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sena-seastar · 4 months ago

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Burning Desire

Aemond x Older!sister Reader

Summary: You rush off to confront your brother Aemond after discovering he hurt your sister, only to find him crying. You are angry at him for what he has done, but you cannot stand to see your little brother suffer.

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Sibling incest

A/N: This was supposed to be an angsty comfort fic, but it very quickly got out of hand. All dialogue in italics means that the characters are speaking in High Valyrian. I was just too lazy to attempt to translate it. No beta, so I apologize for any grammar and spelling mistakes. (Gif is not mine!)

You stormed through the castle halls, ignoring the maids and knights who quickly stepped out of your way. Usually, you would give them some sign of acknowledgment, but tonight, you couldn’t— not when your anger was boiling over. Your hands trembled with repressed rage, and your fingers curled into fists as you tried desperately to refrain from lashing out. There was only one person who was deserving of your wrath, and you were headed to find him now.

When you arrived at his door, you entered the room, not bothering to knock. The loud sound of the wooden door slamming close behind you echoed in the air. The room was dark; only a few candles were lit, though they were burning dangerously low. You squint your eyes, searching until you find the silver-haired man hunched over in his chair. Your robe made a slight whooshing sound as you stormed over to his side.

“How dare you!” Your voice cut through the air like a sharpened blade, every word dripping with venom and contempt.

Aemond says nothing. His head is lowered, and his long silver tresses conceal his face.

“You dare to lay a hand on our sister?! Has she not suffered enough?! And now you wish to send her into battle?!” Your chest is heaving wildly as you lose what little composure remains to you.

Once again, you are met with a deafening silence that angers you even more.

“Have you nothing to say?!” you yell, each word cracking like a whip. Your brows furrow and your lips curl into a snarl.

Yet once again, your words go unanswered. You open your lips, prepared to berate him even more until quiet sobs reach your ears. Your blood runs cold, and you freeze. Aemond’s body jerked with every gasp that escaped his throat.

“I am alone,” he whispers . “As I always have been.”

His words move you to tears.

“Aemond,” you whisper, stepping closer.

You reach out a hand to touch his shoulder but pull it away just before reaching him. Your mind is suddenly conflicted. Your rage is quickly converting into sadness with every second that passes. The two of you rarely saw eye to eye these past few weeks. His actions above Shipbreaker Bay had left you horrified. The abhorrent murder of your nephew, Jaehaerys, happened not long after. You blamed Aemond for that and did not bother trying to hide it from him.

Then, Aegon returned from Rook’s Rest, burned and broken beyond repair. Your mother came to you shortly after, sharing her thoughts about what had happened. She believed Aemond to be responsible, but you could not bring yourself to believe it at the time. But as the days passed, you found yourself becoming increasingly unsure. Especially after today, when the horrific details of his actions at Sharp Point reached you. Most days, you could hardly even recognize him—this strange man who shares the face of your sweet little brother.

You take a deep breath before reaching out. Your hand trembles as you place it on his shoulder, but he does not flinch from your touch. He leans into it. Aemond raises his head just enough to look you in the eyes. His face is stained with tears, and his eye is red and gleaming with tears, ready to fall. His silver hair is unusually messy and unkempt. The leather eyepatch is gone, exposing the beautiful sapphire embedded into his eyesocket. It is a sight he has entrusted very few to see.

“I am sorry,” he cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know,” you whisper, pulling him close.

He buries his face into your stomach. His large hands gripped tightly at your sides, and you did your best not to wince. You lift a hand, brushing down his unkempt hair. You were angry at him. You had come here to yell at him, maybe even hit him, but you couldn’t. Not when it filled your heart with great sorrow to see your brother in so much pain. Your little brother. The boy you had always tried so hard to shield from the cruelty of this world. The boy who had always run to you for comfort after being humiliated by Aegon time and time again.

Aemond continued to sob. His tears made the thin fabric of your nightdress stick to your skin, and the cold wetness sent a chill down your spine. You gasp as you feel him pull you down, sitting you on his lap. He held you close, burying his face into the curve of your neck. Your hands rested against the warm, bare skin of his back as you held him. He must have been preparing for bed not long before you arrived as he was only dressed in a pair of black lambswool breeches.

“You are not alone,” you reassure him, gently kissing the scar that marred his brow. “I am here, as I always have been.”

There is a slight chill in the air, but the heat radiating from his skin keeps you warm. Aemond sniffles but says nothing. You can feel his tears sliding down your neck. You move a hand up to his head, toying with his hair. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, seemingly inhaling your scent. Aemond shifts in his seat, spreading his legs a little wider, making the position more comfortable for you. A quiet gasp escapes your throat as you feel the taut muscle of his thigh pressing into the most intimate part of your body.

The feeling sends a rush of heat through your veins. Your breath quickens as you try to push the sensation aside. Your face burns as shame begins to overwhelm you. He just wanted to be close to you, searching for comfort in your arms as he had done many times before. But your body is turning it into something perverse.

Aemond bounced his knee ever so slightly, almost like a tremble. You squirmed, trying to press your thighs closer together in hopes of stopping the heat growing in your stomach. One of Aemond’s large hands rests firmly against the small of your back. The other moves to grip the outside of your thigh.

“Aemond,” you gasp as you feel his lips grazing against our collarbones.

“What?” He asks, his voice so nonchalant.

“I think I should go,” you replied, trying to stand up.

But his hands hold onto you tight, refusing to let you go.

“Please stay,” he begged, burying his face into the curve of your neck once more.

“Alright,” you whisper, trying to calm him.

His hair tickles your nose. You lift your head a bit, resting your chin on the top of his head. You trail the tips of your fingers against the muscles of his back. Aemond nuzzles his face against your neck. He bounces his knee a bit harder. You wonder if he is doing this on purpose.

“Aemond, stop it,” you mumble, trying to ignore the fire sparking in the pit of your stomach.

“Stop what?” He asked, ghosting his lips over your jaw.

“You know what,” you whine.

He ignores you; his lips press soft kisses against your jaw. Aemond bunches the skirt of your dress into the hand that grips your thigh. He steadily inches it up higher. The cold air touching your now bare legs makes the hair on your body stand up. Suddenly coming to your senses, you gasp, slapping a hand over his as the skirt of your dress reaches just above your knees. He tries to continue, but you use all the strength you can muster to keep his hand still.

“We must stop,” you command, trying to stop yourself from giving in to him completely.

This was wrong. You were both betrothed to other people—him to some Baratheon girl and you to the Lord of the Arbor. They were political matches, as most marriages are. You held no love for Lord Redwyne, but you would do your duty as was expected of you.

Aemond easily pushed past your hand, slipping his hand between your thighs. You gasped, trying to squeeze them together to keep him at bay. Your stomach flutters as his thumb rubs across the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your fingernails dig into his forearm. You pull back, and he lifts his head to look you in the eyes.

He removes his hand from between your thighs, moving it up to your face. You find yourself melting into the warmth of his palm. The pad of his thumb ghosts over your lips, but his eye never leaves yours.

“You were supposed to be mine,” he says in the gentlest tone.

“Aemond,” you whine, trying to push him away.

But he refuses to let you go. The hand on your back kept you from standing. His fingertips trail down the side of your neck down to the neckline of your nightdress. His touch on your skin leaves you feeling almost delirious. The fire in your stomach is fully ablaze now. You squirm in his lap as his fingers graze over the tops of your breasts. You cursed yourself for this, as the feeling of his tense muscles sends waves of heat straight to your cunt. The hairs on the back of your neck raise. Your eyes close, and you bite your lip to stop crying out.

“Look at me.”

It is a command that you are unable to ignore. Aemond is the prince regent. In this moment, he speaks with the king’s voice. His absolute authority leaves you fearful and painfully aroused. Once again, your eyes meet his. He says nothing, simply watching you like a predator stalking its prey as his hand moves over your nightdress, cupping your breast. You gasp, slapping a hand over his. You know you should push him away, but you don’t.

A chill runs down your spine. Under his gaze, you feel completely exposed, almost powerless—a feeling you usually dislike greatly. You were a princess of the realm and a dragon rider. You were anything but helpless. Yet you find yourself wanting nothing more than to surrender yourself to him, to escape from your worries and sorrows, to be free from all the tiring expectations that have been placed upon you since your birth.

“Am I so hard to love?”

His voice trembled, as he struggled to hold back tears. The authority is gone, replaced with something much more vulnerable. The sight broke your heart in two. You had always worried about Aemond, your sweet, sensitive little brother. Since he had come of age, he had changed. He was colder and more distant, not just from you but from everyone, even your mother, whom you know he cared for greatly. It was like he believed he had to be this... pillar of strength, or all would crumble.

You remove your hand from his, moving it up to cup the scarred side of his face. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss on his brow. You have done this so many times over the years, yet it has never felt as intimate as it did now. Aemond closed his eye, leaning into your touch. A sharp pain stabs at your heart as you watch how desperate he is for your comfort.

The hand on your breast slid back down to your thigh. Aemond’s fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. Your thumb traced down the deep scar that marked his cheek. You lean down, peppering kisses from his cheek to his jaw, where the scar stops. He turns his head slightly, so that your lips hover above his, almost touching. You rest your head against his. His violet eye stared into your own.

“What of Floris? She is to be your wife.” You say, hoping he may come to his senses, as yours have fled from you completely.

“You will be my wife... for tonight.” A single tear drops from his eye as the words leave his lips.

It is such a beautiful, harrowing sight. One that leads you to shedding tears of your own. Aemond’s hands grip you by the waist, hoisting you up just enough for you to straddle him. Your knees rest on both sides of his legs, trapping him between your thighs. A wave of heat runs through your veins as your bare cunt presses against his clothed bulge. He leans forward, capturing your gasp with his mouth. One of your hands cups his face while the other pushes his hair away from his face.

The two of you shared passionate, frantic kisses. You had not been prepared from when Aemond’s tongue slid into your mouth. You whine, caught off guard, but do your best to follow along with him. You had no experience with such things. The only kisses you had ever experienced came from tall, handsome knights in your dreams. But even then, those kisses were nothing like this. They were short and sweet. A quick peck on the cheek or lips, but this was much different. Aemond kissed you with such urgency, such deep burning desire.

Aemond lifts his hips, pressing himself against you. The feeling of his hard cock pressing against your aching cunt makes you cry out, though your noises are muffled against his lips. The feeling is so foreign, yet exciting, that you can’t stop yourself from reaching down to palm him through his trousers. His hardened cock is thick and throbbing beneath your touch. A newfound confidence blooms in your chest.

A sound rumbled in his chest; his large hands gripped your ample hips. Your hands moved to grip his shoulders as you rocked yourself back and forth, your bare cunt grinding against his clothed bulge. He hissed, knitting his brows together. You watch as his face contorts into one of pleasure. Your own burning desire is growing too much. Your desperate, heavy breaths fill the air as you grind yourself against him even faster, desperate to reach your peak. He looked up at you; his mouth hung open slightly as he watched you use him for your own selfish gratification.

It’s exhilarating- him watching you- seeing you in a way no other ever has, touching you in a way no other ever has.

“You’re doing so good,” he praises.

His praise sends another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins. The room suddenly feels unbearably hot. You’re so close; you can feel it. The pressure building up in your stomach is eager to be released. You roll your hips even faster, harder. But it is not enough. The throbbing in your cunt is almost painful. You are nearly sobbing at this point.

“I want more,” you whine. “I need more. Please, brother.”

“I am at your mercy, sister,” he smirks. “Take what you want.”

You reach down, huffing as you struggle to untie the laces of his trousers. You can feel his chest vibrate against you as he chuckles.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you grumble.

“My apologizes-” he shudders as your hand wraps around his thick cock. Finally freeing him from the confines of his trousers.

A triumphant smile crosses your face. You give his cock a few strokes, admiring the way it stands so prettily for you, so thick and full. Suddenly, you begin to fear the thought of having to fit it inside of you. Aemond seems to sense your worry. His hand cups the back of your neck, making you look at him.

“Take it slow,” he warns.

You nod, lifting yourself on your knees a bit. Your wetness coats your fingers and his cock as you press the tip into your aching cunt. You whine as the head breaches your walls, and you clamp tightly around him. The stretch is a bit uncomfortable but not painful. You may be a maiden, but you still had desires. Many nights, you have had to satiate your hunger with your fingers.

You lower yourself on him slowly. Thankfully, your wetness makes it easier to take him. You take a deep breath as you take him to the hilt. It takes you a moment to adjust to his size.

“Are you okay?” Aemond asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

“Yes, I just ... need a moment,” you breathlessly laugh as he lifts a hand to trail his fingers against your jaw.

He nods, raising his chin to kiss gently against the corner of your mouth. You turn your head, pressing your lips to his. A soft tongue gently licks at the swell of your bottom lip, and you grant him entry. The gentleness comes to an end. He licks into you with a fervor that steals your breath away. Your thoughts fade, and you melt into his arms.

Aemond kisses you like he wants to devour you, and you want nothing more. You lift your hips before lowering yourself. Aemond finally breaks the kiss, and his hands move to your waist.

“Ah-h,” he whines against the corner of your lips.

You begin to move slowly, easing yourself into up and down on his cock. Your eyes never leave him, watching as he presses his head to the back of the chair. His chest moves with his deep breaths, his eye is closed, and his mouth is partially open. He shudders, and a desperate, eager moan emits from his throat. It is a sight to behold.

He lifts his hips, pressing deeper into you, making you cry out.

“Aemond!” You whimper, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

His eye fluttered open as he watched you struggle to find the right pace. He gripped your waist tighter, his fingers digging into your fleshy sides. He guided you, raising you up and down on him. The newfound pace made you mewl pathetically, but you were too desperate to reach your peak to care. He called out your name. It sounded almost sinful coming from his lips.

You drop your head, resting it against his. Your mouth hangs open as you gasp and moan. The faint scent of pine and smoke fills your nose. It’s him, his scent. The smell is almost intoxicating. Your mind is swimming, dizzy from the pleasure of him bucking up into you.

You feel one of his palms cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer. He lifts his chin, closing the small distance between you pressing his lips to yours. You try your best to follow the frantic rhythm he sets. He swallows every sound you make as he holds the back of your neck, refusing to let you pull away—not that you want to.

Aemond plants his feet on the ground for leverage as he pumps into you. His thrusts are more erratic now as he approaches his end. The air in your lungs is incinerated, and a shameful, high-pitched moan escapes from your lips. You move your hips, rocking against him, dangerously close to finally reaching your peak.

He doesn’t stop, bucking into you with a force that would be strong enough to toss you off of him if not for the hand holding onto your waist. Your hot cunt clenched around him, the muscles in your legs burned from remaining in this position for so long.

It’s not fair- how good he is at this- how good he is making you feel. It’s all too much. Your poor wet cunt is overwhelmed with pleasure. The hand on your neck moves down, and the pad of his thumb rubs circles around that sensitive button between your legs.

“That's it,” he coaxed, his hot breath fans on your mouth. “Let go, give it to me.”

You don’t stand a chance. Not when his cock makes you feel so full, reaching that one spot that makes you throw your head back. One of your hands tangles in his hair, tugging. Your chests’ are flushed against each other as you both rock against each other. You clench around his cock as you finally reach your release, hard and blinding. The world around you seems to disappear. It’s only you and him who matter.

“Ha-ah ... ah,” he sputtered, becoming more desperate.

You cry out as you fill his hot mouth, which latches into one of your breasts. He suckles at your breast like a starving babe. His tongue lashes back and forth around your hardened nipple. The sensation is strange but has you clenching around him even tighter.

His teeth graze against your nipple. Every grunt and moan that leaves him vibrates against your breast. You can feel his thrusts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. His cock pulses inside of you, it feels too good. Aemond releases your nipple, resting his forehead on your breast. Choked gasps and grunts slip past his lips as he reaches his peak, releasing inside of you, filling you with his seed.

The two of you stay pressed against each other as you come down for your highs. Aemond’s hips relax, his body melting into the chair. Your body sinks into him, boneless and spent. You lay your head on his shoulder, resting your chin on his collarbone. His fingertips trail over the curve of your back. Your eyes feel heavy as you struggle to keep them open.

“I am sorry for what I’ve done,” he apologized.

“I know,” you reply weakly.

You can feel his warm breath against your ear. His scent, mixed with his sweat, fills your nose, bringing you comfort.

“Our sister has too much of our mother in her. I see that now.”

You frown but say nothing, letting him continue. His lips press against your ear. He nudges your face with his shoulder, making you pull away. He grasps your chin between his thumb and index fingers. Your eyes flicker between the sapphire and his violet iris. You lift a hand to trail your fingers along his sharp jaw.

“But you and I,” he says, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “We are two flames kindled from the same fire. We were always meant to burn as one.”

“Aemond,” you sigh.

“I am afraid,” he admits, rendering you speechless. “I cannot fight this war alone, sister.”

“You are not alone,” you argued. “You have Daeron.”

“Tsk,” he turns his head. “He is still young, as is his dragon.”

“Young or not, Tessarion is still a dragon.”

Aemond says nothing. His eye stared at the plain stone wall of his bedchamber. You watch him silently, trying to read him.

“Come with me,” he asked, turning his head back to you.

“What?” You gasp.

“Mount your dragon and go with me to Harrenhal.”

“Mother would never allow it,” you shake your head.

“Our mother has made it clear that she does not hold our best interest at heart.”

“She means well,” you protested, trying to defend your mother, no matter how true his words seemed.

“If we do not fight, we will die. Rhaenyra may spare you and Helaena, but she will not be so merciful to the rest of us. She will have to take Aegon’s head, mine, and Daerons's as well. So long as our father has a living son, she will never be able to rule in peace.”

“You don’t know that-”

“I do,” he insisted. “Is that not what our mother has told us our entire lives?”

You blink, and memories of your childhood flood your mind. He was right. Over the years, your mother had repeatedly stressed the dangers that would follow should your sister ascend to the throne.

“Come with me,” he whispered.

Your eyes flickered from his trembling lips to his tear-filled eye. It was not an order but a plea. He was afraid and desperate for aid. You were afraid as well—you had been since Ser Criston placed that crown upon Aegon’s head. It has only been a few weeks, and already, your life has been turned completely upside down.

You had no desire to fight this war. Many times, you have had to stop yourself from climbing on your dragon and leaving. But you could not abandon your family, just as you could not abandon Aemond now.

You nod your head. He smiled, a look of relief crossing his face. One of his hands finds yours, lacing your fingers together before bringing his lips to yours, giving you one last sweet and adoring kiss. Once he pulls away, you lay your head back down on his shoulder.

“Can I go to sleep now?” You mumble against his skin.

“Yes,” he lets out a breathy laugh. “You can sleep now.”

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attapullman · 8 months ago

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So Hold Me Close and Say Three Words | bungalow!Robert "Bob" Floyd

PART OF THE BIG WINDOWS, SMALL KITCHEN UNIVERSE

Summary: There's only one thing that can get your boyfriend's mind off the horrible popcorn ceiling.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: f!reader, smut, 18+ as always, cockwarming, pet name Honey, title is from McFly's "All About You"

A Note From Mo: Welcome to bungalow!Bob! A dash of acts of service, a sprinkle of a condescension kink, and a whole lot of extremely loving boyfriend. Live-in boyfriend Bob is my biggest indulgence so no one look at me, I'm fragile.

He’s been planted in the big easy chair all morning, staring up at the last project on his list before the kitchen, and sighing. Dragging long fingers through wild hair as his eyes take in the wide expanse of the living room.

His arch nemesis: the popcorn ceiling.

The little dipples and spikes of joint compound taunt him daily. A major contrast to the rest of the bungalow, all smooth ceilings with stunning walnut beams - one major selling point of the property. And while the previous owner did a great job with the addition bringing in natural light with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the backyard, he was off his rocker for choosing popcorn ceilings.

Bob hasn’t hate anyone more than the previous owner. Well, maybe the neighbor across the street who stops by a little too much.

Before he moved in, Bob barely noticed any features of the sweet green bungalow you owned. The majority of his time here was spent in the bedroom between your thighs. But the switch flipped that first weekend after he moved his shoebox apartment in. Lounging on the sectional, girl on his chest, book in hand, and one look up at the world’s ugliest ceiling.

He had to fix it. You deserve your dream house and it was his mission to give it to you.

The line between his brows is adorable as he mutters something rude at the drywall.

“Bobby, babe, it’s just a ceiling.”

Those wide cornflower blue eyes blink at you, as if noticing for the first time you’re also sitting in the sun-drenched living room enjoying your coffee.

“It’s an ugly ceiling.”

You can’t help but giggle at the disgust in his tone. “It’s not that bad, I don’t notice.”

Your sweet boyfriend just rolls his eyes and leans back, side-eyeing the offending design choice.

Peering over the edge of your mug, you admire the way the mid-morning sunlight streams through his hair, highlighting it copper. His sweats hang low on his hips, underwear forgotten, black shirt slightly too small with how much he’s filled out with all the manual labor fixing up the house.

While not the main reason you asked him to move in, pajama Robert Floyd is a high perk of the situation.

The scowl on his face isn’t quite as endearing. Your heart hurts knowing how frustrated he is by the ceiling. He loves you. He loves this house. It’s too much pressure on him wanting to make it perfect.

Ever since he permanently parked his truck in the driveway, Bobby’s been nothing but generous. He sees the charm and coziness of the bungalow, but also the repairs and fixes you’re too busy for. His entire leave was spent weeding the backyard, and your skin still heats remembering his muscles bulging after carrying the pile of boxes from the garage to the attic.

While you won’t satiate your boyfriend by allowing him to drop cloth the living room and scrape every dimple of drywall off the ceiling today, you do have a better idea for getting Bob’s mind off his dreaded enemy.

His eyes widen as you stand up, admiring the way your body stretches in your cozy waffle knit robe before heading through to the kitchen. Listens to you fiddle with dishes before passing him again to the bedroom. Too far away to hear, he sinks back into the leather armchair, allowing his body to meld to the material while frustration sits low in his gut.

The birds at the feeder chirp away before you return. Toes against hardwood catch his attention, and Bob’s head turns toward the hallway, mouth dropping open.

You’re walking toward him in just his threadbare Naval academy shirt. The shirt you put on the first time you stayed the night. The shirt you were wearing when he last came home from deployment and you shyly asked him to move in. His favorite shirt.

“H-honey…” It’s an unfinished sentence as he takes in how the sunlight illuminates you from behind, baring the silhouette of your figure inside his shirt.

A smile dances on your lips as you come closer, dropping something on the end table with a soft tink. A noise lost as you straddle Bobby’s thighs, his fingers racing to touch as much of you as quickly as possible. Groaning when he realizes that the shirt is all you have on, the soft flesh of your ass swallowed by his big hands.

Your fingers smooth their way up his torso, gliding over the dark fabric until the long expanse of his neck pulses beneath your ministrations. Eventually curling into his hair, combing it back into place as he gazes at you earnestly. Within moments the two of you so deeply tangled it would take twice as long to separate.

Eyes filled with nothing but love, your lips quirk sweetly before pressing a kiss to his. Allowing it to linger before pulling away to explain. “I appreciate how much work you’re putting into the house, but I don’t want you to stress. Can I help you relax?”

In place of a response, he groans and pulls you tighter to him, relishing the feel of your skin.

“Is that a yes?” Your laugh fades as he captures your mouth in a soft kiss. The sunlight highlighting him as you gaze lovingly into his oceanic eyes. The same color as the La Jolla print you bought last summer that he just hung up.

Bob is more than happy to spend the rest of the morning making out. Enjoying the soft warmth of you beneath his hands and the taste of your tongue. The morning sun setting the mood while the birds on the porch sing the soundtrack. It was perfect for him.

Well…perfect until you ran your thumb down the outline of his cock and breathed the most sinful words against his jaw.

“Actually, I was thinking I could keep your cock warm?”

His moan is more of a whine as he immediately swallows your tongue, so grateful for this Saturday morning surprise. Raises his hips as you drag his sweats down, releasing his slowly hardening cock into the space between you, already wet at the tip.

“Honey - ah, that feels s’good,” he interrupts himself as your hand wraps around him,”-but we should prep you. Don’t want to hurt you, honey bear.”

Your face splits into a gentle grin, so enamored by the way he takes care of you even when he’s hotly thrusting his hips into your fist. A grin that pops in surprise when his fingers trace along your folds, appreciating the arousal dripping over your thighs.

It’s so hot that you only wear his shirt without panties.

His rough thumb slips along your clit, working its way in soft circles. It’s a treat the way your nipples harden against his shirt, level with his eyes as your mouth falls open with sounds only for him. He can’t wait to watch you fall apart stretched out on his cock.

A hand on his wrist makes him pause, your half-lidded eyes finding his. You give him a sly smile as you lean forward to the end table. “Don’t need to, you got me nice and open last night, remember?”

As visions of pounding you face down in the bed only hours before run before his eyes, his mouth opens to protest. He’s fully aware of how big he is and how tight you are.

You press your finger to his lips as you raise what you’d grabbed in the bedroom. “A little of this and we’re good, promise.”

The lube bottle slips between your fingers, applying the slick substance along his shaft as you press soothing pecks along his temple.

“Can’t wait to be full of you, Bobby.” His fingers dig into your skin. Your dirty mouth will be the end of him. Especially with how your eyes burn into his while you raise up on your knees, lining up his obscenely shiny cock with your dripping slit.

“You sure you can take all of me, Honey?”

His gaze meets yours with that steely hint of condescension right as his tip breeches your folds, your pathetic nod spurring the beginning of your descent.

The popcorn ceiling is the last thing on his mind as your velvet insides take him in. The snug fit of you mixed with the heady scent of your sweat has him dizzy, wrapping his strong arms around you to maintain control. It’s hard to think straight when you take every inch of him so beautifully, the lube assisting your efforts.

“Almost there, so close,” Bob breathes against your lips, the hair of his pelvis beginning to brush against your clit. You’re at capacity and there’s still more. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together, every time you think you’ve taken all of him, there’s always more.

Breath caught in your chest, his lips swallow your moan as you finally take him to the hilt, hips pressed fully together in their loving embrace. You’re so full, too full, deliciously full. His warm hand along your back soothes you, massaging while gritting himself against how good it feels.

You laugh through the consuming fullness. “This is supposed to be relaxing you, sorry.”

“Hon, never apologize for making me feel this good. This is exactly what I needed.”

Despite the tense way he’s holding his jaw, he looks content. Soft sapphire eyes shining with admiration, sandy hair swept off his forehead, a soft bead of perspiration trailing down his neck as he fights off the need to thrust. You cradle his jaw between your fingers, loving the way he keens beneath your touch. He’s out of a fairytale.

“I love you.”

“Love you more.”

Time stands still - the melody of the birds fading into the sun-drenched morning - as you bask in the feel of each other. Connected as one in the soft leather of his favorite chair. Soothing fingers trail up your back beneath his shirt, skimming the edges of your breasts, as your own trace the defined planes of his features.

“I just want your house to be perfect. You deserve perfect things.” He burrows his face in the crook of your neck, placing a delicate kiss as he feels your satin walls contract around him.

You whisper against his hair. “It’s our house.”

Actions replace words as his hands travel up your shirt, crossing over your back as he holds you to him, dragging his lips over each spot of skin available. Skin warmed by sun is covered in adoration.

You shift, the pulsing of his shaft dizzying, as the acts of his love pepper your cheeks, your jaw, your sensitive neck. You love him more than words could ever express.

Love you. Love you so, so much.

When your foreheads finally rest against each other, antsy with arousal and admiration, Bob finally can’t help himself. A soft thrust up into your dripping center, the most delicious treat. The desperate whimper you release against his cheek only spurs him on, shifting his hips back once more only to sink fully into the home of your body.

“I think I’m done with cockwarming,” you admit with a breathless smirk as his hips buck into yours once again.

Your horny boyfriend has never heard more beautiful words.

Strong hands grip your thighs as he pushes himself up to stand, your legs clenching around his lithe waist as your sense of gravity disappears. The shock instantly replaced by the growing hunger consuming you as he walks to the bedroom, still buried deep in you.

“Ugh, stop showing off. You know I think it’s so hot you can carry me mid-sex.”

Bob pauses in the hallway, leaning back to hold your gaze. “Maybe that’s why I keep doing it.”That cobalt steel back in place. “Now be a good girl and let me take you to bed.”

taglist: @bella-maria2018 @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @himbos-on-ice @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @midnightmagpiemama @nerdgirljen @nouis-bum @petersunderoos96 @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @sydsommersss @topherwrites @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld @primroseluna @hauntedduckdefendor @unpretty-reader @erospecies @pinkdaisies9285 @spinning-away @livingoutsidethetardis

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#bungalow!bob #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd smut #bob floyd smut #robert bob floyd fan fiction #bob floyd fan fiction #top gun: maverick fan fiction #top gun: maverick smut

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faeriekit · 3 months ago

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Health and Hybrids (XXVII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

��Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Diana helps mediate. Stinky Dad and the Alien Guy observe.

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Danny’s space-watching time is very important to him. He’s pretty sure it’s on his schedule, even.

Every few days—and even more days in a week, now that people are relatively certain that he’s not going to start hitting the medical staff—Danny gets wheeled over to the big window to stare out at the moon.

The moon hasn’t changed all that much since his first few visits, since. You know. It’s in space. Still, the stars shift in their positions, and sometimes they face Earth, and sometimes they do not, and a couple times Danny sees people flying out there, which is super neat.

Sometimes Danny sees maintenance workers out doing repairs on their buildings, too. They wave back at him when they’re not busy or carrying something, which makes Danny’s core bubble and spark with joy.

So, Danny is watching the stars twinkle in the sky with all the meditative calm his Obsession requires when something plops onto his head. It doesn’t hurt, but it does put pressure onto his neck. Ow.

Danny hisses automatically, but he already knows who it is—the quick-fast-kid-who-hasn’t-introduced-himself practically vibrates against Danny’s skin, all excited by omg/omg/misch/iefomg.

Typical. Danny wants to feign a bite, but his neck kind of hurts. He settles for grumbling. “What?”

“Dude,” the teenager says, or, uh, Danny approximates he says something kind of like dude, anyway— “Want to come see a feoht?”

Uh. “A what?” Danny asks, ignoring how the guy’s chin keeps digging into his scalp. It might be the most non-medical physical contact Danny’s had since he broke down with Diana. Maybe.

The teen backs up, and models some very quick punches into the air, making his own sound effects to match. It’s all very impressive, or whatever. Danny’s not going to applaud, though; his arms are tired.

“…Sure.” It’s not like Danny has anything better to do.

“Berstan!” the kid chirps, and—

Danny clamps down on his wheelchair wheels because holycraptheyaremoVINGFAST. His wheels aren’t on the ground—the teen is carrying him, chair and all—!

He’s going to be in so much trouble for running. Danny’s wheels touch the ground, and he drops straight to the floor. His hands shake all the way up to his elbows as he grips his wheels. He is going to be in so much trouble when the nurses look for him and he’s not there.

Oh no. Oh no.

“Here we are!” the quickfast teenager announces, grinning. They’re in a room with a big, rubberized floor. It’s basketball orange. The rest of the room is virtually indistinguishable from the cloth folding walls Casper High uses to divide the gym into smaller gyms—giant cloth panels line every surface that isn’t the floor. Walls. Ceiling.

Well. It’s certainly…sound dampening. There’s vents, though. So. At least they can breathe.

The other teenagers Danny recognizes yell out to them, cheerful as ever. One waves—the kid behind him waves back, and then they’re all clustered together, pleased and breathing heavy and slightly sweaty.

“Feel alright?” one teen asks—Danny recognizes him after a second; he usually has a leather jacket on over his brightly colored shirt. He isn’t sure what the huge S is for, but hey, it’s a cool emblem or whatever. Danny used to have his initial on his…

…Danny doesn’t want to think about that, actually. He doesn’t want to think about anything about home at all.

Oh. Someone asked him a question, and now they’re all looking at him for answers. Danny nods jerkily—something sloshes inside his skull, though, which. Ew. He scrunches his face up when everyone else starts to look worried about his expression, though; it’s no big deal! It’s just! Gross!

The boy who is very fast pats his hand before sliding to the other side of the room. There are buttons there, which he presses; the room shifts, just a little, to make a piece of the floor turn away in favor of a rack of weapons. The teenager who’s always masked, but is now in an exercise shirt, whistles approvingly, and two of the teens—whoah—start flying off to grab at the equipment available.

…There’s some cool stuff there. Danny. Danny might…

He doesn’t want to fight, per se, but. Um. Weaponry is intrinsically cool. There’s no doubt about it. Half the reason he liked to play Doomed was collecting the newest and coolest weapon to blast at all his enemies with! And Tuc—

—and—

—Tucker—

Something clicks right up in front of Danny’s face.

He flinches.

“You good?” the teenager asks, big blue eyes on him as Danny struggles to breathe. “Do you want hweorfan?”

Danny gasps around three uneasy breaths before his ears catch up. Or. Well, his ears work, but his brain doesn’t know what the teen is saying?? Danny shakes his head anyway—he doesn’t want more to happen. He wants less.

The teenager frowns. Danny immediately worries that he did something wrong. “Okay, but tell me if you change your mod.”

As soon as Danny figures out what that is? Sure. He’ll tell him.

In the meantime, the kids split up into groups; one set of two goes to one side of the gym and the other goes in the air, floating on the other si— wait, they can float??

…Danny stares, and two ostensibly human-looking teenagers take to the air, loudly teasing the two left on the ground, and, yeah. They’re flying. Danny watches as the one on the ground starts counting, ready to start their match, only to interrupt his own countdown for a sneak-attack at the start and a PIFF of a smoke bomb going off. Danny can’t see the buzzing kid disappear from sight as the air begins to thicken, but there’s a distinct taste of JOY/games/VICIOUS that flutters through him that tells Danny that, wherever he is in that smoke cloud, he’s living his best life.

And. Well.

The fighting is—there isn’t a better word for it, it’s just so damn cool. There’s kicking and punching and throwing and tossing and—sure, Danny can take a few hits and deal out some surprise punches when he has to, but these kids know what they’re doing, which is so cool, because once Danny lost the benefit of gravity mid-fight basically everything Mom had trained in him had been thrown out the window. The physics were just never right.

(And— Mom—)

Like, all the punches are happening at speeds that Danny can only kind of follow. His neck starts hurting from trying to follow them—but he can’t stop watching, and the kids are really having a blast. They’re laughing. They’re teasing. They show off, even, stopping to pose and flex and be admired by their sole observer, which Danny obliges with some gentle claps. The others are quick to jump on any distraction, though, and are more than willing to have Danny be the center of attention while they sneak up on showstoppers, stick or lasso in hand.

On one hand, Danny should probably be more alarmed by the sight of kids acting as literal child soldiers training to be combat ready. He…he’s pretty sure he’s meant to be one of them as soon as he’s recovered enough to get trained.

And…it is scary. It is kind of a scary thought that Danny might have to go back to…go back to fighting and getting hit and hitting and everything that fighting means.

On the other hand, there’s no one here. All the kids here are Danny’s age, and they’re not fighting because someone is making them; they’re having fun, and their job is to help people.

…Danny puts his legs higher up on his wheelchair, until he can wrap his arms around his knees. They’re supposed to beat up threats, but they don’t think that Danny’s a threat. They’re letting him sleep in a bed and get medical care and making sure he gets medication and everything. They let him hang out with their children and he has toys and fidgets to pass the time, and maybe he’ll have to pay them back later, but… isn’t helping out because he got helped only fair?

And they let non-humans live on Earth! That one teen’s stinky dad said that they could help Danny stay on Earth, he thinks. Or, uh, it’s what he thinks the green guy translated that as? So as long as he doesn’t leave, they could even protect him from the— all the bad stuff on Earth! So really, all Danny has to do is work on getting better. He’s safe here. Diana is here, the stinky dad is here, and there’s a whole team of super-people with super powers ready to help people.

Danny’s safe. He’s calm. He’s fine. He’s…worried that Diana doesn’t know where he is, but she’s smart and there’s probably cameras.

He watches the teens play around with various weaponry like they’re his model rocket. There’re thrown projectiles and giant hammers and dodgeballs and sticks, staves, and lassos; someone pulls out a shield, of all things, glittering gold and gleaming with something that itches at the back of Danny’s eyeball, and there’s a gun that sh—

Danny only breaks out of the memory of RUNNINGRUNNINGRUNNING when he realizes that someone is holding him. He’s choking. He doesn’t know who’s holding him, but they’re not hurting him right now and he can see a crowd of other colorful figures around him, which means he’s not with the Guys in White.

He’s hyperventilating. He can’t help it. He can’t stop it! His lungs hurt and there’s no end to the stress pressing out of his chest. Someone is holding him; where’s his chair? Did he lose it?? That’s really expensive medical equipment—they’re going to be so mad at him—!

Someone lifts him out of the stranger’s arms. It’s one of the older quick-buzzing humans. Not the teenager, and not the oldest one, he thinks. Danny can’t tell. He can’t breathe, and it’s hard to focus.

He’s shushing Danny like he’s a kid. Danny would be insulted, except he can’t breathe, and he really wants someone to help him, and his eyes are all weird and he can’t see and he doesn’t know where he is and his core hurts and his chair is gone—

Oh. The guy puts Danny’s hand on his chest and models breathing in with one big, visible breath.

Danny breathes in.

The guy models breathing out. It’s a long, slow breath.

…Danny struggles through the follow-through, but he manages. Well. He chokes hard enough to cough, twice, but…close enough.

The colorful forms milling about slowly disperse, until it’s largely just Danny, and the fast guy radiating very measured levels of calm, and his friend in black and blue, who is eating a sandwich. They breathe in, and they breathe out. That one guy eats his sandwich.

Danny looks around. He’s…the room he’s in is really big. Tables. Benches. Little stands of foo… Oh. He’s in a cafeteria. Cool.

…He squints through the new haze of green in his eyes. He’s probably strained something, but there are more important things at stake here: can he get some real food here?

“Where is here?” Danny asks. Rasps. He’s mostly horizontal, so manipulating his head around to glance at his surroundings is kind of a strain on his neck. Is that a hot dog cart?

“Wistheall,” the two say simultaneously—the guy in black and blue and a bird on his chest swallows his sandwich. “…Want a snakka?”

You know what? Danny’s going to assume that this means a snack. Sure! Why not. Nodding his head so quickly hurts, but he’s also not walking anywhere, so it’s not like it’s a full-body pain. The buzzing-quick guy sort of just…carries him around and asks Danny what he wants, and the bird guy gets it for him.

The little vibrations the guy is giving off are tinged a little with wor/ryworry/worry, but the guy’s mostly…at peace? Forcibly shoved it all down? Danny and the guy are practically chest to chest at this point, so it’s probably just that Danny’s close enough to feel even really quiet things.

His suit is super smooth, by the way. It’s not, like, skintight—there’s a little armor underneath, Danny can feel—but the fabric itself is like super slick. It’s cool. Texturally.

Also, he gives Danny a tube of something that are clearly off-brand Prongles, so Danny’s mostly just enjoying that instead of wondering what’s up with this guy and his friend.

“Are you okay?” the guy finally asks, his chatter mostly winding down into a question Danny can recognize. Danny swallows his bite of chips with a swig from his water bottle, and nods. He’s…unsettled, but he’s fine. He doesn’t know where he is, but he didn’t know where the teenagers had left him either, so this is about what he expected.

Even under his red hood-and-mask, the guy’s eyes are kind. Kinda worried. Not mean. “Something bad happened?”

…Danny looks back at his chips. Something bad happened, but it didn’t happen recently. “No,” Danny muttered around the crumbs in his mouth. He swallowed dryly. “Not…not now.”

The vibrations slow, and dim, melancholy lacing through the air. The sensation makes Danny itch. “Before?”

Danny nods. He thinks about his body melting from the outside in, his face dripping off in chunks of wet matter, his throat torn open still screaming.

“It was a—“ Danny tries, but he doesn’t actually know their word for gun or blaster. He just forces his fingers to make a familiar symbol, holding his own middle and end fingers back, leaving a shaking, uncomfortable thumb and pointer.

The quiet pew pew sound effects probably aren’t necessary, but the more detail, the better, or something like that.

Danny remembers how hot it got. Just…all the heat and light, and he could smell smoke right up until he couldn’t. And his face…everything hurt—everything still hurts, even—but the scary point had been when suddenly his face hadn’t hurt, and there was nothing left to feel.

…The guy holding him pulls Danny’s fingers away from his face. Oh. Danny was pulling at his still-green, still-healing wound. He. Uh. He doesn’t remember starting to do that anymore.

“Sorry,” Danny whispers. He swallows something wet from his sinuses to his stomach, and has to fight back the memory of a blood-and-ecto-and-flesh slurry taking its place in his esophagus as he tried to crawl away to die. Again.

The man sends out pulses of sorrysorrysorry through his skin. “Me too,” he murmurs back.

Then Danny gets hitched up—Danny squawks—and gets thrown into a better position over one shoulder, so Danny has better height to see from and a better perch in the guy’s arms. Danny drops half his prongles on the floor in the process. “Want to go find your chair?” the guy asks, body vibrating just a touch outside of Danny’s conscious awareness. Still, even without seeing the guy’s face, his whole body radiates sympathy/curiOSITy/Hungry.

…Didn’t they just eat?

Either way, Danny’s not torn between staring sadly at the ground where his prongles lay cold and bared to the cruelty of the world or getting up to go find his chair. “Yes,” he agrees, and uses the flat of his forearms to haul himself up higher onto the guy’s shoulders. Kindly, the guy in red doesn’t even budge. “Thank you.”

“Na geswincan,” the guy reports back easily, which Danny is pretty sure is a less-formal you’re welcome. Too bad there’s a whole language’s worth of context Danny’s missing out on here. His friend even snags Danny an extra can of prongles, and is kind enough to rips open the seal for him.

Nothing beats recovering from a crying jag like chips. Danny takes them earnestly.

The quick-fast guy hooks his arm onto his friend’s, and the world starts to stretch and blend into the in-between planes of reality, slices of world layered atop each other. The guy smashes through each one and pulls them both along for the ride.

It’s not quite like dunking his head in the portal, but it’s not not like sticking his head in a homemade portal either. Danny shakily pulls out a chip and starts chewing. He’ll just take the ride as it comes.

“Superboy.”

Kon winces.

“Robin.” Wonder Woman’s eyes turn to the more remorseful end of the bunch. “Wonder Girl. Impulse.”

“Wedidn’tmeanto!” Bart wails into a pillow, which. Fair. Cassie is sweating from possibly every pore she’s ever had (and maybe even a few she doesn’t??), and Tim is doing that stoic-faced thing that means he’s flipping the hell out too much to even tell his face to make expressions about it.

Kon just looks…miserable. Just absolutely miserable.

“…Triggered by firearms, maybe…?” Tim mutters under his breath, which means that he’s theorizing about their guest’s symptoms rather than coming up with solutions-oriented paths out of this confrontation and Cassie wants to shake him because this is NOT the time, Timothy Jackson Drake, except he’s kind of made of mortal human flesh and if she actually shakes him too hard he might die.

“I hope you understand how deeply irresponsible it was to take our patient out of his rooms without any form of supervision from either myself, his medical team, or an adult up to speed with our patient’s medical and psychological needs.” Wonder Woman’s voice is sharp—and her eyes are on Timmy Wonder Boy, who’s barely paying attention, making it clear that the majority of her ire is currently on him. “All four of you are being taken off of mission rosters for the next month in favor of remedial training. I hope that you are all satisfied with the decisions you made.”

“Fiiiine,” Cassie groans. Kon slumps in place. Tim nods without really looking.

Bart, still wailing at lightning speed into his pillow, continues doing…that.

#Danny: I'm gonna drop some hints to the past I am currently avoiding #Also Danny: SEVERE TRAUMA ALERT WEEWOO WEEWOO #YJ does make an I'm sorry card because they're grounded and can't visit him but also they forgot that he cannot read. So.#imagine the sloppiest card you've ever seen plus really ugly crying doodles courtesy of Bart #Danny does appreciate it. but also. wtf lol #dp x dc #health and hybrids #danny phantom #tw medical #tw body horror #tw gore #although at this point we're mostly a recovery fic #dcu crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #faer fic

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paegei · 7 months ago

Text

UNIVERSE FACTORY

pairing - idol!woozi x afab!reader

summary - you often found yourself locked up in your boyfriends studio with him, trying to make the most of his hectic schedule. sometimes however, things take a turn for the... steamier side.

a/n - another long break guys... im sorry <(＿　＿)>

NSFW CONTENT ! MDNI !

SMUT warnings under the cut !

SMUT WARNINGS: voyeurism, semi - public, degrading, use of slut, choking, sex up against a window, protective sex ( lets go ! )

UNIVERSE FACTORY - your boyfriends second ( well... maybe first ) home. you often liked to come visit him during his working hours, seeing as you have to remind him to take breaks. he made it very clear, however, that when he is in the zone, to NOT DISTURB HIM.

listen, jihoon LOVED your company alright ? loved the fact that you could simply exist in the same room as him, no words having been spoken, but you and him both know that he cannot, for the life of him, resist you.

it was like any tuesday night. you were stuck up on the leather couch in your boyfriends studio, admiring how passionate he was about his work. you usually spent your time in Universe Factory simply lounging - listening to music, ordering take out, scrolling aimlessly. today, was different. there was something in the air tonight.

you watched as jihoons arm moved while making his creations. the muscles under them seemingly glowing in the LED blue lights he had on. he had been getting so buff lately, so really, it was his fault ! you were simply appreciative of his hard work !

apparently, your staring was too loud for his liking, as without turning around he let out a gruff "stop". honestly ? pretty contradictory of him because he is WELL AWARE of what his deep voice does to you.

you tried your hardest, you really did. but it's not your fault he's so insufferably attractive ! enough was enough, and you decided to approach him. sure, he'll get mad, but all that means is an extra rough night. win-win situation in your books.

you slowly walk towards him, placing your arm atop his shoulder before brushing it further down, resting on his biceps. a shiver delved through his body, yet he still didn't turn to acknowledge you. horny beyond repair, you pushed his chair away from his desk, spun him around to face you, before plopping yourself down on his lap.

the act in itself was risky, so, without letting him so much as utter a word, you rushed forward, smashing your lips with his. a yelp left his lips, muffled due to the barrier that is your mouth on his. he hesitates, contemplating on giving you an earful for distracting him, but he cannot deny that your boldness melts his brain. so, with a heavy heart, he begins to match your vicious kisses, placing his hands on your waist and squeezing.

the kiss is hot. messy, spit sliding down your chins. he had been just as desperate as you, if not more, he simply had more control. his hands began to wander, just as your lips did the same. with his mouth free, he was able to finally speak.

"that fucking desperate huh ?" the rasp in his voice had made the effect of your panties growing wetter, so, as payback, you began to ground your hips down onto his, enjoying the feeling of his cock growing firmer with you ministrations.

his grunts followed the movements of you grinding, one escaping his lips with every stroke. he strained his neck back, allowing you more room to continue your nibbling.

"couldn't wait 5 more minutes, hmm ? my slut just can't help themselves, is that it ?" a whimper was all he got back in return.

his fingers somehow found their way inside your underwear, his fingertips brushing over your bundle of nerves. your lips detached from his heavily bruised neck to let out a wanton moan. his fingers continue their journey down.

"fuck, so wet. just from watching me work ?" his smirk is evident in his voice, and you watch as it grows when you weakly nod your head. "mm, could probably just slip right in, fucking soaked." he follows this promise as two fingers slide into your pussy.

you squirm above him, finally getting the relief you craved all night. for the second time, your lips gravitated towards each other, the kiss nothing but heavy panting a whimpers.

you feel his fingers stop for a slight moment, before he withdraws them completely. you begin to protest, your fingers gripping onto his shoulders. his gruff voice next to your ear stops you.

"up." the command sends electricity through your spine, your body obeying before your mind can even catch up. you stand on your shaky legs, looking down as he quickly follows, grabbing your wrist and walking towards the window. the one MANY carats look up to, hoping to catch a glimpse of your boyfriend.

"if you want to act like a slut" he starts, pushing your front up against the glass, slotting himself behind you. "why not let the world see it, huh ?" he moves to nip behind your ear. "safeword ?"

a moan leaves your lips, brain unable to complete a sentence.

"words or i stop". he starts to untangle himself from you, and the desperation finally allows words to form.

"r- red ! red ! please hoon don't stop !"

he wraps around you again, stopping to place a quick kiss to your forehead, mumbling a quick "good job, baby". his hands begin to rake your body, one reaching up to play with your tits, while the other runs up and down your back comfortingly.

his hands leave yours as he leans back to grab a condom from his desk drawer. while the time it took for him to slip the rubber on was closer to a minute, the horniess clouded your brain and caused the interaction to feel like hours.

finally, you feel his body return behind you, one of his hands resting on your waist while the other guides his cock towards your heat. as the tip pushes pass your walls, your forehead rests upon the glass, while he nuzzles his against your neck.

he waits a couple beats before he begins to slowly rock his hips into you. each thrust growing in strength.

"this what you fucking wanted ?" his tone is rough, angry, and makes you mewl. the clenching of your pussy causes him to let out a small whimper, completely contrasting his tough demeanor. you would use this as an opportunity to tease the man, however he predicted this, reaching his arm up to squeeze your throat. the feeling of air being restricted felt heavenly. the slight dizziness caused you to push your ass back, trying to fuck yourself on his cock.

"just had to be a slut and throw yourself at me."

there was a small lull in his dirty talk, as he leans his head back, focusing on the heat of your cunt. his neck was flexing as he bites back his moans; he doesn't want any noise besides the fucked out gasps you are making. the sight alone causes you to arch your back and smush your face further into the glass, letting a multitude of curses and jihoon's name pass your lips.

his arm that had previously been choking you, moves to sit up against the glass, helping his body completely envelope yours. his front rests against your back, one arm above your head, the other on your waist, his cock is kissing your cervix; the two of you could not get any closer.

"fucking slut, anyone could look up and see you drooling for me" his words cause you to clench around him harder. "let carats know i'm taken, yeah ?"

you peer down from the window. you can see no one is actually watching, and for a moment that disappoints you. the thought of one of jihoon's fans attempting to see your boyfriend, yet being met with the sight of you getting your life fucked out of you... now that brought immense pleasure.

his pace quickens, he appears to be just as affected by his words. the sound of skin on skin grows harsher, and the grip your cunt has on him gains strength. the tip of his cock finds your bundle of nerves and begins to make you unravel.

"hoon- hoon- fuck- 'm so close"

"yeah ? wanna show everyone how gorgeous you look when you cum for me ?"

the squelching of your cunt was deafening. you could feel the wetness sneaking down between your legs. jihoon runs his hand down, making figure 8 motions on your clit.

tears had begun to escape your eyes. your body began to convulse. the noises you were making somehow doubled in volume, as you let your orgasm take control. all of your words got slurred together, completely intelligable due to the weight of your peak.

faintly, you could hear jihoon praising you, something along the lines of "that's my fucking baby" or "so good for me". his thrusts lost their rhythm, he starts mindlessly humping into you.

his face smashes into your neck once more and his whimpers fill the room. you could feel his cock twitching inside you, emptying himself into the condom.

attempting to catch your breaths, jihoon quickly redirects you to the leather couch you had previously been occupying. he lays the two of you down, dick still inside you. his hands rub up and down your body while he patiently waits for you to come down from the intense high.

he peppers kisses along your neck, only looking up when he feels your hands in his hair. he leans forward, redirecting his kisses to your lips.

"y' okay ?" the question is murmured into your mouth. you softly nod your head.

he eventually lets your lips part, looking down at you before saying:

"i really hope no one saw that"

not proof-read ! lmk if there's any mistakes (づ￣ 3￣)づ

#seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #svt #svt x reader #svt smut #woozi x reader #woozi smut #jihoon x reader #jihoon smut

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holylulusworld · 1 year ago

Text

Falling leaves - Flufftober 6

Summary: He’s a grump, but for you, he’s willing to change.

Rating: Teen

Square filled for @buckybarnesbingo: Y4: Holding hands

Square filled for @allcapsbingo (expired): O1: Pining

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, mutual pining, friends to more, general cuteness, Sunny vs grumpy trope

Trope: Sunny vs grumpy

Words: 824

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2023

“Please for me,” you look at Bucky, who sits on the least comfortable chair in your apartment. Legs spread, and a grumpy expression on his face he glares at the colorful scarf in your hands. “I’ll look good on you. We will match. I made the same for me.”

“I don’t do scarves, doll. I’m not cold. It’s still warm outside,” Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. He loves that you like to make things for him, but you’ll not convince him to wear a colorful scarf.

“Fine,” puckering your lips you look at Bucky. “I’ll wear mine and you can go in your leather jacket. If you get cold, I won’t keep you warm.” You point your index finger at Bucky. “Now. Let’s head out.”

“Head out?” He furrows his brows. “I thought you wanted me to come over to help you repair your sink. “Where do you want to go?”

You put your hands on your hips and huff. “I told you it’s the perfect day for a walk in the park. I want to collect a few leaves too. You were the one bringing my leaking sink up. Please don’t leave me hanging. I don’t want to go alone.”

Bucky watches you wrap the scarf around your neck. He smiles as you glance at him now and then. He’s not immune to your charm and already gets up from his seat to go for a walk in the park with you.

“I won’t wear the scarf,” he grumbles as you look at him. You’ve got this look. The one making his heart melt whenever he’s around you. “I mean it.”

“I know,” you try not to sound too sad. “You can wear your neck naked, like a real man.” You grab your bag and the peacock green slouchy knit beanie matching your scarf. “I’ll be warm and cozy.”

“You’re freezing all the time,” Bucky points out as you try to ignore he’s so close that you can smell his cologne. He’s your friend and nothing else you tell yourself once again. “Maybe we can have a hot chocolate or tea after you collect your leaves.”

You grin. “It’s a date,” you exclaim, taking Bucky by surprise. “We can have a slice of pumpkin pie or apple pie if you like.”

“Sure,” he watches you grab your keys. “I prefer apple pie. My ma made the best, but there’s this little bakery I discovered when I first came back to Brooklyn.”

You’re suddenly reminded of Bucky’s past. This city was his home before it was yours. He’s, just like his best friend Captain America, a man out of time.

“Look at all the beautiful leaves,” you smile widely as your eyes land on the colorful trees and the leaves on the ground. “Let’s hurry before someone else grabs the best leaves. I need them for my next art project.”

“We will get them,” he assures you. “Which ones do you want?”

“Uh-the pretties ones,” you shrug. “I’ll know when I see them.” You crouch down to pick the first leaf up. “Bucky? Did you hear me?”

You dip your head only to watch Bucky glare at a guy who crouched down to pick a leaf up. “HEY! Hands off the leaves! These are for my doll!”

Your eyes widen when Bucky storms toward the man to snatch the leaf out of his hands.

“Bucky, it’s fine. There are more than enough leaves,” you place your hand on his back to stop him from killing the poor guy. “Let him go.”

“He tried to steal one of your leaves,” Bucky argues, but he hands the leaf back to the man. “Look for leaves somewhere else. This spot is ours.”

The man runs off, grumbling under his breath. “That was,” you grab Bucky’s hand and hold it, “very nice of you.”

“He tried to take the leaves away from you,” he dips his head to glance at you. “I can’t let him steal your leaves.”

You nod. “How about we collect a few leaves and have this walk we were talking about earlier?”

“Wait here. I’ll get the best leaves for you,” he runs off to look for the prettiest leaves. You watch Bucky for a while. He crouches down to pick up leaves, looking at peace. “Wait, I’ll help you.”

“That was nice,” on your way out of the park you are holding Bucky’s hand. You smile softly as he proudly carries the leaves you collected in a bag.

“Do you want to go home, or have some tea and a slice of pie,” he asks, hopefully looking at you.

“We can grab some pie and go to my place to have tea. Maybe you can stay for dinner,” you look up at Bucky. “Only if you don’t have plans for tonight.”

“It’s a date,” he says, squeezing your hand. “And tomorrow, we can go for another walk. I’ll wear the scarf too.”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnesbingo2023 #bbb2023 #bucky barnes x you

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ceilidho · 1 year ago

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prompt: ghost works on an oil rig. he meets reader during his osha mandated 2 weeks off. (ns/fw)

Ghost experiences time like a sudden swarming of locusts. Absolutely devastating for a period, and then silence, just him to observe the aftermath of the wreckage.

Work on an offshore oil rig is split into shifts of two weeks on, two weeks off. During his two weeks on, he spends his near twelve-hour shifts in constant motion, muscles aching to the point of fatigue, to the point of giving out where he lugs tools and parts across the rig. He contorts himself into all manner of positions for quick and long repairs, breaking his back day in and day out because that is what work expects of him. What he expects of himself.

Lying motionless in his bed, the sound of Soap’s snoring from the bunk over him the only thing half-resembling a lullaby. Hours before sleep falls on him, and then suddenly it’s day again, opening grit-crusted eyes to the bottom of Soap’s bunk, metal and leather straps across the underside, and then he’s up and down the halls that are never big enough for him. He wakes up ravenous, never full. Hungering always.

It takes nearly a full three days onshore to get his bearings; he never quite loses his sealegs.

Foam-topped beer at his local pub. That’s how Ghost fills his days off; the rest of his crew flock off to their families, some into the warm arms of whatever casual arrangement they’ve got going on outside of the rig. For Ghost, he finds solace in counting down the minutes until his OSHA mandated period of rest is over and it’s time to head back.

There’s nothing waiting for him outside of the rig. Family home long since burned to the ground. He won’t even let his mind turn to the family in it.

He’s on the fifth day of his union-enforced leave, hunched over the bar like usual and picking away at an order of fish and chips when he happens to look up and catch sight of you. You’re chattering away at the other end of the room, dressed like one of the waitresses.

You’re new. Ghost learns as much when he turns to the bartender—an old friend of his, though he’d call him less of a friend and more of a familiar face that’s come to know his name after the years he’s spent at this particular pub—and it’s said like it’s a novelty. It is. New faces are rare in towns like this, working class towns far off from any big city. It’s the same reason he hasn’t fallen into bed with anyone in too many years to count, not when he sees the same old faces whenever he touches land.

With you though, it’s different. Ghost keeps an eye on you while he nurses his pint. It’s not hard to catch your eye; you’re new and keen and curious and when your eyes rove over the crowd that grows as night outside deepens, it’s impossible to skip over the shape of him. His line of work has shaped him into something strong and solid; linebacker-size, a condition of which is to never feel comfortable on any chair.

Your eyes go wide for all of a second, betraying you. Momentarily desirous. Ghost sees it and feels it stir in him for once in years. No longer the perfunctory thing to be dealt with in the bathroom every morning after waking up, one calloused hand wrapped around his thick length, grunting with his release and then washing his hands off before getting started with the day’s errands.

Ghost waits until he’s nearly at the end of his glass before stepping from his chair, heading out the front door. Before he exits, he makes sure to catch eyes with you again, something significant passing between the two of you.

Cigarette in an alleyway beside the pub. Taking the glove off his hand so he can feel the cig between his fingers, feel the ash flake off past his knuckles. He’s leaning against the brick wall when you come out, apron tied demurely around your waist.

It’s you that breaks the silence first. “Hi—haven’t seen you around before.”

He stares into your eyes for a spell, taking another pull before he tosses the butt to the ground, snuffing it out under his boot. “Wouldn’t imagine you had.”

You take a couple steps closer, despite yourself. Despite the fact that you know what you’re broadcasting, the way you look up at him from under your lashes, cheeks dusted with a blush that’s hardly visible in the dim light but for the way you make it obvious with the rest of you.

“I just moved into town a couple days ago. Guess I’ll see you around more often—Gaz said you’re a regular.”

“‘Spose you could say that.” Time feels molasses slow for once; Ghost feels the edge of his lip curl up into something half-resembling a grin, in another time. “Don’t suppose you’re off for the night, are ya?”

Your legs around his waist are softer than anything he’s touched in years. It’s a near revelation. There’s something in him that grows frantic when he finally has you on your back on his navy sheets; the sparseness of his bedroom hardly seems worthy of having you in it, but he won’t pass up the opportunity. His eyes go half-lidded when he gets between your legs, tongue flicking over your clit and laving over you from hole to hole. Greedy for it.

His head spins when he finally slots himself over you and pumps into the soft warmth between your legs. The little bitten off noises, kitten-like moans that get trapped behind your teeth. Your arms are snaked around his neck, tightening like your pussy around his cock. His big hands clutch at your ass, squeezing into the flesh there; everything so soft.

“None of that, love,” Ghost grunts into your neck, sucking dark bruises into the softness there. Hoping they flare bright in the morning light. “Want you loud. Gonna imagine this every time I’m alone and hard on the rig. Perfect little cunt.”

When he makes you come, fingers rubbing at your clit until you squeak, nails digging into the muscle of his back, it burns into his memory. Time stilling for once, segmented only by your quick breaths in.

For the first time in longer than he can remember, his time off-shore can’t be long enough.

#cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost/reader #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ceil writing #dont ask where im getting the energy to write this much itll vanish soon

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overly-dramatic-artist · 4 months ago

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On the Horizon - prologue

Hello friends! As per the voice of the people, the Wild West au is being written into a fic! I’m still building the world and some plot details, but here is a small little appetizer of a prologue! Thank you for all of the love and enthusiasm that you have shared with me about this au!

The memories of this town remain, like the grains of desert sand caught in the folds of leather boots and saddles. Nothing truly leaves this place. The plant may be plucked, but the roots that get ripped by the stubborn ground are trapped, not unlike the years spent in innocence under the scorching sun and surrounded by the unforgiving mountain range.

You pull on the reign, effectively halting the steed hauling your small wagon you sit upon, as you see the more defined structures of Aurora Springs come into view against the glowing sunlight that sinks lower against the purple mountains. There’s an ache in your chest, a tightness in your lungs as you breathe in the dry air, remnants of your past rushing forward like a dust storm, unyielding as the laughter of childhood wonder and honeyed words of your mother embrace your subconscious.

Her final letter sits in the tight space between your chemise and vest, over your heart and folded just as it had remained for the past 6 years.

And on the opposite side against your hip is your father’s holster and pistol, tucked discreetly into a deep pocket of your skirt.

A letter of love. An object of protection.

The only pieces you had left of your parents that had driven you to abandon the notion of mercy.

You had become a product of this desert, unrelenting and unforgiving.

………..

Some things in life never change. The out of tune piano across the bar. The shattered glass window that has been long since in need of repair. The suede leather chaps Sun had worn for years. The casual look of disdain on his lunar counterpart’s face as patrons yap and jabber. And of course, the unfounded and quite frankly stupid belief of man that this time for sure he will win.

With a round of loud groans and laughs, Sun collects his winnings from the table, much to the anger of the drunk man who had refused to fold before losing everything.

“So sorry, gentlemen, looks like I win again,” the sunny automaton says, the faux-sympathy of his synthetic voice further riling his red-faced opponents.

The man with the heavily oiled mustache and britches two sizes too short frowns, spits at the floor and stands with a screech from his chair.

“You been counting the cards! Ain’t right for a cheater to win.”

“Come now, good sir, I renounce rule-breaking. If you truly thought me a cheat, you shouldn’t have played the game.” Sun tilts his grin towards the man before slowly standing to his impressive height, one hand cradling over the grip of the pistol in his leather holster. “But I suppose we could always settle this like proper men…?”

The glint of the low bar-lighting on the silver gun that hits the angered man’s eye is enough of an answer, and the loser leaves in a huff, stomping away from the table.

Not long after settling all bets and debts, the lunar and solar automatons leave, saddling up their horses roped in the stalls.

”No need wasting a gunshot for the sake of petty cash,” the dark one says, his red eyes reflecting on the black rim of his hat, stomping the last embers of his cigar into the ground.

“You of all should know I don’t take well to being called something so despicable as a cheater,” Sun playfully shoots back. “Besides, I could get a couple rounds more with what I won.”

Moon clicks his teeth at his partner, adjusting the rifle slung over his back before signaling with the reins for Astraea to start moving. The horse brays, leading Calliope to follow.

As usual, the lunar bot remains silent for the ride through town, keeping his gaze forward. Sun was good at filling the silence, or at the very least, making the pair seem slightly less intimidating to onlookers. Their line of work came with that deadly connotation, and they lived up to their titles, but a bit of charm and camaraderie was useful for keeping the townsfolk in good favor. A nod to the miners coming back from the canyons, a wink at the courtesans on the corner.

Passing one of the bulletin boards by town hall, Moon pulls the reins to a halt with a hum. Sun looks where his partner is fixing his eyes, an identical smile pulling his lips. On the rotting wood bulletin is a newly pinned poster. A wanted poster. With an intriguingly high priced bounty wanted alive.

“I was looking forward to a weekend fixing that fence in the east pasture…” Sun says, pulling the poster down, letting his fingers trace over the details of the pretty face printed in ink, “…but I can’t pass up such an offer.”

His lunar lover laughs with a shake of his head.

“Does it say where they last were?”

“Stormridge, headed west.” Sun passes the paper to Moon. “Could already be here in town.”

The red-eyed bot hums, pulling a cigarette from his coat pocket and lighting it with the exposed wire on his wrist with a hiss. He lets his systems take in the smoke, the tarry buildup caressing the roughness within his casing. With an artificial exhale, he looks back at his partner.

“I suppose we should go get those rounds then.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Ahhhhhhhh!!! I hope that is enticing and intriguing for a beginning!

And for anyone who hasn’t seen this au before, here are some of my sketches for it 💖

#writing #on the horizon #fnaf #dca #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #wild west au #sundrop #moondrop #sun x reader #moon x reader #five nights at freddy's #fnaf fic #dca fic #dca fandom

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leatherrepairs123 · 11 months ago

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#leather repairs in Cranleigh #leather repair patch for sofa #leather sofa repair near me #leather chair repair

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warping-realities · 3 months ago

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Wolf Scent

Part 1 - Blood Calls

"Welcome to Igniteriders..." Xander mumbled, stifling a yawn. He had a rough night with barely any sleep because of his double shift and barely managed to roll into the motorcycle repair shop after snagging a two-hour nap right after leaving the damn Drive-Thru where he worked on alternating nights. “How can I help you?” He continued, totally zonked, barely seeing the customer in front of him. Even though the job was chill, he was on the edge of crashing.

“Xander, why don’t you take a break and grab some coffee? You look like you’re about to pass out,” Gabe, his boss, chuckled, giving him a light slap on the back that nearly knocked him over.

After pouring himself some coffee and slumping onto the break room couch, he found himself trying to figure out how to escape the mess he was in, which quickly turned into a doze that was interrupted by Gabe’s entrance. “Wake up, sleepyhead, you can’t keep dragging like this, dude. I’m sure if you put that brain of yours to work, you’ll figure something out,” he said, plopping down in the chair across from him while Xander just grumbled again and took a sip of the brown liquid.

“You would know the feeling if you worked as hard as I do, Gabe,” Xander said, stretching out, finally starting to wake up with the caffeine kicking in.

“Wanna swap places and get your hands dirty with some grease, punk?” Gabe laughed, pouring himself some black coffee while Xander jumped off the couch. Gabe was just a few years older and practically the opposite of Xander; Xander was small and looked fragile, barely holding it together, while Gabe, though even shorter, was built like a brick wall and could easily crush Xander with an arm lock— not that the mechanic would ever try that with the younger guy.

After waking up a bit, thanks to the miracle of coffee, Xander returned to his spot at the reception desk. He still had a few hours to go, so he focused on the fact that he could finally crash when he got home.

For hours he served customers on autopilot feeling like a zombie until someone approached his counter. He was taken aback by the dude walking up to the register. The guy’s hair was pitch black, and he was rocking aviator shades—something Xander never understood, why people wore sunglasses indoors? But working at the shop he kinda got used to it. Not that he’d ever say anything about a customer’s getup, especially not this one. The guy was massive, both tall and wide, and none of it looked like fat; Xander would bet his paycheck that under that leather jacket was pure muscle. “Hey, bro,” he said, stepping up to the counter as Xander stammered.

“W-welcome to... uh... greetings... er... how can I help you, sir?” he finished, dazed, while the giant man looked at him with a sly grin spreading across his bearded face.

Extending his hand over the counter for the kid to shake he read the name on his badge. “Xander... interesting,” he said cryptically, his voice deep and mysterious. “Well, Xander, I didn’t come here to buy spare parts, you see, I’m after something else.” He said, and Xander raised an eyebrow.

“Some kind of repair?” he asked, feeling a bit dumb as the man shook his head and leaned closer to the counter, making Xander lean in too. A smell invaded Xander’s senses; it was a musky animalistic scent mixed with a strong whiff of the outdoors, and he found himself thinking about wild animals running through ravines as they got closer to each other. They got so close that Xander blushed when the when the guy repositioned the aviators, and he saw momentarily deep yellow irises like an animal staring at him.

“You,” he said, and Xander's eyes widened in shock, thinking the guy was about to hit him. But he just burst out laughing, then stepped back a couple of paces and pulled out a flyer for a roommate that Xander had handed out around the neighborhood when his roommate split, leaving him to bear the whole rent burden. Xander sighed with relief upon hearing that; he thought the guy was going to clock him for who knows what reason—he was used to life throwing punches at him.

“Uh... sure... my shift ends in an hour... you can catch me there.” He really just wanted to sleep a bit, but having a roommate would take a load off, meaning at least a few shifts less at the drive-thru. The guy gave off a weird vibe, but he wasn’t in a position to be picky.

“Sure thing, see you later, little bro.” The guy replied with that mysterious smile before walking out of the shop.

“OK, that was definitely the weirdest thing to happen around here. Who the hell was that guy, Xander?!”, Gabe asked stunned, as he watched the man walk over to a Harley Davidson parked down the street.

“I don’t know... just someone interested in Jack’s old room.”

“Did you at least ask the guy’s name?”

Feeling dazed, Xander just muttered that he forgot to do that while a warm sensation spread from the hand the man shook while his scent clung to him stubbornly. Leaving work the feeling began to spread throughout his body; it felt like at any moment he might burst into flames. Did that strange guy pass some disease to him?” Xander wondered while pedaling furiously on his bike, only thinking about taking a cold shower.

But as he got closer to home, he didn’t feel tired anymore; in fact, he felt like he could pedal for miles, so much that he decided to take a few more laps. He kept a steady pace while circling the small square in front of his building, but it wasn’t enough; his body felt like a furnace, his heart seemed to pump fire through his veins, pushing him to go faster and faster. He craved the wind on his face and the relief it could bring, so he started pedaling hard, hoping the fatigue would kick in, but it never did. He kept pedaling and pedaling, going around the block until a biker started to keep pace with him.

“Unless you’re gearing up for Race Cross America, it’d be more interesting to ride something beefier; those tires won’t hold up much longer.” The mysterious guy grinned while taking off his helmet and parking his Harley, while Xander blushed as he dismounted his bike and headed home.

“Um... they’re old, probably worn out...” Xander replied. “I’ll just stash the bike and show you the apartment in a sec,” he said, noticing that even after all that exercise he hadn’t broken a sweat; his clothes felt a bit tight, but it must have been the pump or something.

After getting home, Xander kicked off his shoes and only then realized how tight his feet felt, like he’d accidentally put on a smaller size, which made no damn sense. To make matters worse, a strong, pungent odor wafted from his bare feet, something he’d never dealt with before. Mortified, he turned to the older guy.

“Sorry, this has never happened to me before, must be from the ride.”

“It’s just a bit of man musk, little bro; it’s all good.”

Thinking about what kind of odor that dude must put out if that was all good, Xander wondered if he really wanted to share an apartment with him. Then, before he could chicken out, he started showing the small space to the other guy.

“It’s not much; I get the master suite but pay a bit more for rent, but the shared bathroom has hot water, the couch is... comfy... and the location is pretty sweet, Mr. …?”

“No Mr., little bro, just call me Velkan,” said the man, whose bulk seemed to take up most of what was the living/dining/kitchen area while looking at Xander with scrutinizing bright hazel eyes, like he was waiting for some reaction. The only response he got was a “nice to meet you” before being led to the empty room by a confused Xander, who swore he’d seen big yellow eyes behind those sunglasses Velkan had the decency to take off upon entering his apartment.

“Um... maybe you’ll feel a bit cramped in here.” He commented, half-laughing, seeing the giant squeeze himself into the room.

“I’m used to living on the road, little bro, with the grass for a pillow and the starry sky for a roof, but right now, there’s no place better for me than this, trust me. So, when can I move in?” Velkan boomed, this time with a big grin on his face.

After getting everything sorted out with Velkan, who surprisingly asked to move into the room that very night, Xander hurried to take a shower to get rid of that smell, but no matter how much he scrubbed with that lemon and herb soap, the odor refused to leave his feet, and he could swear it was getting stronger. “I must be going nuts.” But if the bathroom walls had something to say about it, they chose to stay silent. While he aggressively scrubbed his pits, he didn’t notice that the brown hair he had there was turning black and starting to spread, becoming a new source of odor. Luckily, the cold water wiped out the burning sensation that had taken over him, and he managed to sleep, although the pungent smell intensified even more, dominating the room as he snored.

The next morning, Xander had no work but also no set plans. Upon waking, he felt that musk dominating the space again and was shocked to see that the source of the odor was his pits, but the bigger shock was seeing the bushy hair they had turned into, with long, wild black strands. What the hell was that? With no explanation for it, he decided he’d just take another shower to cool his head and see if he could finally get rid of that smell. He was pretty freaked out when he walked into the bathroom and found his hair jet black and longer, topped off by the fact that his skinny body was being replaced by surprisingly developed muscles. “What... what?!” he barked, touching the reflection as if that could undo some kind of illusion.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he asked again out loud. He could go to a hospital... and say what? “Hey doc, I’m living out the Tobey Maguire Spider-Man movie!” He’d be lucky if he wasn’t kicked out of the place, or worse, ended up in the psych ward! Still clueless about what to do with all this, he left his room intending to grab a strong cup of coffee.

As he walked into his living room, Xander jumped seeing someone sitting on his couch, only to scream as he bumped his head on the door frame.

“Now you’re training for the high jump, little bro? With your height, maybe it’s better to do it somewhere the ceiling isn’t so low,” Xander just let out a groan of indignation as Velkan stood up, picked him up like a rag doll, and plopped him down on the couch. His nostrils were invaded by the characteristic odor he’d sensed the day before, a smell that oddly resembled the one he was exuding, but which he had forgotten to acknowledge in the heat of the strange events that morning, or had he just gotten used to it? Preferring not to think about that he turned to his new roommate.

“Hey! Not cool, dude, I’m not a kid; I can get up by myself!”

“Chill, little bro; though I could just call you big guy now, right?” Velkan commented with that annoying grin that made Xander want to punch those perfectly white, pointy… canine… teeth… He felt a shiver run down his spine at the memory of those bright yellow eyes. Somehow, Velkan... and what kind of name was that, anyway? It didn’t matter; somehow, the other guy had done something to him! How could he have been stupid enough to let a stranger into his house? It was almost like he had been guided to accept it, like he was forced to go along with it...

“W-who are you? What... what are you? And what did you do to me?! Who the hell are you?!” he asked, jumping up and glaring at the bigger man.

“Calm down, little bro; you’re asking too many questions, and I need time to answer them. Why don’t you sit down and let me explain everything at a chill pace? Sit down, please... damn it... I said sit down, kid,” Velkan barked with authority while slapping his hand on the empty space next to him on the couch, and inexplicably Xander found himself compelled to sit, making the spot tight due to the other man’s massive size and the bulk he’d gained overnight.

“Good boy. Let me introduce myself properly first; my name is Velkan Stoian, and I’ve been looking for you for a long time, little bro.”

“I... looking... for me? I... don’t get any of this. What did you do to me? These changes... how... how is this possible? And what’s with the ‘little bro’ thing?”

Relaxing on the couch, Velkan grinned. “Well, it’s because that’s what you are.” And then, with a serious expression: “Did you ever wonder what happened to your family? Never thought about looking for them?”

“I... how do you...?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I was told they were all dead, that there was no one left... that I... I... have always been alone.”

“Bastards.”

“I don’t get it!”

Xander thought that might be his new mantra instead of the usual “how can I help you.”

“No, you don’t get it... Sandu.”

“What?”

“Your nickname, given by me when you could fit in the palm of these hands.”

With a sad, distant look, Velkan opened his massive hands, which could easily hold a baby rhino.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Alexandru Alupei Barbaneagra is your real name, kid, son of Dragos and Mihaela and... younger brother of… Velkan.”

“What?”

“Can you say something other than a variation of “I don’t understand’ just to mix it up a bit?” Velkan grinned, but at that moment, Xander realized there was sadness along with the teasing and maybe... affection?

“Sorry... I... don’t know what...”

“Stop talking like a weakling! Sorry, bro it’s not your fault. It was an atrocity what they did to you, to us, Sandu. But I’m here to fix it all, to hand over the inheritance you’re entitled to.”

Xander finally lost his voice at that absurd idea. Surely, if he had family, the social services would have said something, and he wouldn’t have been shuffled from one foster home to another like a stray dog until he hit eighteen and was tossed out on the street, lucky enough to land a decent job and an apartment that wasn’t a total dump. And even if he did have family, it surely wouldn’t be some huge muscle-bound dude like Velkan; they didn’t even look alike, for god’s sake... except that... he thought, except that both their hairs had the same color now, and his arms and legs were almost as hairy as Velkan’s... no, that was absurd...

“Now’s the time for you to say something,” Velkan barked.

“Velkan... if I had any inheritance to get, surely one of the bastards I lived with would’ve found a way to snag it a long time ago.”

“The inheritance I’m talking about, little bro isn’t any material good but rather your story, your past, and your future. You’re just a fragile pup and have been like that for way too long. I wish I had found you sooner to hand over what’s yours at the right age like our father did for me, but I lived my own hell. You need to understand one thing, kid: we are Romani, and just for that, we’re already hated. But you and I are more than that; we are children of the night, we run under the moonlight and that makes us even more hated, even among our own people. Your birth should have marked a peace treaty between us and the human men. Alexandru, the defender of men, what a joke. The men took advantage of your baptism to commit a massacre. Only you and I survived. And it probably should’ve just been you. I believe there was still enough humanity in them not to kill a baby in arms who was still far from transitioning. There’s a reason we look fragile and delicate until we’re ready to take our place, but after the process is complete... if I hadn’t managed to escape, I would’ve been executed without mercy. By eleven years old, I was already a pack man, bigger than you were yesterday when I found you.”

“Pack?”

“Come on, dude, how many hints do you need to realize this?”

“You’re saying you’re some kind of werewolf?” Xander asked, still trying to piece his thoughts together.

“Sandu, we’re both wolves. Though you still don’t pass for a pup who took too long to mature. Though this started to get sorted out the moment we met, bro. If things had gone the way they should have, there would’ve been a ceremony when you turned ten, but the way it was, I figured it’d be better to give you a welcome present; after all, the ceremony was just a formality. All it takes is for the pup to catch the scent of the alpha for the process to begin.”

“You’re completely insane! I want you out of my house now!”

“No, you don’t want that. You know what’s happening tonight, Sandu? It’s a full moon night, and you don’t want to go through that alone. The Wolf is hard to control even for the most experienced; I shudder just imagining what one that’s been trapped for so long will be capable of. If after tonight you don’t want to know about me, that’s cool; I’ll help you through your first transformation, and I’ll be out by morning. But I want you to know that during the years I spent as a wolf wandering through the woods, I could only think about what might’ve happened to my little brother, and as soon as I finally managed to deal with my pain and get back on track, I started searching for you. I was just a fifteen-year-old kid at the time, scraping by, stealing when I needed to eat, and when things got too tough, I’d shift back to being a wolf. But still, I never stopped hoping and looking for you.”

Xander stayed quiet as he looked at his bare feet; they were even bigger than before, with black fur covering the tops of his toes, even thicker and denser fur covering his legs and thighs, and a slightly darker skin tone seemed to spread right before his eyes. Not knowing what to say, he stood up and, with Velkan’s eyes following him, positioned himself in front of a mirror in the living room. What he saw scared him; his face was different, with an aquiline nose, a wider chin, and a more square jaw, covered in stubble, skin a shade of olive, and Velkan’s hazel eyes. Suddenly, the idea of being Velkan’s younger brother didn’t seem so absurd. And if something like that transformation was possible, why not the rest?

“Stay. That doesn’t mean I believe you, it’s all so extraordinary that... just stay,” he said, only to be nearly knocked over by the giant’s weight on him. Velkan remained silent as he embraced him, and Xander wasn’t sure what to say as he felt the weight of the other man’s emotion and that scent violently invading his nostrils, so he let himself get lost in the strength of that hug. They stayed like that for a while until Velkan pulled away and flashed that grin. “Where do you keep the booze in this place?” he asked, and Xander sighed as his eyes sparkled with amusement.

…..

Velkan introduced himself a bit more to Xander, telling the story of their family and talking about what their parents were like, the traditions, the travels, and the inevitable disaster that followed the death of both and the rest of the tribe. To Xander’s surprise, the tribe was made up of all kinds of people and not just what they still called gypsies today.

“Not every guy has a wolf inside him, bro. But it’s the Alpha’s job to identify those who do and bring them into the Tribe, and our dad was especially good at that. It took me a long time and training, and I haven’t reached a fraction of what he was, which is why it took me so long to find you. It’s a matter of scent, you see: the scent of the Alpha, his touch is what frees the wolf. But all of us, with the right training, can sense the scent of other wolves, even those not born yet, and in my search for you, I found a good number of wolves trapped in human flesh. There were many times I thought about giving up the search and starting my own pack, but I knew I couldn’t do that; I couldn’t leave my little brother trapped in a pup’s body for life. Those other trapped wolves will still have a chance to be freed, even if it means changing the flesh prison. We’ve arrived.” The trail in the woods ended in a large clearing, and Xander wondered if he had completely lost it while following the other man. This was all just insane. But with each step he took, as night fell, that torrent of heat began to surge within him again.

“How much longer?” Xander asked, looking up at the night sky where the moon hadn’t yet risen. Without warning, his skin began to burn as a sharp pain shot through his spine, causing him to groan and drop to the ground; his bones cracked as they seemed to stretch longer.

“I think it’s now, bro,” Velkan said, and Xander groaned as black fur began to spread across his skin like thousands of bugs crawling on him, making him want to scratch like crazy, but his body refused to obey his commands.

His clothes started to rip as a mix of muscles and fur expanded, tearing the already tight clothing to shreds. “Oh... I should’ve warned you; this happens,” Velkan laughed, and Xander growled aggressively. The pain was excruciating. His feet, which had already grown quite a bit, swelled even larger, stretching and widening, his thighs like corded steel, striated and wide, and his calves like footballs. In his abdomen, four, then six, and finally eight small blocks of muscle appeared, and his pecs broadened and pushed forward while his hands doubled in size, as his biceps formed into cannonballs and his triceps shaped like perfect horseshoes. His back widened, with lats so broad that he wouldn’t fit through some doors; finally, his neck grew to the point where no collar would ever fit. At this moment, Xander let out another growl that quickly turned into a howl. His eyes turned that deep yellow shade that had scared him, his hair grew, cascading down over his eyes in black curls. Suddenly, along with the pain, an orgasmic pleasure surged in his cock, which slowly grew to its usual 5 inches hard, but it didn’t stop there; it went to 6 and his muscles surged again, to 7 and his skin hit the same olive tone as his brother's, to 8 and his bones stretched once more, putting him just one inch taller than his big brother at an impressive 6’7”even though Velkan's broadness had no competition, at 9 and finally his cock thickened, nearing the size of a beer can. Unable to handle that mix of pleasure and pain any longer, he finally came, shooting a torrent of cum, and with the release, the pain ceased, leaving him sprawled on the ground, naked and drenched in sweat, trying to catch his breath.

“Wow... that was... intense,” he commented to Velkan while trying to reposition himself to get up.

“And who said it’s over, little bro? That was just you reaching all the potential you should’ve hit a long time ago. You’re no longer a pup, but you’re still not an adult wolf.” Velkan stood beside him, completely naked, and for the first time Xander... Sandu... could see the sheer glory of his older brother’s body, a gigantic mountain of defined muscles covered in black fur, with a cock hanging down between his legs that, when hard, must have been even bigger than his. And that damn... pungent... wonderful smell permeated everything. It was his own scent, but also the scent of the alpha, of his leader, of his brother, from whom he realized at that moment he would obey all orders and do anything to protect and... love, yes... now he understood everything, the reason for his brother’s years of searching; if what he felt in that moment was close to what Velkan felt for him...

“Brother... thanks,” he said, standing up and facing the other man without needing to look up for the first time, and he hugged him, their naked bodies meeting, sweat mixing, and their scents enveloping everything; it was too much for him.

“Shh, calm down, little bro; the best part is coming now,” Velkan said, bathed in the silver light of the full moon. As if he felt no pain at all, Velkan’s body transformed, his bones reshaping and fur growing as a snout formed and his teeth sharpened, and he dropped to all fours on the ground, his hands and feet becoming giant paws. In no time, where there had once been a man, there was now a massive black wolf howling at the moon, soon followed by another slightly smaller but equally shining-coated wolf. Then both took off running through the woods, howling and playfully knocking each other down like two pups, not two huge beasts.

At dawn, in the clearing where the wolves had snuggled up to sleep there now lay two young men with thick black hair and beards, lying naked on a bed of dry leaves, their skin glistening with dew under the first rays of morning sun filtering through the treetops, the smaller one resting his head on the bigger one chest, who at that moment was waking up with a vague smile of satisfaction on his face.

“Wake up, little bro, we’ve got a lot to do.” As he felt the giant hand of his brother run through his hair, Sandu stirred awake.

“Wow, that was fantastic, Velkan.”

“That was just the beginning, brother. Now let’s get up and hit the road, there’s still a lot to do, and I’ll explain on the way.”

“But my clothes…”

“You think a kid’s clothes would fit a man like you, Sandu? I brought an extra set knowing you’d need it.” Velkan said, tossing at his brother’s feet a set of clothes that consisted of Levi’s jeans, a tank top, thick knee-high socks, a leather jacket, and combat boots.

“The boots might be a bit loose, but we can swing by the city to grab you some new ones,” he concluded, reaching for a metal chain with a dog tag that had the name Alexandru Stoian engraved on it, along with a pair of aviator sunglasses identical to his. “We’ll need to swing by there anyway to grab your ride.”

“You want me to bike in that thing? It wouldn’t even hold up with all this new weight.”

“Don’t be an idiot, little bro; I’ve got a brand new Harley waiting for you!”

“I... wow... but I thought we were broke.”

“I never said that; The tribe left money stashed all over the damn country, not to mention bank accounts I had to hustle to get access to. We’re good, brother. Now get dressed and let’s roll;”

“If possible, I’d like to stop somewhere first.”

….

“Welcome to Igniteriders, I’m Gabriel, how can I help you, sir?” The attendant seemed a bit flustered, like he wasn’t used to doing that job.

“I just wanted to say thanks for your help; you had my back when no one else would.” The guy was young, absolutely tall, and super muscular, even if he wasn’t as wide as Gabriel, no those are a predator muscles, firm, agile, perfect to hunting. Wearing a leather jacket and rocking aviator shades, he looked a lot like that fella who had been in the shop on Saturday wanting to rent Xander’s extra room. Xander who still hadn’t shown up that morning, leaving him pretty worried.

“No problem, sir, but sorry to ask, how exactly did I help you?”

“I’m sure if you put your brain to work, you’ll figure it out.” The man replied, almost leaning in close to Gabe, bringing with him a scent of musk and the outdoors, before leaving the shop and jumping on the back of a Harley Davidson, taking off at full speed.

“X-Xander...?” he asked, shocked at the empty store.

….

“How did it go?”

“I left my new number on the counter, and he took a good whiff of my musk. If it’s his fate to unleash the wolf he’ll come to us.”

“A mechanic in the pack would make a huge difference. But now it’s up to him.”

“And us?”

“Us? First we take your ride, then we will recruit in ways you can’t even imagine, little bro.”

#male tf #werewolves #werewolf #musclegrowth #muscle tf

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silky-nereid · 9 months ago

Note

How does the traitorous yandere react when the reader gets tired of him and ends up betraying him too?

— skin & teeth

yandere!traitor x noble!reader

a/n : I can rewrite this if this isn’t what you wanted.

Yandere! Traitor who always wanted to be a knight after a simple mistake from his father was begrudgingly appointed as a royal secretary and in spite determined to be your favorite since you were heir to the throne.

Yandere! Traitor who secretly smiles when the ruler accidentally passed away because he knows that you simply aren’t ready to fill such tasks but doesn’t intend to help you.

Yandere! Traitor who placed in the appointments for which courtiers to meet and purposely chooses the ones that you extremely dislike.

Your hands traced over the map, eyes that blurred lines where territories began and ended. The heavy crown seemed to desperately carve itself into your skull to ensure a rule that would be marked in history rather for your reign to be forgotten by sands of time with the royal records. Your eyebrows knitted together in frustration, the weight of the crown was demanding that caused your throat to tighten with a single thought. The checkered flooring had seemingly doubled and began to pulsate with each step of your unsteady legs but the floor wasn’t cold and hard but soft and warm.

“Your majesty.” His arms guided you back down to the wooden chair. “Have you been feeling well?”

“Just well is what I want to believe,” you responded. “Too many plans. Too much of everything, I cannot breathe.”

“Entrust me, your majesty.” He knelt down before you; despised your very presence. “Allow me to make decisions now, understanding your current state.”

Yandere! Traitor who gets your trust and purposely misuses the sworn trust which causes eyes from other courtiers to carefully open before he would keep them quiet with a couple bags of money and rumors to spread about you.

Yandere! Traitor who barges into your room during the early hours about a decree or an important law that you needed to sign because there’s money going missing from the royal treasury.

Yandere! Traitor who smiles seeing you unravel because all you were now was just a noble person who wore a crown and he could replicate your position as ruler because your bloodline ruined everything and he simply wanted a taste.

He held scrolls and begrudgingly trailed behind you, stepping on every crack on the cobblestone pathway and pretending to listen to every word that came out from your lips. Isolated. Greenery of the garden had etched itself into the very foundation of the walls and you.

His free hand grazed the leather strap that held a dagger that wanted to be plunged into your back and serve its purpose. Fresh breeze blew through the pathway and stopped since you had stopped at an empty spot in the garden.

“What is your favorite flower?” You asked.

“I do not have a favorite,” he responded. “Do you have a favorite?”

Clinking of heavy armor echoed throughout the quiet garden and your warm hand held the silver cold gauntlet of the knight who was sworn from birth to protect you; a stain in the plan.

Yandere! Traitor who still tries to isolate you from the knight and desperately tries to have the reputation of the knight ruined beyond repair and begins to whisper in your ears; doubts about the knight since you can’t trust them, you don’t know what they are saying. He’s secretly ecstatic when you are forced to strip away the role from your sworn knight and appoint the knight that would soon steal the occasional jewelry from your bedroom to sell.

Yandere! Traitor who knowingly thrown you into the pit of snakes as he sees every crack your facade that he created for you as the rumors that he created for you seem to becoming a reality with you always looking over your shoulder and his hand who guides your trembling hand to sign the decree that you have zero idea about its contents since he has been attending the meetings and giving you opposite information of what is going on during the meetings.

Yandere! Traitor who is surprised when the sworn knight comes back because he thought you stripped away the role from the knight and he doesn’t want to loosen the strings that he tied around you and not when he’s so close to the end. After a little snooping around in your quarters when you were away, his heart tightened reading every sorrow filled letter that you had written in secrecy to the knight and the sweet reassurance that the knight would write back.

You held the remains of the scorched letters from the knight who currently stood outside of your quarters. Your eyes grabbed the scrap of the mysterious cloth that was embedded deeply in the bricks and pulled the knight into the room. The silver gauntlet of the knight caressed your face, resting on the connection where your upper jaw bone started.

“Can I trust you?” You looked at the knight with glazed eyes. “Can you tell me what is true? Try to find whoever this scrap of cloth belongs to, please.”

The knight never spoke but only nodded, taking the scrap of cloth and tucking it between their breast plate and aketon. They left, metal sabatons hitting the floor echoed throughout the hushed hallways.

“Your majesty,” he added, “I have a couple of decrees for you to sign.”

Your eyes merely looked down at the decrees that were placed onto your desk, breathing as you picked it up to read the contents.

“We have discussed these motions,” he said. “Why must you read over them now?”

“I forget many things and it would be better to read these decrees once more.” You began to read them which your eyebrows knitted together with each word. “This one cannot be approved and this one also cannot be approved as well. Have you lost your magic?”

You used the fireplace poker to move the firewood and threw the decrees that didn’t seem to make any sense on how they would contribute to your territory. Your hands tightened on the end of the scroll which your heart stitched together hearing the amount of territory lost from deals that were hidden away from your grasp.

Yandere! Traitor who notices your sudden independence once more and how desperately he tries to suffocate it away from you since it doesn’t fit his role that he shoved you in.

Yandere! Traitor who puts on a facade that everything is great despite him tugging on your chain yet you refuse to obey. He starts to put small doses of poison into your golden chalice since he can make it look like an accident once more.

Yandere! Traitor who’s dragged from his slumber to the grand hall and he sees the rain splattering on the stained glass murals.

“Your majesty,” he begged,” what is the meaning of this?”

He knelt before you, a thin blanket clung to his body and glanced down at his hands that trembled with such intensity. His head darted back up, nervously smiling softly to let him go.

“You have committed unspeakable actions against the very structure of the crown.” You stood up from your throne, candlelight flickered on the rings on your fingers. “You must admit to what you did. You should be ecstatic that I still am able to hold patience which you should end up flayed and your severed head on spike for all to see after attempting this pathetic poisoning attempt.”

Pathetic? His eyes darted at you with such boiling pain, hands that grabbed one of his daggers from in his boot, lunged at you but was stopped half way, the tip of the blade never broke through your skin since the knight defended at the correct time to prevent any more wounds on your skin.

“You should have admitted to your crimes.” You smiled. “Don’t be afraid, I will make the decisions since your state is disappointing but I believe that flaying isn’t harmful.”

#yandere fic #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere fanfiction #yandere male x reader #yandere male x you #yandere oc #tw yandere #yandere prompt #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x y/n

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