on her blue toothbrush before doing the same thing to your red one, leaving it hanging over the edge of the counter.

The first time she did it, she’d hadn’t even noticed. It was only when she’d turned her mouth to catch the water under the faucet that she’d spotted your toothbrush that she’d set up, ready with Crest, as if you’d pop in any moment to stick it in your mouth and start scrubbing. Paige had almost choked on the water she’d been gurgling, grief worming its way up her throat and making it hard to breathe.

Heaving, she’d stood over the sink, hand gripping both sides of the counter to support herself until her knuckles turned white. It took all her strength not to buckle over from the precipitous wave of agony that had collided into her with gut-wrenching speed.

But for some reason, Paige had stuck your toothbrush under the stream of water then placed it carefully back in its cup. And so she’d made the same mistake the day after. This time, when she realized what she’d done, it wasn’t the weight of sadness that compressed her lungs, but a brewing storm of fury. Her vision had gone red, and she’d grabbed the toothbrush and hurled it against the wall as hard as she could, with a strength that she didn’t even know that she’d still had. And this time, when Paige stared at the toothpaste dripping slowly down the wall, mocking her as it made a mess on the floor, the counter couldn’t save her. She’d succumbed to the force of her fury dragging her down, and had crumpled to the floor, sobs racking her body.

The First Month

Your room was dark, in almost sub-freezing temperatures with the windows wide open to welcome in the frosty, bone-chilling winter air that Connecticut was known for. The only light in the room came from the dim glow of your laptop screen, opened live to the UConn women’s basketball game playing live on ESPN.

At first, you’d attempted to be nonchalant whenever Paige sunk yet another basket with ease, making the crowd and commentators going feral as she celebrated with her signature moves. But as the game between UConn and Stanford got closer and closer, you couldn’t help but smile when Paige crossed over her defense, sending them flying to the floor and leaving her wide open to score yet another 3. It reminded you all too well of the Paige you’d met and fallen in love with, whose confidence on the court had made you start viewing her as more than just your teammate.

But any trace of smile on your face quickly vanished once you watched Paige’s post-game interview during the livestream. “You’ve had quite a run this season despite being out for most of your sophomore and junior year due to injury. Who would you like to thank for your unpredented comeback?”

“I’d like to thank God. He’s been with me through everything, given me trials to test my resilience. In fact, he’s made me stronger than ever.” Paige had paused. You’d recognized her hesitance; the way she nibbled her bottom lip, her mouth half open as she debated a response, the uncertainty in her eyes as they flickered. But she seemed to recover from any reluctance, and what she said next made your heart drop. “I’d also like to thank my girlfriend, Leslie.” She motioned to someone off camera, and soon the frame was filled with tousled brown hair and soft green eyes.

Paige pulled her in close, and your world spun as you watched Paige, your Paige, press her lips against the brunette. Your hands had reached up to tear your headphones off your head, unable to further listen to the claps and hoots of the crowd along with the cooing of the commentators without feeling the need to throw up. But before you could, Paige had started speaking again. Your hands froze. You hated yourself for it, but you had to listen.

“She’s been with me through everything, from freshman year to now. She was my number one supporter when I got injured.” She wrapped her arm around Leslie’s waist, staring intently at the camera, and never before had you been this sickened staring at the blue eyes you’d once adored, could’ve spent hours getting lost in. “But even outside of my injury, Les has been on my side. Especially with all the immature drama that happened on the court last year, she was really a clear voice in all of that. So I’m pretty grateful for her.”

Leslie’s mouth split into a grin, and she turned to pull Paige in for another kiss, and that was when you slammed your laptop so hard that when you opened it the next morning, you were surprised to see that the screen hadn’t shattered.

You were not someone who cried. Your family members, your friends, Paige could all attest to that. But the torment that was clawing its way through your body, threatening to suffocate you, finally exploded. Tears had surged from your eyes, seemingly never ending, and you’d cried so much that night that it suddenly made sense why you’d almost never cried before; it was like all the tears in your life had been pent up, waiting for this moment, for when the pin fell.

That night was the lowest you’d ever felt in your life, and possibly even the lowest you’ve ever acted - blinded by a jealous rage over the girl that Paige had always promised you not to worry about, the girl Paige was basically making out with on live television just one month after you guys had broken up (and when it’d taken her two years to show PDA with you), you’d gone on all your social media accounts and blocked Paige on every single one of them.

Then an idea came to you. An act of retaliation that would hurt Paige as much as she hurt you. So you’d reopened Twitter, unblocked Paige. You’d scrolled until you found the perfect tweet. Your thumb had hovered for a split second over the like button, haunted by images of Paige’s hand trailing your stomach, her hair brushing your eyes, her mouth on your neck, before it was violently replaced by the image of Paige locking lips with the brunette flooding your mind, causing you to jam your thumb down with ferocity on the like button. You’d slammed the final nail in the coffin by deleting the app so that you couldn’t go back and undo your action before word got around to Paige.

The First Year

You thought you knew grief. You thought you’d familiarized yourself with every aspect of mourning: the realization in the morning, when your eyes open and you lose the blissful state of dreaming and you’re confronted with the harsh truths of the world. Or the late nights, when you’re restless and can’t sleep because of jealousy plaguing your mind. Even the deep longing of missing someone’s touch so bad that you swear that you can almost almost smell their perfume.

So you thought you knew grief - until your grandma died. It had been a matter of time. She’d had breast cancer, and for years now the doctors had been saying any time. But that still didn’t prepare you for the overwhelming pain that consumed all your senses, making it hard to think or eat or sleep or even breathe.

The first few nights after you received the news, you stared at the ceiling, unblinking until the early hours of the morning when the sun started creeping up through your windows. But you couldn’t even cry; you felt like a broken faucet. What the fuck was wrong with you? Sobbing over your stupid ex that you’d broken up with an entire year ago, but unable to shed a tear for your grandma, the woman who had single-handedly raised you. You were exhausted to the point of no return. When would everything stop hurting?

You’d only torn your eyes from your ceiling when your phone had lit up. It was 4 AM, and you wondered who it could be. You checked your phone, and every part of your body froze when you read the notifications.

TWITTER

From: paigebueckers1

I’m so sorry

TWITTER

From: paigebueckers1

I just heard the news

TWITTER

From: paigebueckers1

Don’t know if you’re even active on here anymore but it’s the only way I could reach you. If you see this, I just want to ask you to not keep your grief to yourself. Isolating yourself won’t make the pain go away. Make sure to talk to someone

Your heart had ached, your phone trembling in your hand. Because Paige had cared enough to send you a message, on the same app where you’d given the tabloids a wet dream and caused the UConn fandom to go into a spiral by liking a hate tweet about Paige. She’d cared enough to disregard all that to make sure you were okay. But she still hadn’t cared enough to offer to be that someone that she wanted you to talk to so bad.

So you’d left her on read, without responding. Had slipped back into your sheets, your head pounding and your lungs aching. This time the tears fell out easily.

[ink-n-shadow]

Plz plz plz write some Gaz smut! Yes I am begging. Yes I am desperate!!

can we talk about boyfriend’s ex best friend!gaz x reader? is that a controversial au—

𝜗𝜚 pairing: boyfriend's ex best friend!gaz x afab!reader (reader has afab!genitalia) 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut (minors—DNI), infidelity (but your boyfriend cheats on you too so it's justified?), lowkey power dynamic?, oral (reader!receiving), thigh riding, sweet!kyle, unedited

like your boyfriend and kyle have a falling out one night, and you stop seeing kyle showing up when your boyfriend hosts boys’ night at your shared apartment. your boyfriend brushes it off, simply labeling kyle as a douchebag and telling you not to worry about it.

and you don’t even think about kyle ever again until one night when he mysteriously shows up at your door. it would be a nigjt your boyfriend had gone out with his other friends, leaving you alone at your shared apartment with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek.

you’re confused as to why kyle’s even there until he’s showing you a photo on his phone, and although it’s quite grainy and shaky, it’s unmistakably a photo of your boyfriend at a bar downtown. there’s some blonde woman perched on his lap, her arms strewn around his neck and their tongues plunged down the others’ throat.

“dunno how long ‘s been goin’ on for—figured you deserved to know though,” kyle murmurs softly as he pockets his cell phone once more, eyebrows pulled up in a sympathetic grimace when he notices the tears quickly beginning to crest in your lashes.

he was fully planning to leave after showing you, but when you all but stumble forward and crumble into his arms with a wavering sob, he can’t help but lead you over to the couch and comfort you with soft words and gentle caresses.

and neither of you are fully aware of how you ended up here, both fully naked and you grinding needily against the rippled muscles of kyle’s thigh. the tears that had slicked your cheeks are long since dried, mainly thanks to the way kyle gently lapped them up with his tongue as his fingers trickled down your heated flesh. kyle has his teeth buried in your throat, nipping and marking the sensitive skin as you cover his thigh in your slick.

“y’don’t know ‘ow long i’ve been wantin’ this, petal,” kyle pants hoarsely against your throat, honeyed eyes fluttering up to meet yours as his hands grip tightly at your hips and pull you further against his thigh. “just wanna treat you right—lemme treat you good, pretty.”

and you can’t help but let kyle spread you out across the sofa, swollen lips mapping down your body as he shuffles between your spread thighs. he doesn’t even let you take a moment of reprieve before he’s diving tongue first into your blistering heat, the lewdest moan ripping through his chest as the flavor of your cunt explodes on his tastebuds. he can’t even fight the way his eyes roll to the back of his skull, fingers tightening around your inner thighs to keep you still as he pulls you apart with his lips and tongue.

you’re so lost in the heat coiling its way through your nerves that you don’t notice the front door being opened with a key, don’t notice the way your boyfriend is stood in the doorway with his jaw on the floor and fire burning in his pupils. you’re too busy falling apart on kyle’s tongue that you don’t realize the way his eyes are locked on your boyfriend as he licks you clean, the look of pure hatred in his eyes enough to send your boyfriend scurrying back out the way he came.

[uhohdad]

(18+) ABUSE & NON-CONSENSUAL THEMES

⁺₊ ⭑⁺₊ ⭑₊⋆⁺₊ ⁺₊ ⭑⁺₊ ⭑₊⋆⁺₊ ⁺₊ ⭑⁺₊ ⭑₊⋆⁺₊

König Voiceline Inspired Drabbles

“I can make you talk.”

⁺₊ ⭑⁺₊ ⭑₊⋆⁺₊ ⁺₊ ⭑⁺₊ ⭑₊⋆⁺₊ ⁺₊ ⭑⁺₊ ⭑₊⋆⁺₊

“This is a huge misunderstanding! I just got lost!”

The coarse ropes around your wrists and ankles are unforgiving, a rashy burn igniting your skin with each desperate thrash against them. Another length of thick, scratchy rope is snug to the space between your chest and your stomach, keeping your back flush with the chair you’re secured to.

You have no idea if anyone can even hear your echoed pleas, the blindfold tied tightly around the back of your head sparing you from your unbearably quiet, freezing prison.

“Please!”

Your voice is raw and sniveling, tears soaking into your blindfold before they can crest your cheeks. You end on a whine, your head lulling forward in defeat.

The sound of a heavy metal door creaking open floods the room, and your head perks up with a gasp.

“Please, please - help me!”

You get no response, only the sound of heavy bootsteps as they approach. Intimidating and confident, each slow, rhythmic step making you brace a little tighter.

You suck in a breath through your teeth, shoulders pulled up and body trembling in your chair.

“Please,” You whisper, your shaky plea made of only breath, “I’m not supposed to be here.”

The bootsteps come to a stop in front of you, the sound of your squeaky, stuttered breaths following.

“No, you’re not.”

You flinch at your captor’s voice, rough and gravelly and stern, certainly not the voice of the savior you were praying for.

“So what are you doing here, hm?”

“I-” Your mouth is dry, words cracked and broken, “I got lost- Please! I made a wrong turn and I got lost! I- I didn’t mean-”

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

He scoffs.

“What business does a brat like you have all the way out here?”

“Wh- it was - my friend! She got drunk, she needed me to pick her up from a- a party.”

His laughs, loud and hearty and truly gut-wrenching.

“There’s nothing out here but us.”

“Y- It was a woods, thing. I don’t know! Some rave in the middle of nowhere, I swear!”

He laughs again, this one low and sinful, a deep hum stitched in.

“Nice try, liebling.”

There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his low, raspy whisper is inches from your face. The heat of his breath on your cheek sends a shudder down your spine.

“But I don’t believe you.”

You let out a whine, your mouth parting and your brows pinching behind your blindfold.

“Who sent you here, liebling?”

“No one!”

He keeps his face inches from yours, surely enjoying the front row seat to your stammering bottom lip and your pathetic snivels.

“No one?” He asks, tone strict.

The ropes dig further into your skin at your heaved sob.

“I just got lost!”

Your captor laughs again, deep and weighty, a sound that makes your insides twist and forces another whine from your lips.

“I have to admit-”

The cocky smirk on his lips is palpable, dripping from his words and searing your skin on contact.

“I was hoping you would make this difficult for me, liebling.”

You flinch when a large, coarse glove gently melds the side of your face, a gentle thumb hooking underneath your jaw to keep your head titled up at him.

“Usually I prefer more -”

He hums in the tune of condescension as he chooses his next words.

“- Standard methods of torture - ”

He ignores your squirms and your nearly unintelligible, breathy pleas, his hand keeping your head firmly in place.

“But it’s been awhile since I’ve gotten to play with a toy as pretty as you.”

Your body stills, breaths ceasing and heart pounding against your restraints at the implication of his threatening words - spoken with an arrogant, yet eerily soft tongue.

Your captor’s gloved thumb grazes over your chin, pulling down on your plush bottom lip and watching it spring into place once released. He guides your face to the side, soft fabric smoothing against your skin as he places a lingering, clothed kiss on your cheek.

The heart beating furiously in your chest halts at the sound of his pant zipper coming undone.

When he pulls away, he keeps his low, whispered words right in your ear.

“Maybe if I take that sweet little voice away from you, you’ll be eager to use it when I give it back.”

⁺₊ ⭑⁺₊ ⭑₊⋆⁺₊ ⁺₊ ⭑⁺₊ ⭑₊⋆⁺₊ ⁺₊ ⭑⁺₊ ⭑₊⋆⁺₊

“They are no match for me”

“Let’s be honest, it’s better off in my hands”

[lalunanymph]

BLACKMAIL KISS — h. ran

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── a single night of rebellion against your husband, the mayor of Tokyo, in an underground Roppongi club, traps you right in Haitani Ran's web of blackmail and deceit—where every move you make could potentially be your last one.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── a bonten!haitani ran miniseries inspired by hametsu no itte

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── bonten timeline, fem!reader, wife!reader, reader is feminine coded (wears dresses, heels, makeup) DARK CONTENT, blackmail, political drama, HEAVY TOPICS PROCEED WITH CAUTION, orgasm control, petnames (good girl, slut), flashbacks, sir kink, suspension bondage, audio kink, blindfolds, voyuerism, previous master kink, past flings (ran), mentions of public play, nipple play, penetrative sex (like FINALLY)

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── bittersweet blackmail with this playlist

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ─── masterlist

#3: when the curtains call the time

“R-Ran—”

Your soft whimper was cut off by the low squelching sounds of your fingers connecting with your heat.

His voice was a calm exhale, low and sensual like expensive silk. “Are you close, slut?” 

You nodded, though he couldn’t see you over the line. “Yes, Sir,” you amended, lifting your hips, hungrily pressing your phone harder to your ear to catch snatches of his deep, erotic growl. 

“Good girl. Get to the edge for me.” 

Working on your clit faster, your erratic circles soon had you poised over the edge, ready to spill all over your palm; days which turned into weeks of denial and edging left you sensitive enough to get to the crest of your pleasure easier. 

“I’m close,” you huffed, eyes roving up to the ceiling, imagining it was paneled with mirrors like a bedroom you often fantasize about. “Can I cum, Sir?” 

Realistically, you knew he would never let you spill, let alone get that close to the edge. But, for the sake of your sanity, you held out for the slimmest glimmer of hope that Ran would change his mind. Your bedroom door was firmly locked, the maids ordered to not disturb your beauty sleep, your husband already in the office and unaware of your devious doings.

“Hmm, let me think it through…” he trailed off, and you knew better than to stop touching yourself. “Ha. I think if you want to cum, you need to do something for me first.”

“Anything.” The agreement slipped past your lips easily, a barely controlled thought which sealed your fate the second Ran chuckled. 

“Anything? You’re so precious,” he cooed. “Well, if you insist…” 

Nothing could prepare you for his next words.

“I want you to inform your husband to focus his raids on Sumida,” Ran started, leaving both your body and mind wrought with tension at the mention of Makko. “He’s pushing Azabu too much, yeah? But, nearby the river is where he’ll flush out the gang he’s finding for. If you direct him to it… maybe I might let you cum.” 

Sugar coating his intentions, Ran sighed. “It’s been so long since you last came, huh? I bet you dream about it—fantasize about it. I want you to cum, too. I bet you’d look so pretty breaking all over my cock.”

You physically throbbed at his words, suddenly at a loss for words. “Ngh, S-Sir—I-I don’t know if I c-can—”

“You can,” Ran urged. “You’re my slut. And I only pick the best sluts. You can get the job done, beautiful.” He sighed, sounding completely mournful when he whispered, “Now, stop touching yourself, beautiful. Have you stopped touching?”

Hiccuping back a sob, your body pulsed with the familiar pangs of denial, your pussy sensitive enough to need a single lick or stroke to have you careen down the edge. Your mind was filled with cotton, ears ringing like you were standing under a waterfall. But, still. You obeyed him.

“Yes, Sir. I stopped.”

“Good girl,” Ran’s praise soaked into your soul, making you feel warm and glowing on the inside. “Tell me how it goes. I’ll be here for you, beautiful. Once you get it done, come over to my penthouse. I have a surprise waiting for you.”

Clicking the call off, you were met with the stinging rejection of the dial tone and your own body’s denied impulses. 

Ran’s words swam in your head, and you wondered how you would accomplish such a feat. Once the fog of desire rolled over, you were left with the stark skies of an impossible mission. If you even mentioned this to Makko, he would question you, and your entire affair with Ran would come to light.

If you asked your assistant to send word to any senator or politician in the defense position, they would become suspicious and let your husband know.

Your hands were tied—both figuratively and metaphorically. You had no control over this situation, and you sensed that if you caved in and told Ran of your incompetence, he would release your videos and photos to Makko. 

Heart thrumming, you sat up, suddenly feeling too naked. 

Throwing on a robe, you drew your knees to your clothed chest, gripping the roots of your hair as your mind raced with the numerous possibilities. 

One name came to your mind, and you decided to give it a shot, wondering if she would even pick up. The wife of a defense attorney you had met a few months ago who promised to give the recipe of her sticky toffee cupcakes if you ever called her out for lunch. 

Mrs. Hiroyu Shima was her name, and you vaguely remembered that she had ash blonde hair. Her husband was attached to Tokyo PD, and if you let it slip to her in the most casual way possible of the Sumida gangs, she would most definitely inform her husband.

One could only hope. As the dial tone kept on going, you were sure you would either chicken out or this wouldn't work, but to your surprise, she answered after a beat.

“Hello?” 

“Shima-san?” 

Gasping, she recognised your voice. “Tsunake-san. What a pleasure. How can I help you?” 

You giggled at her instant recognition. “I’m so glad you remembered me, Shima-san. I was craving for some cake today and remembered your amazing sticky toffee cupcakes from the Christmas gala last year. What would you say if we meet up for lunch so you can share the recipe with me?” 

Your reputation as the mayor’s wife preceded you, and any wife within the fishbowl world of politics and social ass kissing would be itching to earn your acquaintance. Sometimes, you barely understood the power you held, and in this moment, you were glad your husband’s name was still attached with yours—that people were still eager to please you even when you had already fallen so far from grace behind their knowledge.

“Of course,” Shima said enthusiastically. “I would love to see you for lunch. Shall we meet up at that new omakase restaurant near Sumida station?” 

It was like the gates of heaven had opened up for you—calling forth your redemption in one single shining moment.

“Actually, I think we need to stay away from Sumida for a bit,” you kept your voice low, fraught with worry.

“Why?” Shima asked, and you heard her gasp again. “Tsunake-san, do you know something we don’t?” 

“Mhm hmm,” your tone turned conspiratory. “I saw my husband’s files—you know he’s running for Mayor again this term, right?” you threw in that little tidbit, sounding harangued and catching her attention. “And he’s trying to get gang activity down around Tokyo before the elections. I didn’t tell him, but I overheard one beat cop talking at the local council about how Sumida is a hot bed. But, my husband won’t listen to me so I don’t know who else to confide in.” 

Grasping at straws, you made something up on the spot. “Did you hear how a fire started out at one of the warehouses? I think it was Sumida. Those gangs are getting fiercer day by day. I’m just so afraid if it borders closer to us because we’re right in the next district.” 

“Oh dear,” Shima sounded worried. “My husband may know better. Should I let him know of your suspicions? Maybe then he’ll put a word to his superior.” 

Closing your eyes, you pumped your fist. Your voice was steady when you said, “I think that would be great, Shima-san. At least someone would look into it and your husband is a capable man. Makko mentioned his brilliance once.”

Except, he didn’t. Your husband didn’t even know who the Shimas were, which was a shame considering what allies they could make in such a troubling time. 

Shima swooned, her short laugh equal parts embarrassed and equal parts delighted. “That is great to hear. My Hiroyu would love to know how the Mayor recognizes his hard work.”

“He should,” you preened, digging deeper into her glee. “Let’s hope Hiroyu-san can help Tokyo out and make it a better city. It would be my honor to commend him to the position of Chief of Defence if the time ever came—you know, to my husband.”

You threw a bone to her, one which she latched onto with rapture. Like all the power-hungry wives of the political world would. “That is so kind of you, Tsunake-san. I can’t wait to meet for lunch. Shall we see each other today if you are free?”

“Yes,” you said with a wide smile. 

“Today would be perfect. And don’t forget to keep your purse at home, Shima-san! Lunch is on me.” 

–

A little boy with blonde hair was staring sullenly at the emerald expanse of the football field, his stomach tight with hunger. 

He was under the shaded veranda, far away from the bustling cafeteria just next door where laughter, chatter and cries could be heard. 

The bruise under his right rib cage was starting to hurt, and he would have to ask his mother to make it feel better. The bruise under her eye would be the same shade of black, too. His papa had made sure to leave a matching set to show how enraged he was at them for reacting poorly to his confession.

His fucking sin he dragged back home in the shape of a boy two years younger than Ran with matching lilac eyes and a different mother.

His mother passed away last night—he needs to be fed.

Somewhere above the same bruise, an emotional one started to throb. 

He clutched his midsection, fending off the hunger and heartbreak with dull, lifeless eyes. If only this day would end soon. 

There was a movement behind him, and a voice took him off guard.

“Hello.” 

Ran swiveled around to find a girl holding a lunchbox, her polished class monitor badge gleaming on her tie. He narrowed his eyes, anticipating trouble; puffing out as much of his chest as a seven year old kid could. 

She blinked at him, and pointed to his stomach, right where the bruise was. “Why do you keep touching yourself there? Are you hungry?” 

Before he could speak, she ambled over to him in her squeaky black shoes. Ran flinched when she sat down next to him, opening up her bento box. Removing a perfectly wrapped onigiri, she munched on it, fixing her eyes on him. 

He eyed the meal in her hand hungrily, licking his lips without noticing her eyes widening.

As if she were sent to save him when he needed it the most, she unwrapped the other onigiri and passed it to him with a small smile.

“An empty stomach is a hungry mind,” was what she murmured, but he heard her loud and clear. 

Ran, seven years old and starving, wrenched it out of her hand. He sneered at her, a blonde, skinny child with chapped lips and bruises decorating his body he kept hidden behind his uniform—biting into the miso onigiri with gusto. 

For a moment, the two children ate together, not caring about etiquettes or status quo.

Just basking in a bright day. 

Once Ran finished, he stood up. The girl looked up at him, those stupid wide eyes making his blood boil and gut churn with spite. 

If she was expecting his thanks, she wasn’t going to get it. 

Her cry rebounded across the field when he shoved her down, stomping away; blind to the tears accumulating in her eyes.

She never called out for him or got him in trouble. Ran had kept his eyes peeled on teachers roaming around the school but none of them approached him or tried to call his parents.

His secret was never spoken out loud and the girl never crossed paths with him again. 

Or, so he thought. 

Ran could hardly believe his ears during today’s strategy meeting.

It started when Kokonoi walked in, silver hair laid pristinely around his face, a stack of files in his manicured hands as he stared down the long table of executives waiting for him to speak. At the head, Mikey sat, munching on a taiyaki and harboring a deadened look in his black eyes. Impatient for Kokonoi to get this meeting over and done with.

“Sumida has fallen,” Hajime started off with a batshit gleeful smile. Rummaging in the stack of files, he removed a piece of intel gathered across their black market servers, stunning every executive in the face who couldn’t believe the words written on that incriminating piece of paper.

Sumida—the Black Dragon stronghold—was up for grabs to the heftiest bidder. Bonten had a chance of expansion. 

Ran sat back in his chair, his mind reeling. He hadn’t heard from you for a week since the last edging session, and he assumed you had chickened out—that you had tucked in your tail and came clean to your husband about your affair. But, Ran was pleasantly surprised to find that he had underestimated you all along. 

She did it, he thought in disbelief. She really did it. 

He would have to reward you soon. Such obedience deserved a big compensation. 

“Sir,” your feathery exhale made Ran’s gut tightened, an implicit reaction to your bound body swaying lightly in the middle of his living room.

You looked good in red. The hued jute ropes vined around your arms, your body lifted slightly off the ground; legs spread wide and waiting, was a scintillating vision. 

Those wet, doe eyes trailed after his every move, beseeching for him to show you some mercy. 

Ran plastered on a sympathetic grin, padding up to you with a look you were starting to know all too well. He had on a light button down shirt with some charcoal grey slacks—a picture of ease while you struggled to hold onto your composure with every light sway of your body. 

His touch on your thigh was not unwelcomed, though you squirmed, wishing he would take his hand up higher. “I heard the brave thing you did with the Shimas. I have to say—I’m impressed. And proud. I’m proud of you.”

Like a flower blooming under the warmth of his praise, your chest swelled, eyes glistening. “Thank you, Sir.”

He cupped your face, allowing one moment of weakness where his expression crumpled at the edges with tenderness. Brushing back a loose piece of hair behind your ear, Ran hummed, “It must’ve taken you a lot of courage. I think you’re very brave.”

You preened under his touch, batting your lashes and arching your back. “Thank you, Sir.”

The scent of him—citrus and like the ocean—made you dizzy with need. Especially when he came up behind you, curving his larger body closer to yours, drowning you with his heat. One hand spread across your stomach, gripping your body softly, while the other one drifted in between your legs, finding your sacred spot—cupping it protectively.

“Do you trust me, slut?” Ran’s breath touched your earlobe, and you nodded, mouth falling open before you registered how wanton your reactions were.

“Y-yes.” 

“Do you love me?” 

You were struck mute, unsure of what to say. Ran chuckled, teasingly smacking your thigh. “I’m joking, slut. You don’t have to answer that. I don’t think I want to know the answer, either.”

Touching your hips, Ran eased his palms up your body, feeling your outline underneath his touch. Every inch of you was tense with anticipation, wondering what he had up his sleeve. Your lover was an enigma—his actions and expression unreadable. You wondered what he would do next.

As if answering your silent thoughts, Ran eased something thick and silky over your eyes, snorting when you flinched and squealed in surprise. 

“It’s a blindfold. You’re not scared of the dark, are you, slut?” 

You shook your head, hair falling right in front of your face. Ran pushed your errant locks back, admiring the proud jut of your chin as you tried to keep your posture held high and unbothered.

He was going to make you beg on your knees; Ran wanted to see you melted into a puddle of your own desire.

A smirk decorated his lips, and he picked up a pair of headphones charging on a console, clamping it around your ears. Your gasp resounded through his penthouse, and Ran touched your thigh, silently telling you he was still here. That you could trust him. 

With the darkness and stillness keeping you locked in a state of limbo, all you could feel was your heartbeat rapidly thudding in your chest; hear the blood roaring in your ears. Your breath came out in shuddering waves, anticipating Ran’s next move. 

You never expected the soft stream of moans or another woman’s voice moaning out your lover’s name to filter through your ears. 

“Ran-san, I-I can’t hold it anymore.” Accompanying her mewls were soft squelches that sounded suspiciously like someone fingering a wet pussy. It all came to a head when Ran spoke, his voice low and seductive through the audio. 

“Then, cum, my slut.” 

You physically heard the relief in that strange woman’s voice when her moan broke off, her heavy breathing and low chanting of his name making you feel hot all over. 

Someone touched your belly, and you flinched with a quick gasp. The touch smoothed over your hip, as if to reassure you, and you trusted it enough to let it trail down to your pulsing pussy.

Behind the blindfold, your eyes were rapidly twitching, opening and closing to the pressing darkness.

Another recording started, and to your shock, it was another woman on the precipice of an orgasm. She sounded like she was close to mania, her high-pitched keen going straight to your throbbing clit. Your hips undulated, and the touch on your clit moved to your twitching hole—a single finger bullying through your tight heat.

Without warning, you whimpered, back arching and toes curling. The strange woman spoke, distracting you from the blistering pleasure. 

“Ran… Master… you’re driving me i-insane.” 

His chuckle was both confident and sarcastic, when he replied, “Serves you right for putting on a show in front of my colleagues. This is your punishment—take it.” 

You flinched again when you heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the other woman’s moan offsetting the twinge of pain in her cry. 

“Fuck—I’m sorry, Master. F-forgive your slut.” 

Ran didn’t speak, but from the sounds of sucking and smacking lips, you could deduce he was busy between her legs, lapping at her desperation while her pitchy mewls kept you on your toes. 

Right in front of you, you felt the minute movement of a body shift, as if someone was getting to his knees. A tongue dragged across your pelvis bone, rough and leaving behind a trail of spit. You giggled, shrinking away, but Ran held your hips firmly in his two larger hands, tilting your lower body up at an angle. Another lick, this time on the crease of your inner thigh, had your breathing stuttering, mind running on pure adrenaline.

He’s going to eat me out—he’s finally going to eat me out. 

The woman in the audio cried out his name, and you could plainly picture Ran in between her shapely thighs, sucking on her clit as her back bowed and she came lustily. 

“Oh, Master,” she sobbed. “Thank you, thank you. Thank you.” 

Another recording started, this one scratchier, like it was taped outside. A woman was breathing heavily, as if she were in pain. An insidious trickle of dread ran up your spine, and you almost yelled out for him to stop when you felt the broad stroke running right through your soaked folds.

“Mhm!” The audio was too loud for you to discern what was happening all around you, but even with the distraction, you could plainly hear the ache in your involuntary moan. Ran’s tongue traced figure 8s on your sensitive clit, and as the recording became clearer, you heard the woman’s heavy breathing turned into sensuous whines. Blood pounded through your veins, flooding all the way south, right to your shuddering pussy. 

Down on his knees, your lover mouthed your folds, his tongue sliding through your drenched seam with the ease of a hot knife running through butter. As he suckled on your clit almost tenderly, the woman in the recording cried out, her heavy breathing turned laborious. Like she was an inch away from cumming her brains out. 

“Do it,” Ran in the audio goaded. “Cum for me right in front of all these people, slut. Make a mess on my fingers.” 

Fuck, your brain synapses pieced two and two together, the reality of what was happening in the recording making you throb everywhere. Ran had actually made this poor girl cum in public. Was it in a park? Did they hide in the bushes? Was she wearing a skirt to give him access to her poor, vulnerable cunt? 

Suddenly, the reason why he blindfolded you made complete sense. The darkness and lack of details made your imagination run on overtime, which was, in reality, the most potent aphrodisiac when you had no other choice than to picture these lewd ministrations on your own. 

Sick, sick bastard. Haitani Ran would be the death of you.

That distracting, warm mouth continued to lap at your pussy, and without warning, you felt two slim fingers sink into your aching core, stroking your walls and catching on a sensitive spot which made you cry out. Ran kissed, sucked and flicked your tender nub, until you swore the women moaning in the audio and your groans were indistinguishable. 

“Ran, Ran… Sir… Sir…” 

You were panting out his name, twisting in your bonds. He moved his mouth up your body, briefly tonguing your erect nipples. He nipped your neck, nosed your jaw and eventually found your lips. 

Fuck me, please—don’t keep me waiting any longer. His tongue danced with yours, leaving your own juices coating your tastebuds. Ran kissed you like he wanted to destroy every shred of sanity which kept you hesitant to give all of yourself to him. 

Your walls were now flimsy barriers, standing on a shaky foundation which crumbled even more every time he pressed his mouth to your wide open one. Every stroke of his tongue winning this battle of wills left you gasping and groaning. Those pesky headphones tilted askew, giving you a brief respite—allowing you to listen to his heavy breathing when he devoured your lips with the mastery of a man knowing exactly how to make a woman beg for her sanity back. 

Ran chuckled, righting the headphones, and once again, your world was consumed by countless hussies moaning, crying out, cumming and screaming for your lover to give them the gift of their own denied orgasm. 

How many women have been subjected to this same torture? Were you one of many who found themselves in this position? 

Something hot and heavy stabbed under your ribs at that thought—making you wonder just exactly how special you were in comparison to those other women; if you even made a difference in Ran Haitani’s life. 

But, in the split second jealousy managed to rear her head, she was tamed back down when you sensed his fingers ghosting your weeping slit. Circling your entrance, pushing two fingers through your fluttering walls with ease. You must be dripping onto his carpet; your shame staining the expensive fabric.

“Fuck me!” This new woman sobbed, sounding deranged and on the edge. “Fuck me, Haitani! I need you now.” 

Two fingers pushed through your mouth, saturating your tastebuds with the flavor of your own desperation. You lapped at his digits, silently beseeching for him to push them further down your throat—anything to be perforated with Ran’s presence deep in your body. 

You exhaled a soft moan, nipples taut enough to be almost painful. “Ran,” you moaned, though you barely heard yourself over his other submissive’s cries. “P-please… fuck me.” 

Having no idea whether he even heard you in the first place, the best bet you had was to be still and wait. The wanton audible whore was now squirting, your lover encouraging her to drench his tongue, urging her release with low, filthy groans.

Would Ran moan exactly like that when he sank deep into your pussy? 

Your hips circled at that thought; being suspended in midair only drew the anticipation out cruelly. Minutes seemed to pass where there was nothing but your heartbeat drowning the women’s moans. Where you could feel every ridge of the ropes digging into your arms, your wrists, and clenched on the rough jute in between your tight grip like it was your literal lifeline. 

Ran? You murmured. Ran? Master? 

Warm lips touched your shoulder, trailing to your jaw. A soft kiss fell right onto your parted mouth. 

And then, Ran gripped your cheeks, spreading them. 

Easing the blunt head of his cock right into your pulsating pussy; finally giving you what you deserved. 

a/n: WE IN IT NOW GANG (literally)

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy the concept, sentence structures and scenes without prior permission from the creator.

[novaursa]

The Last Fire

- Summary: You survived the fall in the desert, and now it's up to you again to decide where your story leads or ends.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Note: This part contains two new possible endings that were requested. Pick your poison. These events happen after The Last Flight, and these two short stories are part of The Broken Crown series. For all parts in one place, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana

Ending where Y/N survives the fall, but still dies.

The last thing you remember is the unbearable pain, the world spinning out of control as you and Tesaerix plummeted toward the unforgiving sands below. Her agonized roar still echoes in your mind, a terrible sound of agony and desperation. The impact had been a blur of fire, darkness, and then nothing at all.

When you wake, it is to the sensation of a dull, throbbing pain that pulses through every inch of your body. The air is thick with the scent of herbs and smoke, and your mouth is dry, lips cracked. Your eyes flutter open, struggling to adjust to the dim, unfamiliar light. Stone walls loom around you, cold and unwelcoming. A Dornish castle. Your heart sinks.

Your first instinct is to move, to fight, to escape, but your body betrays you. Sharp pain lances through your side as you shift, and a low, involuntary groan escapes your lips. Everything hurts. Every breath is a struggle, every thought fogged with the weight of what has happened. You reach for your belly, your hand trembling as it finds the emptiness where there should be life. The child is gone. A sob rips through your throat, raw and jagged. The loss is a hollow ache, a void that you cannot fill, no matter how hard you try to pull the shattered pieces of yourself together.

A guard standing at the door turns at the sound, his expression a mix of surprise and something darker—satisfaction, perhaps. His armor gleams in the dim light, the crest of House Martell emblazoned on his chest. He watches you struggle with an impassive gaze, offering no words of comfort or aid.

“How long?” you manage to rasp, your voice barely more than a whisper, rough from disuse.

“Eight days,” the guard replies, his voice flat. “You’ve been unconscious for eight days.”

Eight days. The weight of it settles over you like a shroud. Aegon must think you are dead. The thought of him mourning you, believing you lost, brings a fresh wave of pain. You try to imagine what he must be feeling—the grief, the rage. It’s almost too much to bear.

You attempt to sit up, but your body refuses to cooperate. Every movement sends sharp stabs of agony radiating through your limbs. The guard takes a step forward, a warning in his eyes.

“Stay down,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re under orders not to leave this chamber.”

“Orders?” you ask, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. “From whom?”

“Princess Meria Martell,” he replies. “You are to be held here until he decides your fate.”

Your fate. The words chill you to the core. You are a prisoner, a trophy to the Dornish princess, held captive in the land that has stolen so much from you. Your dragon, your child. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the hopelessness is overwhelming. You close your eyes, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.

But you cannot afford to break. Not now. You have to survive. You have to find a way out, a way to let Aegon know that you are alive, that you are still fighting.

The days pass in a haze of pain and frustration. You are too weak to move, too broken to plan an escape. The guards change shifts, faceless men who bring you food and water, who watch you with the wary eyes of those who know they are in the presence of something dangerous, something they do not fully understand.

One evening, as the sun sets below the horizon, you hear it—a low, distant rumble. Your heart skips a beat. It is a sound you know well, a sound that has haunted your dreams since the day you fell. Dragonfire.

You push yourself up, the pain almost unbearable, but you force yourself to ignore it. You stumble to the small, barred window, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The sky is a dark canvas painted with flames, the unmistakable black silhouette of Balerion the Black Dread soaring above, his jaws spewing torrents of fire that rain down upon the castle below.

“Aegon,” you whisper, your voice breaking. He has come. He has come to avenge you, to burn this place to the ground in his wrath. But he does not know—you are still here. Panic surges through you, cold and sharp. You pound on the door, shouting with what little strength you have left.

“Help! Someone, please!” But no one comes. No one hears. The guards have fled, the castle descending into chaos as Balerion’s fury turns stone to ash and sand to glass.

The flames grow closer, the heat becoming unbearable. The walls of your chamber begin to crack, smoke seeping in through the seams. You cough, your lungs burning as you struggle to breathe, to think.

You have to escape. You have to find a way out. But there is no time. The fire is everywhere now, the heat scorching, the air thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh and wood. You stagger back, your legs giving out beneath you as the ceiling above begins to splinter, molten rock falling like rain.

In your mind, you see Aegon’s face—his eyes dark with grief, his jaw set in that way that you know means he is barely holding himself together. You want to reach out to him, to tell him that you are still here, still alive. But the words stick in your throat, lost in the choking smoke and searing pain.

The door to your chamber bursts open, flames licking at the edges, and you know this is the end. There is no escape, no hope. You close your eyes, a single tear slipping down your cheek as you surrender to the inevitable.

“I’m sorry, Aegon,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the roar of the fire. “I’m so sorry.”

The flames engulf you then, and the world fades to black.

The great hall of Aegonfort was cloaked in an uneasy silence. Servants moved quietly, casting nervous glances at the somber figure of the King. Aegon Targaryen sat on his throne, a shadow of the man he had been. His face was pale, eyes haunted, the lines of grief etched deeply into his features. Each breath felt like a burden, each moment a struggle to maintain the stoic facade he had been forced to wear since that day.

He had returned from Dorne victorious, or so it seemed to others. But victory felt like ash in his mouth. The fury that had driven him to lay waste to Sunspear had given way to a hollow emptiness. The cries of the dying, the smell of burning flesh—all of it haunted him, because none of it could bring you back.

It was then that a servant approached, holding out a small, sealed scroll with trembling hands. “A message from Princess Meria of Dorne, Your Grace.”

Aegon took the letter, his fingers almost numb as he broke the seal. His eyes scanned the parchment, and as he read, his blood turned to ice. The words blurred, but their meaning was unmistakable. You had been alive. Captured, held prisoner. And he had—without knowing—burned you alive in his wrath.

He staggered back, the letter slipping from his grasp and fluttering to the ground like a dying leaf. The world spun around him, his knees buckling as the weight of the revelation crashed over him. His vision dimmed, and he would have collapsed, had Visenya not been there, her strong arms wrapping around him, steadying him.

“Aegon!” Her voice was sharp, full of concern, cutting through the fog that clouded his mind. Rhaenys was there too, her face stricken, rushing to his side.

“Aegon, what’s happened?” Rhaenys asked, her voice trembling. She reached for him, her hands gentle but insistent, trying to draw his gaze to hers. “Please, tell us.”

He could barely speak. The words lodged in his throat, a jagged knot of guilt and horror. His body trembled uncontrollably, a tremor that started in his hands and spread through him like a plague. His eyes, wide and filled with unspeakable anguish, locked onto the faces of his sisters, searching for something he could not name.

“I—I killed her,” he choked out, his voice breaking on the last word. “I burned her alive.”

The silence that followed was absolute, the kind of silence that is born from disbelief, from horror too deep to comprehend. Visenya’s grip on him tightened, her face ashen, her eyes reflecting a grief that mirrored his own.

“No, Aegon,” Rhaenys whispered, shaking her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “That can’t be true. You wouldn’t—”

“She was there,” he whispered, his voice hollow. “In the castle. Alive. And I... I didn’t know.” His words faltered, breaking under the weight of his confession. “I thought she was gone, and I...” He buried his face in his hands, a raw, strangled sob tearing from his throat. “Gods, I killed her. I killed them both.”

Rhaenys’ hands flew to her mouth, a sob escaping her lips as she stumbled back, her legs giving way as she sank to the floor. Visenya’s face hardened, though her eyes shone with unshed tears. Her grip on him remained firm, as if trying to hold him together when everything else had shattered.

“Aegon,” she said, her voice breaking through the haze of his despair. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known.”

But her words felt meaningless, empty. There was no solace to be found in them, no absolution for what he had done. He had let his rage blind him, had let his need for vengeance consume him, and now the price was beyond bearing. The child—your child—gone forever, as he believes it was taken by his own hand. And you... you, whom he had loved more fiercely than life itself, gone because he had failed you in the worst way imaginable.

His body shook with the force of his grief, tears he could no longer hold back streaming down his face. “I killed her, Visenya,” he whispered, his voice a broken thing. “I killed her and our child. I... I’ve destroyed everything.”

Rhaenys reached for him then, her arms wrapping around him, pulling him close as though she could somehow hold the pieces of him together. “Aegon, no,” she wept, her voice a soft, desperate plea. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

But the truth of it was a knife twisting in his gut. He had believed you dead, and in his fury, his pain, he had become the very thing he had sworn to destroy. He had let his grief turn him into a monster, and in doing so, he had taken everything that mattered.

Visenya knelt beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder, her touch a steadying force amidst the chaos. “We will get through this,” she murmured, though her voice shook. “Somehow, we will.”

But Aegon knew there was no coming back from this. No battle to fight, no enemy to conquer. The enemy was within him, a darkness he could never escape. The flames of Balerion’s wrath had claimed more than just stone and flesh—they had taken the very heart of him, leaving nothing but ashes and ruin.

And so he wept, there on the cold stone floor of Aegonfort, his sisters by his side, but no comfort to be found. The King of the Seven Kingdoms, broken by his own hand, mourning the woman he had loved—and lost—twice over.

Ending where Y/N survives the fall with her dragon near Sunspear.

The air was filled with the acrid scent of smoke and blood, the heat of battle suffocating even in the high sky. Tesaerix’s wings beat heavily, each movement strained, her breaths coming in labored, ragged bursts. You could feel her pain through the bond you shared, a deep, searing ache that tore through your side as if it were your own. She had been struck, the harpoon lodged deep in her flank, just beneath her wing. Her roar of agony still echoed in your ears, a sound that would haunt you forever.

“Hold on, girl,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you leaned forward, your hand pressing against the warm, slick scales near the wound. Blood, dark and thick, oozed from the gash, and your heart clenched with fear. “Just a little longer.”

Tesaerix let out a low, rumbling growl, her muscles tensing beneath you as she angled downward. The ground rushed up to meet you both, but her descent was controlled, her movements careful despite the pain wracking her body. You clung to her neck, every jolt sending fresh waves of agony through you both, but you held on, murmuring soft words of encouragement.

The landing was rough, her massive form crashing down onto the rocky terrain outside of Sunspear with a jarring thud. The impact jarred you from the saddle, sending you sprawling onto the ground. Pain flared through your side, and you gasped, your hands instinctively moving to your swollen belly. The baby. The fear that gripped your heart was cold and sharp. You forced yourself to take a breath, wincing as you struggled to your feet, pain lancing through your body.

“Tesaerix…” You turned to her, your heart breaking at the sight. She lay on her side, the harpoon still embedded in her scales, her eyes half-closed, her breaths shallow. You stumbled toward her, your hands trembling as you reached out to touch her snout, your fingers brushing over her warm, familiar scales.

“We made it,” you whispered, tears blurring your vision. “We’re safe now.”

But even as you said the words, you knew they were a lie. The sound of approaching footsteps and the clatter of weapons made your heart sink. You turned, your body tense, as a group of Dornish soldiers surrounded you, their spears raised, their faces hard and unyielding. Behind them, riding in a litter shaded by silks, was Princess Meria Martell, her gaze sharp and calculating as it swept over the scene.

“You are far from home, Targaryen,” she said, her voice carrying over the tense silence. “And in no position to bargain.”

You straightened, ignoring the pain that shot through your side, your hand still resting protectively over your belly. “I am Queen Y/N Targaryen, wife of King Aegon. I demand safe passage for myself and my dragon.”

Meria’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Demands, is it? You are in no position to demand anything, child. You and your dragon are prisoners of Dorne.”

You glanced at Tesaerix, her body still and trembling with pain, her deep red eyes flickering weakly. Chains were already being brought forward, heavy iron links that were meant to bind her, to keep her grounded and helpless. The thought of her, proud and fierce, being chained once more like a common beast made your blood boil.

“Please,” you said, your voice breaking despite yourself. “She’s wounded. Let her be treated, and I will come with you peacefully.”

Meria studied you for a long moment, her eyes narrowing. Then she gave a curt nod. “The dragon will be tended to, but she will remain under guard. And you will come with us, now.”

The soldiers stepped forward, and you forced yourself to stand tall, even as fear and pain threatened to overwhelm you. Tesaerix let out a low, pained growl, her eyes locked on you as the soldiers approached, her body tensing as if she would rise and fight, despite her injuries.

“No,” you whispered, your voice firm as you placed a hand on her snout. “Stay, Tesaerix. Stay.” She let out a soft rumble, her massive head lowering to the ground, her eyes closing as if to conserve her strength. You turned back to the soldiers, your heart aching, but you forced yourself to move forward.

They escorted you into Sunspear, through winding streets that echoed with the murmurs of the people, curious and wary as they watched the procession pass. You kept your head high, your gaze fixed forward, refusing to show any sign of weakness or fear.

They led you to a chamber in the castle, its stone walls cool and unyielding. The door closed behind you with a heavy thud, the sound of the lock sliding into place echoing through the room. You were alone now, a prisoner in an enemy’s stronghold.

The days blurred together, each one filled with a growing dread. Your thoughts were consumed with worry for Tesaerix, chained and wounded outside the city. You paced the confines of your chamber, your mind racing with thoughts of Aegon, of what he must be feeling, believing you lost. You could only hope he would find out the truth before it was too late.

On the fifth day, Meria visited you. She stood in the doorway, her expression inscrutable, her eyes lingering on your belly before meeting your gaze. “Your dragon will survive, though her wing may never fully heal,” she said, as if discussing the weather.

Relief washed over you, though it was quickly followed by a fresh wave of anger. “And what of me? What do you intend to do with me?”

Meria tilted her head, considering. “You are valuable, Targaryen. As long as you remain with child, your life is safe. But know this—I will use you to ensure Aegon’s compliance. The war has cost too much already.”

You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your voice steady. “And if I lose the child?”

“Then your fate will depend on my whim,” she said simply, her eyes hard. “Do not try to escape, Y/N. Your dragon may be chained, but even a wounded beast is dangerous. And if she dies trying to save you…” She let the implication hang in the air, the threat clear.

Rage and fear battled within you, but you forced yourself to remain calm. “I will not try to escape,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue. “But if you harm her, there will be no place in this world you can hide from my husband’s wrath.”

Meria’s smile was thin, humorless. “We shall see, my lady.”

As she left, you sank onto the hard bed, your body trembling with exhaustion and despair. The days that followed were a blur of pain and uncertainty, your thoughts constantly turning to Aegon, to Tesaerix, to the fragile life within you. You had to survive, for their sake. You had to find a way to endure.

Outside, you knew the chains that bound Tesaerix were a constant reminder of your captivity, her pain mirroring your own. But you were both still alive, still fighting, even if only by clinging to the hope that Aegon would come, that he would find you before it was too late.

And when he did, you swore to yourself, you would make them all pay for what they had done. For every wound, every chain, every day of fear and suffering. You would see Dorne burn for this. You would see them all kneel before the fury of the Targaryen fire.

Princess Meria Martell sat in her chambers, the heavy stone walls of Sunspear pressing in around her like the weight of a great, immovable burden. She drummed her fingers on the polished wood of her desk, her eyes scanning the letter she had penned days ago. She had offered the King a simple exchange: your life and freedom in return for Dorne’s autonomy. It was a calculated risk, a gamble meant to end the bloodshed that had ravaged her lands and threatened her people.

But the answer she received was not what she had expected.

The messenger had barely finished delivering the news when a sudden, deafening roar echoed across Sunspear, shaking the very foundations of the castle. Meria’s heart froze. She shot to her feet, her blood turning to ice as a servant burst into the room, his face ashen with terror.

“Dragons, Your Grace! They’re here!”

Panic seized her. She swept past the servant, her silks rustling as she hurried down the corridors, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The stone walls seemed to close in around her, her mind racing with fear and confusion. Aegon wasn’t supposed to come, not yet. Not like this.

Reaching the balcony that overlooked the city, she pushed open the doors and stepped out into the blazing sunlight. The sight that greeted her was one she would never forget. Balerion the Black Dread hovered above the city, his massive wings blotting out the sun, casting a dark shadow over Sunspear. Below him, Vhagar and Meraxes circled, their screeching cries filling the air as if announcing the coming storm.

And there, on the edge of the city, near the main gates, was Tesaerix. Her golden scales glinted in the harsh light, her massive form still and tense, the iron chains that held her stretched taut. But Balerion was descending toward her, the great beast’s eyes glowing with a dark, dangerous intent. With a mighty roar, he landed beside her, his immense claws tearing through the chains as if they were no more than threads.

Tesaerix let out a guttural snarl, her wings unfolding cautiously as the last of her bindings fell away. The sight of the great dragon, wounded yet still fierce, stretching her wings and shaking off the restraints, sent a shiver down Meria’s spine. She knew then, with a clarity that burned like ice, that she had underestimated Aegon Targaryen. This was not a king who would bargain or yield. This was a man who would see the world burn before he let anything be taken from him.

Meria turned, heart pounding, as she saw the three figures approaching the castle. Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys dismounted just outside the gates, the air around them shimmering with the heat of their dragons’ breath. The ground trembled beneath their feet, the power of their presence undeniable, terrifying.

She forced herself to move, to descend the stairs and meet them at the entrance. Her guards flanked her, their faces pale, their hands gripping their spears as if holding on to the last shred of their courage. She stepped forward, lifting her chin, though her heart raced like a caged bird.

Aegon’s eyes met hers, and the fury she saw there was like a living, breathing thing, coiled tight and ready to strike. His face was a mask of barely contained rage, the lines of his jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might shatter.

“Princess Meria,” he said, his voice low and cold, as if he were spitting the words through gritted teeth. “You dare to hold my wife captive and then try to negotiate with me?”

Meria swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “I offered you peace, Your Grace. An end to this war. Dorne in exchange for—”

“For my queen? For my child?” he snarled, stepping forward, the raw power radiating from him like heat from a forge. “You think you can trade lives with me, like some merchant haggling over goods? I am no man to be bargained with.”

Visenya’s eyes were like chips of ice, her hand resting on the hilt of Dark Sister, the sword gleaming wickedly in the sun. “You will release her, and our unborn nephew or niece, now,” she said, her voice a quiet, deadly promise. “Or Sunspear will burn until it is nothing but a memory.”

Rhaenys’ usually warm, vibrant presence was overshadowed by a seething anger. “Do not mistake our patience for weakness, Princess,” she said, her voice taut with restrained fury. “You have made a grievous error.”

Meria raised her hands, trying to project calm. “I do not wish for more bloodshed. I swear to you, Y/N is unharmed. She and the child are safe.”

“Safe?” Aegon’s voice was a roar, his eyes blazing. “Chained like a beast, held in your dungeons, with her dragon bound outside like a common animal—that is your idea of safety?”

Meria took a breath, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “I needed to ensure that Dorne would not be crushed under your might. I needed leverage.”

“And now you have none,” Visenya cut in, her tone sharp as a blade. “Release her. Or I swear by the gods, your city will burn until there is nothing left.”

Meria hesitated, her mind racing. She had known this moment was dangerous, but she had thought she would have time, that she could control the situation. Now, looking at the three Targaryens before her, their dragons looming like harbingers of death, she realized just how badly she had miscalculated.

She nodded, slowly, her voice quiet. “She will be brought to you. Unharmed.”

Aegon stepped forward, his face inches from hers, and she could feel the barely restrained fury radiating off him like a physical force. “If I find one scratch on her, one sign that she or my child has been harmed…” He let the threat hang, his eyes burning into hers with a promise of utter destruction. “I will reduce this city to ash and bone.”

Meria shuddered but nodded again, turning to give the order. As she did, she glanced back at the dragons, at Balerion, who stood protectively near Tesaerix, the massive beast’s eyes glowing with a deadly intelligence.

She knew then that there would be no mercy, no second chances. If she failed to deliver, if she tried to deceive them even slightly, Sunspear—and all of Dorne—would be lost to the wrath of the dragons.

And so she prayed, silently, that her people would not suffer for her misjudgment, and that you would be returned to your king unscathed. Because if not, there would be no place in this world that could hide her from Aegon’s vengeance.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Troubleshooting

Nathan Bateman x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 23: Begging

Summary: Nathan can't say no to a challenge.

A/N: This was meant to be for kinktober 2023 (I'm so sorry).

Warnings: reader who has trouble orgasming by just penetration alone, p in v sex, cream pie, pet names, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 765

“Nathan please,” you gasp, grabbing hold of the edge of his desk desperately as he pounds into you from behind.

“It’s okay baby, it’s okay, I got you.” He mutters, his voice gravely with the strain of holding back. He grasps your waist, keeping you still as he thrusts inside. 

You whine, tears in your eyes from being on the edge for so long. Part of you wishes you hadn’t told Nathan that you couldn’t come by penetration alone, but you didn’t realise quite how much of a personal challenge he would take it as. More fool you.

It feels so good, which is most of the problem. It makes pleasure spike and burn, but it never quite crests, never lets you get completely there.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet, you know that?” He growls, spreading his feet wider apart to change the angle. 

If you were a little more coherent you’d throw a sarcastic comment back at him, but the time for frontal lobe thinking was long past. 

“Please!” The sob breaks in your voice. It was bordering on painful how much you needed it, how desperate you were to come. 

Your slick dripped down your thighs, the slap of skin echoing loudly with every thrust. 

“You can do it, baby,” he moans deep in his throat, “I know you can, I know you can come.” 

“I can’t,” you tense, your muscles aching from tightrope walking you along the precipice. 

“You can, you can,” he groans, the sound vibrating through you. “I believe in you.” 

It would almost be sweet if you didn’t want to cry. Pleasure twisted along your nerves, pulling them tight but refusing to snap. Sweat dripped down your back, as he moved, trying a different angle, different speed. He’d been trying for what felt like forever. Unable to stop troubleshooting until the problem was fixed. 

You gasp, as he thrusts shallowly, tensing, your blood buzzing as he hits the same spot in quick, rapid succession. 

“Nathan!” 

“There you are, there you are,” he mutters, part of you wants to hit the smug grin off his face that you just know is plastered to it. “Little more.” 

It’s good, mind-numbingly good, but it’s just not going to get you there. Your clit throbs, yearning for the smallest touch to send you over the edge. 

You sob, your arms weakening. Your left gives out for a second, buckling and you yelp before Nathan grabs you, keeping you from falling and smacking your head on the corner of his desk. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he pulls you close to his chest, kissing your neck greedily as he grinds his hips, keeping his cock deep inside. 

His beard scrapes along your skin and you moan, gasping for air. You couldn’t do this, this was too much, you needed to tap out, to-

He squeezes your left breast in his hand while his other runs down your stomach, his fingers rubbing your clit once and then you scream. 

Your orgasm hits you so hard, tensing every muscle as you convulse and cry out. Pleasure spikes up your spine, cutting under your skin and making your eyes roll back. You gasp out his name, practically vibrating and pulsing along him as your body finally collapses into pure bliss. 

Nathan groans, growling as your walls squeeze and milk him harder than he can ever remember. He shutters, barely managing to thrust one more before he comes deep inside, filling you to the brim. 

He holds you close, slumping back into his desk chair and taking you with him. 

You let out a little huff of air as you land. 

Nathan nuzzles your neck, sucking lightly and whispering sweet words. 

“So much for, ‘you can get anyone to come on your cock alone.’” You mumble, but there’s no heat in your words, too blissed out. 

He chuckles. “Guess you’re a problem I’m going to keep having to try to solve.” He holds you tight, rubbing your arms soothingly. “You okay?” 

You nod. 

He kisses your cheek. “Sorry I couldn’t keep going,” he mutters, “you just sound and feel too good for me to not indulge you.” 

You glance over your shoulder at him, pulling a face. “Indulge me?” 

He grins, “oh yeah,” and slips his hand down between your legs, he brushes his fingers over your clit and you jump, wriggling and moaning softly. “I don’t think I showed here enough attention, did I?” 

“Nathan,” you try to say warningly, but it comes out wanton. 

His grin widens, “I know you got one more in you.” 

Thank you for reading!

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[pumpkinbirth]

Can you write some girl is giving birth on her boyfriend. She is sitting in his lap chest to chest, but he’s ways rubbing her bud or caressing her belly. She goes through a long and painful labor. She finally gives birth and immediately bro he the baby to her nipple to drink and her and her boyfriend are still smashed together. Oddly specific and I sorry but I really love this kind of thing.

"I know, baby, I know, but you're doing so well..."

I could only nod, following my boyfriends lead as we breathed in sync, the contraction finally tapering off.

We'd been like this for what felt like the entire day, both of us naked and intertwined as my labor progressed. He'd been so attentive during my pregnancy that it didn't surprise me that he'd be even moreso when I gave birth. Still, I hadn't expected he'd be this hands on, not that it bothered me one bit.

As soon as my contractions started he was right there, talking me through it and gently massaging my belly. When they really started ramping up that was when he suggested our current position. He wanted to see and feel it all, no matter how messy it was or how loud I became.

I murmured gratefully as he massaged his way down my back, focusing lower where the pain mostly sat. "They're really close together...its just so much pressure..." I moaned, nestling my face between his neck and shoulder. I felt him nod before his hands moved to my front.

"What d'you say we distract you a little, hm?" he purred. Both hands moved to cradle the swell of my belly, his thumbs rubbing loving circles into the taut skin. He waited for me to nod before moving one hand further down, quickly finding my clit and rubbing gentle circles on it as well.

"Mnh...!!"

"Another one?"

"N-no...just really sensitive. Please don't stop..." I breathed, rocking my hips against him as he obeyed. Pressure mounted inside me, but I couldn't tell if it was a contraction, or if I was already close to cumming. I focused on chasing the pleasure, my fingertips pressing into his back as I moaned and begged for more, just a little more...!

Before I could even process it I practically screamed into his shoulder, the pressure cresting and pleasure washing over me as I came hard, all while he murmured his approval of what a good girl I was.

"Babe?"

"Mm?"

"Either you're still cumming, or..."

"Or what?" I lifted my head, worry starting to crease my features before he kissed me reassuringly, murmuring excitedly against my lips.

"Or, we just broke your water."

---

"F-fuuuck...! Please, I just wanna push, baby, c'mon..." I pleaded, tears of frustration welling up as he checked me for what felt like the hundredth time. He rubbed a soothing hand on my back while he carefully moved his fingers inside me, the wetness so loud it would've been embarrassing if I wasn't so preoccupied.

"I know you do, I promise you will, but if you do too soon you could really get hurt," he replied softly, and while I knew he was right it didn't stop me from letting out an exhausted sob. "Just a little more, I won't make you wait any longer than you have to."

"Okay..." I breathed, already steeling myself for the next contraction. There were hardly any breaks between them now, and every time without fail I begged for him to let me do what my body was screaming for me to do. I was a mess of sweat and water and the baby wasn't even close to here yet. As the contraction gripped me part of me felt like giving up, just calling an ambulance, or--

"--next one."

"Wh-"

"You can push with the next contraction, baby, you're ready."

Relief washed over me, doing away with all the impending negative thought. Carefully, he helped to lift me just a bit, so that now I was in a deep squat right over his lap. The new position made me realize just how ready I was now, the pressure against my cervix like nothing I'd felt before. My belly hung low between my thighs, and I let out a soft sigh as he ran his hands over the curve once more, holding me reverently. We both felt the tightening of my swell, and my hands grasped his shoulders for support. When it fully came I didn't hesitate for a moment, a guttural moan escaping me as I pushed, hard.

"So good, you're doing amazing," he murmured praises as I dug my nails into his shoulders, only letting up once the contraction had ebbed. It felt so perfect, being this close to him, being held by him as I gave birth to our baby. With every push he encouraged me, syncing our breaths like before.

Eventually he moved his hands from my belly to between my legs, his breath hitching with excitement when he felt the slight teardrop between my lips. "Oh you're right there, babe, I need you to push hard with this next one."

I only nodded, not having the energy to quip that I'd been doing just that for hours now. A ragged moan tore from my throat as I gave the next push my all, turning into a sound of shock when I felt the head fully emerge. "Oh fuck, oh god please tell me I can keep pushing...!" I said hurriedly, adrenaline rushing through me like I'd never felt before. He pressed his forehead to mine, sounding nearly as breathless as I.

"Yes, yes, just a couple more, you're so perfect giving birth for me like this..."

The praise mixed with the adrenaline renewed my strength completely, and true to his word it was only two more hard pushes until I felt the hot rush of fluid and baby gushing out of me, making even more of a mess on both of us. He caught her instantly, waiting a moment until I was ready to take her from him.

Instinctively I brought her to my chest, wincing just a bit as she latched onto my sensitive, leaking nipple, but the pain left as soon as it'd come. All the while he held us both close, kissing the tears of effort from my face and saying how good I did, how perfect she was...

How he couldn't wait to have me do it again.

[pin-k-ink]

another daddy hoshina and pregnant reader drabble. i can’t get enough of this man 😩

The sight of you drowsing amidst the rumpled sheets, rounded with the swell of his child, made Hoshina’s morning wood throb insistently against his boxers.

He drank in every lush, soft detail as you slept on obliviously - the way his oversized shirt had ridden up to expose the vee of your thighs, engorged nipples straining against the thin cotton. Tousled strands of hair fanned across the pillow, framing those kiss-bruised lips he knew from experience would soon be parting on a breathy moan of his name once you woke up.

Unable to resist any longer, Hoshina padded towards the bed on bare feet. He sank down on the edge, calloused palm skimming along the curve of your bare calf before gliding higher. Further up to trace the swell of your knee, the impossibly soft skin behind your thigh, until his fingertips teased along the cinched hem riding up your ass.

A shuddering sigh slipped past your parted lips, back arching ever so slightly into Hoshina’s caress. He felt his cock jump eagerly at the response, molten need swirling hotly through his belly. This close, he could make out the fine sheen of exertion still clinging to your body in a dewy sheen - lingering evidence of last night's little fuckfest that had made you both pass out sometime after the ninth round.

Hoshina had to grit his teeth to resist palming himself through the tented cotton at the memories alone...

Of him pinning your squirming, whimpering form into the mattress from behind, thick cock spearing in deep on every ruthless thrust. The breathless cries spilling from your lips as he rutted against you with dominant, mind-numbing intensity. Your hair had stuck to the sweaty expanse of your back and shoulders, thick ropes of it knotting in Hoshina’s fists as he used the leverage to pound you open obscenely wide around his girth.

He recalled the harsh growls and snarls rumbling from his chest with every punishing grind, the desperate, keening wails you tried muffling against the crumpled sheets to no avail. How your nails had scoured deep, bleeding crescents down his bulging forearms as Hoshina stuffed you absolutely full of his cum over and over, thoroughly ruining you for anyone else's inadequate efforts.

And when his orgasm finally crested in a blinding rush, Hoshina had smothered your sobbing gasps with the crush of his lips. You'd trembled and jerked with each convulsion, every pulsing, thunderous release of his thick ropes painting your walls in scorching bursts all the way to your very womb...

Hoshina shuddered as if electrified by the memories, heavy stare devouring you sprawled in naked, post-coital abandon. Throwing caution to the wind, he slowly leaned over your slumbering form, drinking in the clean, musky scent of your sex mingling with his unmistakable masculine musk in a dizzying, intoxicating fusion.

He nosed aside the tousled curtain of hair to expose the delicate slope of your throat and jaw, watching in rapt fascination as your pulse fluttered weakly beneath the thin, sheened skin. Plush lips parted ever so slightly around each deep, even exhale fanning hotly over Hoshina’s bared chest and abdomen as he hovered on all fours caging you in.

Unable to resist a moment longer, Hoshina ducked to brush the barest wisp of a kiss against your exposed temple, dragging his stubbled jaw down the curve of your cheek. His free hand skated back along the sumptuous swell of your pregnant belly in a featherlight, revenant caress, feeling the taut skin stretch beneath his roving palm.

"Still getting used to having my gorgeous girl all round, and swollen up ripe with my kid..." he husked against the fragile whorls of your ear, coarse timbre choked with quiet awe. "Like you were made for nothing else except taking and keeping my seed buried deep inside that greedy little cunt..."

Your slumbering form shivered beneath him and Hoshina smirked against your nape as he felt the first telltale stirrings of arousal blooming between your thighs. He wedged one thick, muscular thigh between yours insistently, grinding his rapidly stiffening cock into the lush swell of your ass with a low, feral rumble.

"Gonna wake up all needy and soaked through for Daddy again, aren't you baby girl?" The raw, guttural words dripped straight from Hoshina’s psyche without preamble, barely filtered through conscious filters. "God, I fucking love seeing you in this state, so ripe and overflowing with my cum. Bet that greedy cunt is throbbing for relief after our fun last night..."

One huge palm burned a scorching trail up the dip of your spine, tracing the knobs of each vertebra until he could cup the sleek curve of your nape firmly. Hoshina plastered himself flush against your side, rocking into the cradle of your shapely thighs with delicious friction building between each ponderous grind.

"Soon as I get a taste I'll have you screaming beneath me again," he promised in a molten growl that seemed to melt straight into your slick, awakening folds below. "Gonna spear you wide around my cock until you're choking on my name, filling you up properly for good this time..."

Just as the deliriously filthy promise tumbled past Hoshina’s lips, you stirred beneath him with a soft, mewling whimper. He immediately stilled his insistent rutting, eager to see those heavy lashes fluttering apart to reveal your lovely, unfocused eyes blinking up at him in hazy bewilderment.

For a protracted beat, you simply blinked and took in the tantalizing vision of Hoshina’s sculpted torso hovering mere inches above you. Lips parting reflexively to drink in the musky, intoxicating fusion of your mingled scents saturating the sweat-damp sheets. Then your gaze drifted lower, widening fractionally as you registered the insistent ridge of his cock tenting the front of those flimsy boxers so deliciously.

"Mmm...Soshiro..." you breathed out in a barely-audible rasp, voice still thickened by the dregs of lingering sleep. "What're you...?"

The inquiry trailed off into another trembling whimper as he rolled his hips with purposeful emphasis. You felt the blunt, heavy length of him drag along your satin folds in a torturous stroke, stoking sparks of need to reawaken in your belly.

"Just admiring the view, sweetheart," Hoshina husked against the velvet expanse of your throat. He punctuated the words with a scorching flick of his tongue, tasting the rapidly fluttering throb pulsing beneath your skin. "My gorgeous baby mama splayed out and practically begging to be stuffed full again..."

You shuddered as the rough timbre of his gravelly desire scraped over your sensitized nerve endings. Unconsciously, your thighs parted wider in a silent entreaty as fresh slick flooded your neglected pussy in anticipation. Hoshina clearly noticed the subtle invitation if his low, triumphant growl was any indication.

In one fluid motion, he hooked your legs over his hips and shifted until the thick, heavy line of his cock nestled snugly against your weeping slit. You gasped sharply at the sudden, delicious pressure, back arching instinctively as need lanced straight through your core.

"Yes..." Hoshiro purred in grave approval, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the fragile column of your neck. "That's my sweet girl, responding so prettily to Daddy's touch already..."

You could only whine in fervent agreement, overwhelmed by the slow, indolent grind of his hips working his rigid length through your slick pussy. The delicious friction built swiftly into an intoxicating glide, fanning your simmering arousal into a bonfire that threatened to consume you both in its raging.

Just when you thought the smoldering tension might liquefy your bones, Hoshina suddenly angled his thrusts higher, raking the swollen head of his cock against your engorged clit. You cried out in a mixture of shock and blinding ecstasy, nails scoring his shoulders reflexively as you arched and writhed beneath him.

"There it is," he growled approvingly, drinking in every micro-expression of rapture crumpling your features with slavish rapture. "Let Daddy take care of his needy baby mama and give that hungry little cunt exactly what it craves..."

With that guttural purr of reassurance still echoing in your ears, Hoshiro sealed his mouth over yours in a searing, demanding kiss. You surrendered to the possessive brand without hesitation, every nerve ending alight and humming in supplication as he thoroughly mapped and plundered. Sharp teeth grazed your lower lip in a stinging rebuke until you yielded completely with a moan, legs splaying wantonly as he plunged forward in a single, brutal stroke.

[dreaisgrayte]

HEHHEHEHEHEH WHATS UP MY BBG? I hope you have had a good day/night! I have this idea in my head that I'm ITCHING to get out but you can feel free to ignore❤️

Can you do what would happen and what would Sanemi, Giyu, Tanjiro, and Obani do if reader got turned into a demon during a battle?

LIKE I SAID FEEL FREE TO IGNORE!! YOU DA GOAT BBG❤️

GEHEHE I'M DOING SO GREAT! 🫶🫶I HOPE YOU'RE DOING EVEN BETTER THOUGH 😡🥹 It was raining here all day and I was a worrisome parent and got soaked going to check on my kitties🥰🥰. (also why would I ignore such an angsty request MWAHAHA😈)

Includes: Sanemi Shinazugawa, Giyu Tomioka, Tanjiro Kamado, and Obanai Iguro CW: pretty much reader dies in all scenarios, but... yeah no my heart hurt writing these so there's no hope for any of us. Death, angst, sadness.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

The demon’s claws slice through you, tearing your skin apart. You fall to the ground, crumpled and bleeding

“San-Sanemi,” You choke out, the life draining from your beautiful eyes.

A vengeful scream erupts from his throat, burning his very vocal cords as he rushes the creature

Its head falls to the ground with a gruesome thump, Sanemi dropping to his knees next to your corpse. “YN...I’m so-”

Your eyes, they’re open and your pupils pull into slits. His next breath catches in his throat. “Sorry,” He breathes, his eyes stinging with hot tears

He picks up his nichirin blade, using it to help him into a standing position. Sanemi’s choked sobs echo through the forest valley. The glint of fresh sunlight reflecting off of his blade as he plunges the tip into your heart. The sun is cresting over the mountains in a new dawn.

Your garbled noises nearly drive him to the brink of whisking you off to a shadowy haven, but you wouldn’t want to live out your life being the very thing you fought so hard against. 

As the ashen belongings of your body blow past him he feels like he’s just stabbed himself through the heart.

“Sorry…so sorry.” He cries, but the sunlight dries his tears. 

Giyu Tomioka

He was by your side one second then cornered off by a second demon. He wants to remain close to you and protect you, but as he lands the final blow to the demon in front of him he catches the tail end of the demon lifting you by your throat. 

His blood runs cool, the demon’s features twisting in a cruel sneer as it makes you lick up the blood from his wounds. 

Too late, too late, too late

Just like with Sabito, Giyu was too late to save you. His head spins, running through possibilities to somehow not fuck up again

Tanjiro and Nezeko were a special case, who’s to say Giyu would break through to you? And when he didn’t? Would his heart finally go numb? The risk was too great.

The demon has dropped you and ran off, leaving you panting on the ground. You touch your throat, hacking up the blood it tried to feed you. A glimmer of hope sprouts in Giyu’s chest. Maybe you had saved yourself? You meet his gaze, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Giyu,” you smile, the one he’d grown accustomed to seeing every morning when you greeted him. “Giyu, I need you to be strong,” you start, but he can’t hear you. He doesn’t want to.

“No, I’m not strong,” His voice is trembling. His body aches with the knowledge of what you’re about to request of him. He couldn’t do it. You meant too much to him and he was a selfish man. When everyone else ignores him you see through his suffering to the little boy underneath, scared of being seen for the fraud he was. 

There’s that smile again. “Giyu. You’re a Hashira, you’re more than strong – you’re kind. You know what you have to do. Please, before it’s too late.”

Giyu’s body feels limp as tears mix with his sweat. He was too weak to save Sabito, but he could still save you. He yells into the night, a pained scream that rustles the birds from their branches.

Your head thumps to the side, fanning into dust as he sinks to his knees, sobbing over your remains. Turns out – he wasn’t numb after all. 

Tanjiro Kamado

You’re bloody, a demon standing over you, it’s foul stench dripping round droplets onto your wound

“Let’s see if you have the heart to kill one of your own, slayer.”

Tanjiro had been through this before, with his younger sister Nezeko and things were turning out alright with her.

Would his bond be strong enough to snap you out of the demonic craze? You had acted like an older sibling to him, watching over his progress and always cheering him on. Often he thought the gods had blessed him with you so he would have someone to look after him when he had no one. 

“YN!” He screams, the demon slipping away into the night. “YN talk to me. If you can still talk that means there’s still time.” But the veins on your face bubble and contort your expression to one of hatred.

Tanjiro falls back on his hands, heart loudly echoing in his ear. “YN, please… it’s me…your little brother.” But it’s far too late to work on your once human heart. As you rise to your feet Tanjiro stumbles to his as well

His katana is shaking in his grip. You were a demon, but also his friend. He can’t see through his blurry vision. 

“Pathetic,” you spit, then before Tanjiro can will his heart to do what he knew he couldn’t, you spill into the shadows

His vow to cut the head from Muzan Kibutsuji’s body grew a thousandfold that night

Obanai Iguro

You had been on this mission for weeks now, fighting side by side. Obanai had grown fond of you.

That was until a demon stole you away, reminding him that fondness sprouted weaknesses. However, he tracks you down regardless.

The demon had set up in a cave, the dawn making this rescue mission easier, but as he steadily slides into the heart of the cave he finds you’ve been tied up, dried green blood on your lips

“Fuck,” Obanai hisses into the darkness, searching around for the creature that did this to you

“It’s gone Obanai…” You drawl, your voice raspy and strained. He winces at the state of you.

He rushes to untie you, hoping it’s not too late and the insect Hashira can work some miracle cure on you. If Obanai was fond of you he couldn’t even imagine how the corp members felt about you. 

It had been a while of your fighting off the urge to turn, there had to be hope for you. If only he could get you back to headquarters fast enough…

As if reading his mind you shake your head solemnly. “Please, let me see the sunrise one last time,” you croak, gaze drifting to the sunlight filtering in from the cave’s entrance. 

Obanai squeezes his eyes shut, the electric buzz of his heart making it hard to fulfill your request. He was stagnant, breath quickening as you pleaded with him.

He offers you his hand, willing his chest to return to steel. He leads you to the outside world and your grip tightens as you step into the sun. Obanai’s body aches with unrelenting sorrow. If only he’d kept a better eye on you.

Soon enough, a faint ‘thank you’ blows past him on the wind, and he rushes away from the spot, not willing to look at what he had so carelessly taken for granted. 

[peachesofteal]

I keep thinking about Simon having to come home and telling Darling that Johnny is gone.

Not canon for Dead Disco. MW3 spoilers.

The little vial weighs a thousand pounds in his pocket. It holds the weight of his entire life, his love, one half of the only good thing about his entire existence. His future, turned to ash. Stolen. Vanished in a blink of an eye, like he was never even here to begin with. One light of his life, bright blue eyes that shone in the darkest moments of Simon's life, ripped away. His Johnny, now his angel.

His Johnny. His future. Yours. The life he shared, with him, with you. Gone now, forever.

It should have been him. He should have been there. He should have caught that bullet in his skull. Not Johnny. Not the one who had so much more, so much promise, so much to live for. All Simon had was him, and you. Johnny had the whole world.

He rubs his face, blinking his eyes wide to stare at the front door of the flat. He tries to force himself to take a step, put his key in the lock and cross the threshold, but his legs won't work, body rebelling against the logic of his brain.

If he doesn't go inside, then his family can't be ruined yet. He can still live in this in-between, daydreaming about Johnny just lagging behind him, coming up the stairs from the car, complaining about how tired he is, or going on and on about how he can't wait to see you, and he doesn't care if you're asleep, he's waking you up this time because he knows you'd want him to.

If he doesn't go inside, he can save you too. He can still safeguard your heart, still protect you, still keep you whole. He can save you from the pain, the heartbreak. Succeed where he's failed.

How can he face you? How can he open this door and tell you Johnny is gone? That he failed, failed to protect him, and in turn, failed to protect you. Failed to keep the love of his life safe from harm, like he always promised.

His hands tremble, sob cresting in his throat that he covers his mouth for, pressing his palm tight enough to cut off the flow of oxygen. How is he supposed to live, without Johnny? How are you supposed to? How can the two of you exist in a world where he does not exist?

He doesn't know. He thinks, most likely, he was never supposed to know.

You're freshly showered. Hair still wet, little droplets of water on your legs, absolutely beaming in one of Johnny's t shirts. You're happy to see him, no doubt expecting Johnny to be just behind him, and you've already got your arms extended, half skipping, half running towards where he stands, silent and shell shocked, just inside the door.

"You're home!" You breathe in his neck when you jump into his arms, and like a robot, he holds you tight, hands closing around you, entire body curling over you, squeezing you so tight he's sure it must hurt. If he can just, swallow you whole. Burrow you into his skin, hide you, shield you, keep you safe, then you'll never have to know hurt again. You'll never be faced with this pain, again. Not like him. "Where's Johnny?" you mumble, mouth full of sweatshirt and skin, his muscles turning to stone without his say so. You push off, trying to peek around him to the hallway, standing on your tip toes. "He still coming up?" The lump in his throat scorches his skin like lava.

"Darling."

"Hmm?" You look up at him, really looking, searching, and a small frown tugs your lips downward. "You look tired, Si." He can't answer, can't even speak, so he takes you by the hand and walks you gently over to the couch. As you sit, your face twists into something more confused, and finally... wary. "What's... going on?"

"There's been-" He can't. His heart screams in his chest, fire burning through his veins, mind shattering pain ripping through his skin.

"What is it?" You whisper, and when you look at him, he sees the fear in your eyes, the worry. They dart from him to the front door, waiting. Watching. Looking for the man who's not coming home. "Where is Johnny." He takes your hands, folding lithe fingers into his palms and anchors them there as he tries to take a deep breath.

"He's gone." They're barely words. Barely anything. And he realizes, in the back of his mind, that it's the first he's said them. First time he's told anyone, that Johnny is gone. First time that he's needed to. It's agony.

"Where did he go?" You rear back, confused.

"He-"

"He's gone where?" You try to pull back, legs shifting restlessly under you, but he strengthens his grip. He cannot let you out of his sight now, not ever. "Simon." Panic tinges his name, and he closes his eyes, trying to stave off the tears that are trying to spill over. "Simon, you're scaring me."

"He's gone. He- he died, darling. We lost him." He's not sure if he's even in his body anymore. He can feel his face growing wet, his sight distorted by his tears, hands clutching onto yours so fiercely, like someone is trying to rip you away.

"No." You tell him, like it's that simple. A denial. Refusal. "No, stop. No he can't be. He-"

"Please." Simon begs, pulling you into his chest. "Please, I know-“

"No- nononono. Simon. No." You're cracking now, crumbling under the truth, twisting in his grip, trying to pull away.

He lets you. Lets you jerk backwards, look at him head on with those wide, horrified eyes.

You stare him like he’s a stranger. Like you’ve never known him a day in your life, like you’re trying to peer into his brain, see the truth for yourself. He watches you, sees how your mind works to process it, sees how your eyes fill with tears, how your face crumples.

And then you scream.

You scream like you're being torn to pieces. You scream like you're watching it happen, all over again. Scream like a third of your heart is being ripped from your chest, your entire body shaking, fingers fisting in your hair and yanking. Ripping it out from the roots, fingernails digging into your scalp until they draw blood, chest splitting open with awful, terrible sobs. Sobs he never wanted to hear. Sobs he'll hear for the rest of his life, every time he closes his eyes, played with the sound of that single gunshot.

"Darling." He grabs back onto you, holding your hands in his, detangling them from your hair, and you don't even realize, don't even respond, breaths coming in short, frantic gasps that make him feel scared.

"He said... he promised, y-you promised." You cry, broken, and it buries him beneath a mountain of despair. "He can't b-be gone, he can't be gone, he can't." He holds you tight, tucks your face under his chin, into his neck. You shake in his arms, matching the trembling in his own body as his tears fall, and he lowers the two of you to the floor, rocking back and forth, murmuring nonsense into your hair above the sound of your moans.

Time passes slowly. You cling to him, almost like a child, refusing to move your face from his neck, pressing so hard into his skin he thinks you may be hurting yourself, until you fall asleep, exhausted from stress, heartbreak, grief. Your body worn out from crying, crying so hard you were coughing and gagging, screaming so loud your throat grew hoarse. For hours, he holds you, soothing you back to sleep whenever you startle awake, telling you that he's here, that he's got you, all while keeping his eyes fixed on the wall, where a framed photograph looks on with memories frozen inside it’s glass.