#oneshot: blood & lust

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I know we're all focused on Satyr/Faun König but that bull comment... I'm quite partial to minotaur's and whats better than a darling who isn't from the area. Oh yes she's innocent of the crimes against König because she was not raised there.

Some foreign little creature just running blind in a maze trying to see where there might be a way out. It's been days after all and the screaming has gotten quieter and she wonders if she's the last one left alive. He takes his time eating his meals... this can be stretched out for such a long time as she hides herself in a dead end just a short rest... the darling is so tired unaware of the horrifyingly silent steps moving closer to her little haven. It's just her left now.

@kit-williams I've wanted to write for Minotaur!König for ages!

Minotaur!König x Ariadne!Reader Word count: 5 k oneshot Tags/warnings: Sexual tension, threats of violence and rape, implied cannibalism, power imbalance, moral ambiguity. Predator/prey dynamic, Beauty and the Beast elements, Ancient Greek religion & lore. 18+ MDNI A/N: The Minotaur in this story is not an actual hybrid. Reader is Hecate’s initiate. Merry Christmas y'all! <3

EDIT: PART 2 HERE

The screams are the worst part.

They echo through the Labyrinth while you wait and wait and wait.

Even the very stones seem to cry and wail as you place your hope on Theseus who descended to this hell along with you and the human cattle. Seven young men and seven unwed women, meant to satisfy a beast...

And judging by the screams alone, it sounds like the monster is satisfied. It sounds like it's having a ball.

Fourteen lives have been lost, their blood swallowed by the earth as if Hades himself is drinking the crimson of Athenian youth in His feast. The flesh is the beast’s to devour: an underworld demon born of tainted lust.

Half bull, half man, you always thought the stories were only tales told by the fire to scare children. Turns out that the stories, for once, are true. There's something even worse in this maze, something cursed and foul... Hecate herself would shiver if She were here, in the womb of the earth, witnessing what you’re witnessing now.

You don’t actually see the Bull of Crete cut or hack or slash anyone, and you can only imagine what the monster does to the bloody, gutted corpses of the young. The only thing you see are the hollow, dark walls carved out of soil, sand, and clay, the intestine-like route dug deep into the earth. And you don't have to see the massacre: the screams tell you enough. The silence that follows betrays even more.

Your only light is flickering, waning: the candle will hardly last an hour. If the hero from Athens won’t arrive soon, you will have to leave this place. 

And oh, how you want to leave… You were a fool to follow him here. Blinded by love and hope, you thought Theseus of Athens would be your way out of Crete, but it’s clear that the only thing the young hero is capable of loving is fame. The only time his eyes turned to yours was when you said you might be able to help him with a small bundle of yarn.

Red as the setting sun or spilling blood, the thin woollen string is your only way out now. It’s ironic how a heap of twine is the only thing that can help you out of this hellhole, but the Fates always did possess a cruel sense of humour. Your silly daydreams might’ve cost your life, and even if you’re sworn to the dark goddess, you would rather die anywhere but here. In the darkness, all alone, with nothing but eyeless worms to keep company to your decaying bones.

The sudden draft from the outside world is warm but threatens to blow out your candle. It’s a sign from Apollo: if you don’t leave now, you’re dead. Theseus has to manage without you because you’re not dying in this underworld prison because of some man’s stupid lust for fame.

There's only deafening silence in the maze as you scurry up, taking support from the wall as your sight darkens for a moment. You rose too soon: you can’t even remember the last time you ate. And it appears that even the sun god has abandoned you because there's a faint echo of steps in the tunnel, and they don’t belong to a man. They’re too thick, unduly heavy, and it’s not a pair of sandals that are thumping against the soil.

So, Theseus is dead...

So much for the legend, the myth, the demigod.

Heart thumping in your chest and in the hollow of your throat, it threatens to drown the sound of approaching footsteps. They’re all dead, the people who descended here with you. The only thing you are right now is prey. You're being hunted; whether the Minotaur knows you're here or not, you know you're being hunted. You can feel it in your gut.

You cover the candle with one hand, hoping that the flickering light doesn’t reach around the bend. The falling thump of the footsteps stops, and you still your breath, hoping that the beast would turn around and search the other way.

You hear it sniffing behind the wall. It's trying to catch your scent in the air, the smell of dread and terror, sweat so thick it must reach his nostrils and make them flare with lust. Your heart is thundering in your chest, and the tunnel is so quiet that that you’re certain the creature will hear that, too. (Your heart always betrays you.)

And your luck is cursed.

The beast shifts. 

You can’t see him yet, but you can hear it: the scraping sound underneath his feet as he aligns himself anew, choosing the path that leads straight down to you.

“Hecate save me,” you whisper into the air that seems to grow denser as he approaches, loud thumps of feet now accompanied by metal grating against clay. 

“Hear me, flame-bearing guide... Darkness, protect me…”

He’s dragging bronze against the wall, announcing that he’s carrying a weapon with him, the strength of a bull apparently not satisfying enough if he wants to break your bones with metal.

Don’t blow out the candle... 

If you blow it out, you’ll die.

It’s a clear message, a knowing voice in your head that says it. It’s not young, it’s not old: just knowing. Alert. Wise beyond ages. 

So you still your breath and wait.

Shadows fill the curve of the tunnel just before he emerges: thick like thunder, a darkness so deep that even the name of the twilight goddess escapes your tongue. 

And he’s big. Bigger than the bulls you used to dance with, bigger than kings, or heroes, bigger than even Theseus, the man you thought was a myth walking. His head is enormous, bigger than the rest of him, awkward and rough like it’s not quite part of him even though he’s supposed to be half ox. 

The gigantic, horned figure stops when it sees you. Vast shoulders tense; the fat, double-edged sword falls to his side when he settles to loom between you and your only way to escape this place. You’re oddly thankful that the horrible screeching stopped, but then you notice that his blade is drenched in blood: actually, his torso, thighs, even the buckskin loincloth – the only garment this monster has chosen to wear – is spattered with red dots. 

The bronze tip drips with crimson, and the earth drinks it all. Hades is never satisfied: this beast is never full. Everyone who was sent down here is dead: everyone else has met their doom except you. You wonder if your mother would cry if she heard her only daughter died because she fell in love with a fool.

“I killed your hero,” the walls of hell boom. 

His voice is thick like tar, dark and foul like it’s the God of Earth himself speaking.

The flame in your hand quivers from fear, and you slowly remove your palm, the tiny candle illuminating the beast with warm homely yellow, making the prominent muscles of his chest even bigger. 

He’s carved like the statues in Athens, only, this giant is far hairier than the painted marble heroes of the city. The hair on his chest is thick and wild; it shoots down his abdomen and disappears underneath the loincloth, spreads over his inner thighs, even covers his shins in dark mats. He looks like a wild man, a beast indeed: sweaty, filthy and thick. But you never knew a beast like him could talk…

“A coward, that one,” he snarls, the voice reverberating oddly like it’s a human man speaking from under a wooden mask or inside a clay jug.

And you believe every word he says.

Theseus was strong and able-bodied, but he had built his strength just to show it off. This man’s body speaks of pure, ripe survival.

A hulking shadow with shoulders that barely fit the tunnels of the Labyrinth, with palms nearly twice the size of yours, he’s the myth walking instead of the hero whose blood now adorns that dull bronze blade. The Minotaur who survived his father’s wrath, his mother’s absence, these bleak surroundings, and all the heroes sent down to get his head… His weapon isn’t even sharp anymore, and still, he managed to cut through the sacrificial humans like butter. And what a horrific death it must’ve been to be hacked to pieces by a dull blade.

Is it evil of you to hope that the death of your “hero” wasn’t a quick one…?

Theseus was a fool and a coward, rotten to the core, but you saw all of that too late. He never cared about the human sacrifices or the king’s wrath; he never cared about digging into Pasiphae’s sorrow. He only cared about getting his face depicted on a pot or having his deeds played out in amphitheatres, his name uttered in song, accompanied by harp and flute.

“I know.”  

Your voice gets sucked into the earth: it doesn’t echo from the walls like his. It’s thin, damp, and frail, just like everything else meant to walk under the sun instead of stand buried under the earth.

But the beast before you tilts its head a little. It’s curious. 

Why would you say that? 

Why don’t you cry from hearing the news...? Why don’t you howl out your hero’s name and beg the gods to heed your grief? Why don’t you run away from a monster?

The candlelight is puny and weak, but it’s bright enough to bring out the eyes of an animal. You draw breath in the dampness of the earth when you finally see it: the bull’s head is devoid of eyes, and yet, the beast still has them. Blue as the summer sky, stern as the death grip of winter just before spring.

There’s nothing but ripped shreds of skin where the eyes should be, and instead of looking at you from the sides, they’re greeting you from the front. The horns are sturdy, but otherwise, the colossal head is a bit skewed... Thick patches of fur sticking out as if it was years and years old, and then – you realize it’s not his head; it’s only an illusion. 

There’s a man under there. A full, grown man who’s made himself a terrible helmet out of a bull’s carcass. 

“You’re a man,” you say out loud, earning yourself another shift of the colossal head.

“...What?”

The muffled echo confirms it: he’s speaking from inside the bull, moving only slightly to get a better look at you. 

“You’re not a monster. You’re just a man.”

His eyes are wild but intelligent; they pierce you from inside the inanimate shield. The large chest heaves, his ribs flare like sails as he draws air through what must be the foul stench of a long-dead animal.

He takes a step, and you shrink, almost dropping your candle and the roll of red yarn.

“You think talking will save you, female?”

He speaks like a man, walks like a man, but his moves are an animal’s. Shoulders slightly hunched like he’s a bull about to attack, you recognize the way his muscles quiver from the times when you used to do bull leaping. You don’t dance with Rhea’s oxen anymore: your tasks at Hecate’s temple are more suitable and less wild for a maiden your age. Back when you were younger and more agile, you used to jump from the back of one bull to the next, clouds of dust swirling around you as you showed your prowess to the priests.

But you can’t charm this ox by dancing. This one can’t be tricked or fooled: he will pierce you with those horns or his brazen sword if you take even a step.

“I can get you out of here,” you wet your lips, noticing that the blue eyes shoot straight to your mouth when you do that. “I know the way out.”

“What makes you think I want out,” he says, so tight and tense that you fear he’s either about to leap at your throat or plunge his sword into your chest.

And you should be concerned about your own safety, not about his sensibilities – if he even has such things – but hearing this beast man’s reply is like drinking bile. 

Why would anyone want to stay here?

You don’t know if he eats human flesh; you don’t know if he had to in order to survive. Everyone knows why his father threw him down here, but no one knows he’s not half the things the people above say he is. And if half of it isn’t true, what other lies have been told about the Minotaur? 

Even most prisoners see the sun, yet this man has been deprived of that, too. He’s been robbed of mother’s love, of father’s mercy, of friends and foes, of mentors and guides. He’s been robbed of life, of stars, of fires and summer skies, of women’s giggles, of fistfights with fellow men. Of songs and plays, of festivals and games, of bull dances, and maidens that leap…

“Have you ever been up there…? On the surface?”

You turn your voice into soft water on pebbles, a soothing pour of persuasion and goodwill. His pecs contract, strong abs under thin hair and body fat bunch like you’re about to hit him there. You take a step, and now it’s his turn to shun away. It’s only half an inch, but he actually moves away from you. 

“I can take you there,” you offer gently. “Have you ever seen the sun…?”

It’s like talking to a starved predator, trying to entice them to follow you with a fresh steak in hand, hoping that the fanged mouth won’t take more than was promised if it decides to accept the offering.

And the beast accepts. 

“As a boy,” he grunts, a tad more softly. 

Those eyes are fixed on you, reminding you of horses when they’re slightly afraid. The glint of white and blue behind the carcass is fiercely alive, quite unlike the hollow, disinterested stare of the Athenian hero who was only interested in himself.

But this beast is interested. Oh, the Bull Man of Crete is wildly, fiercely curious about you. 

“You’ll take me to the sun,” he repeats, an affirmation rather than a question.

“Yes. To the surface. I promise.”

He moves. Like an animal who learned long ago to drive others into the corner so that he wouldn’t get forced there himself, he’s primal, sensual in the way that oracles in a trance are sensual.

Approaching you in silence that’s almost eerie, the hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end by the time he’s only an arm’s length away. Why announce his coming earlier if he can move so quietly?

“You’ll lead me to my father.” 

His gaze bores into you, and not even the warm draft from the tunnels can prevent you from shivering. He’s distrustful, and it’s no wonder. It must be odd that some girl with a candle and a bundle of yarn is suddenly waiting for him around the bend, and doesn’t even flee. He’s a behemoth, but he’s not stupid. A stupid man would not have been able to survive, let alone thrive in this place.

And why should he trust you? Who is he supposed to trust in this maze when every person he has seen has either run away from him or tried to kill him? His father will slaughter him if he ever escapes the Labyrinth, so what else is a priestess in his kingdom but a squealing mouse, trying to feed him lies and then guide him to the surface and into a forest of spears? 

“No,” you shake your head slowly. “No, I promise I know the way. There will be no soldiers–”

You shut your mouth just before a huge palm closes around your throat. 

Gods, but he moves fast when he wants to… 

The candle and the yarn drop the instant his hand seizes your neck, strong fingers nearly meeting at the back as he squeezes your windpipe ever so slowly.

And he’s so close now. The carcass reeks of death, but the man underneath stinks of plain human sweat. His musk is a peculiar mix of blood, earth and soil, something both stale and invigorating, the thin sheen of sweat and dirt covering his muscles making him look like a common builder. It’s strange that the bull’s head hasn’t yet decayed in this place, that the man doesn’t reek of bodies and bones that must be scattered around like debris further down the tunnels. 

Another thing that’s strange is that he doesn’t seem to want to simply silence you.

He also wants to touch you.

A wide thumb strokes the underside of your jaw as he studies you. It slides down the column of your throat, the blue eyes gleaming with fascination when you swallow against him.

He drinks in the sight of you: the lips that part with fear, the frail collarbones that breathe against the side of his palm. The promising crevice between your breasts, the enticing softness of your teats. 

You can hear his breath grow heavy under ox skin and bone, the rugged, vicious helmet he has chosen to wear. What lies under, you can only imagine, wherein he has little left to the imagination when taking in the curve of your breasts, your nipples rising to peaks under the thin white linen only temple virgins use. 

Seeing your reaction to his touch makes him growl -- he actually growls like an animal, a deep, low rumble of approval rising up his throat when he sees how different your body is from his. How supple and cushy it is, soft and plump like a peach, covered only barely as if to tease a best like him. You wonder if he ever took pleasure in the maidens sent here by the king… If he ever thrust the sword between his legs into their weak bodies before giving them the mercy of his actual blade. Would he even know what to do with a woman, having lived here for so long?

“Please,” you whisper, bringing his eyes back to yours, the ice in them now liquid sapphire of pure want. 

Gods… You need to bring his attention back to your offer of help before he sees it more compelling to just stay here and play with his new, plump little mouse. Virgin or not, you wouldn’t survive a mating with this man. 

“I swear on Hecate’s torch that it’s not a trap. You have my word: I’m a priestess soon to be.”

He’s entranced. Hypnotized by your lips. You lick them to confirm your fears true: the man grunts with pleasure, out of instinct, absentmindedly like an animal who reacts to the sight of a fat, meaty bone. 

Oh, he might not know what to do with a woman… But he would try his best to find out. 

“Priestess…?” He rasps.

“It’s a holy woman,” you explain. “I serve the Goddess of the Crossroads.”

He snorts, either because he’s not impressed or because he’s downright amused by your vocation. The eyes, warmer, more demanding now, are far from the eyes of a bewildered beast.

“Little female of the crossroads... You will take me to the king. And then, I will kill him.”

He puts weight into his words, tries to make you understand. 

He wants you to guide him to his father. 

To the King who claims his son is half bull, to the husband who claims his wife was adulterous with an ox. To the King who demands tribute as virgins so that he can send them down to hell. The dark goddess screams justice, but you're at a horrible stalemate.

The gods will curse you for this… They will smite you with a bolt of lightning or drown you next time you cross the great sea if they see you’ve helped this half-beast escape. If you guide him to Minos, you’re a participant in kingslaying, and the gods never forget things like that.

“He’s your father and the king of Crete,” you whisper in fear. “The gods will strike you down–”

“Gods?” He spits. “I piss on the gods. I fuck their corpses and leave them to rot.”

You almost choke on the blasphemy levelled at you. The shadows creep closer, the stare behind the black fur is dark and amused, burning with the crooked wrath of a thousand years. 

“Perhaps I’ll fuck you too.”

It’s unnerving that you don’t find the threat wholly unappealing.

If anything, your eyes drift down to the hairs of his chest, to the two big muscles that resemble the work of the best sculptors in Athens. 

“Are you a virgin, female of the crossroads?”

His eyes search for your response: they want to see your fear and disgust. You swallow again, arduously against his hand, both caressing and testing you. 

The beast leans forward, as if weighing if he could somehow insult the gods by pillaging you. The rough hair of his chest meets the white cloth, it brushes against your nipples as he bends down to have a good sniff of you.

“You smell like a virgin,” he growls.

The hand leaves your throat, only to travel down your sternum. He grabs your breast nonchalantly, a little too roughly, the hot palm closing around the teat and squeezing it like it’s a toy. When you don’t react, he squeezes it again, this time hard enough to coax a whimper out of you.

“Sound like a virgin…”

Without warning, the hand dives straight between your legs next, palm forcing its way through your thighs and curving to cup your sex, moulding around it with barbaric thirst.

“Feel like a virgin, too.”

It’s thick, hot, and heavy, how he simply tries you through your dress. Fingers testing your folds, he’s clearly enjoying the subtle wetness he finds down there. You can hear another hitched grunt pushing up his throat, rugged and whiny this time, a broken groan that dissipates because of how dry his throat is. 

No man has ever dared to lay his hands on you... Many have wanted, but none have tried. Even drunkards and fools respect women who belong to the dark goddess.

But he doesn’t care about the wrath of Hecate. He doesn’t give a shit about the gods. He simply takes what he wants, what falls into his lap. The fifteenth offering, but he doesn’t seem to be interested in devouring your flesh. 

How easily he could simply yank that loincloth aside and drag your dress up. Force his cock into your tight, wet heat without uttering a word. You doubt that he would even take the trouble of laying you down on the ground for taking... Beasts rut when they want to: this man could fuck you against this wall if his loins demanded so, guttural groans being the last thing you hear before the candle goes out. 

You don’t know if you have to spread your legs for him before this is over, but you reckon you will do even that if it means you’ll see the sun again. You’ll endure every thick thrust, and gods be cursed, you wouldn’t even be solely disgusted if this half-animal chose to breed you... As shameful as it is, you would somewhat enjoy having him rut you like an animal in heat.

And you’ve gone mad, surely. 

You want to touch him too, just to test another theory. 

Deciding that it's a good idea to stick your hand into the maw of hell, your fingers lift. They meet his bicep, and the lewd panting stops.

He’s not even breathing… He’s just drowsy and drunk, looking at you with a mixture of soft sleepiness and awe in his stare. Like a dog who has never been petted, even his eyes drift half closed when he forgets to threaten you, now focusing solely on your hand. 

And you start to caress him, slowly, so slowly… Tracing the muscle all the way up where it meets the shoulder, you stroke even the thick cord that leads to his neck. The rest of him disappears under the bull, but the man behind it already shivers under your touch. He even bends his head a little in hopes that you would go under the mask and touch him there, and the gesture reminds you of an animal exposing its vulnerable areas, baring its very throat in submission. 

Braving a quick peek down, you notice that the buckskin cloth is stretched high and wide. His whole body is tense and immobile: you could cup him through the soft animal skin and he would probably shoot his seed from a single stroke of your palm. 

If this is not a virgin, you don’t know what is...

In a way, it would perhaps be wise to shove your hand down and disarm this man. That way, you would be safe for a few more minutes. Instead, you lay your palm over his chest, right over where his heart should be. 

“So do you, Bull of Crete...”

His gaze flickers.

The darkness hesitates, widens, nearly swallows the azure pools whole. But he doesn’t look irate or wild... Only shocked.

It’s an impasse. A thicket. His hand on you, your hand on him.

He surrenders first: the underworld budges before the utterly pure. You bless him with grace the instant he withdraws his hand from between your legs – slowly, reluctantly, like leaving a place that belongs to him. Or to which he belongs…

“I promise I’ll help you, Minos Tauros. But I need you to give me something in return.”

You remove your hand too. Softly, slowly, like a horse master who trains and tames wild things. All words seem to have escaped his tongue: he only grunts, unsure of what a beast like him could give you in return for your help.

“You must promise to be kind to me.”

“Kind...?”

“I need you to behave,” you explain. “No bad things on the way up... No fucking.”

Everything else, he seems to accept, but during the last sentence the Minotaur blinks at you, utterly confused.

“But... You smell like you want to fuck.” 

Your jaw drops open a tiny bit. Then you remember that a priestess of Hecate doesn’t gawk.

“I don’t–How would you know that…?”

The beast only shrugs. Then he leans forward and takes another sniff as if to prove it’s true that you want his cock inside you.

“You smell good,” he grunts. “Different... Female, not afraid.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to…”

He even raises his hand to inspect the slight wetness there. Fascinated by the thin film on his fingers, he rubs his thumb in it, probably thinking about bringing it under his mask to get a good sniff of your juices too.

You grab his wrist without thinking, mortified to your core by the prospect of him getting high on your slick. 

“Look. We need to leave before the candle burns out.”

The obsessive stare threatens to swallow you once more, so you let go of his wrist and steel your resolve. Scooting down to grab your things, you try to ignore the violent erection still pointing straight at you.

Hecate keep you from offering yourself to this man out of your own free will...

And you don’t have a torch, only a candle and a skein of blood-red yarn, but you know the way out, so there’s hope. There’s always hope.

“I need you to promise me,” you turn at the mouth of the tunnel, seeing that he’s still standing there, in the place where he almost took you like his first whore. As if waking up from a thrall, he straightens to his full height, picks up his sword and looks like a half-human, half-bull once more.

“I promise,” comes a booming voice from under the animal skull. “No fucking… I’ll behave.” 

You nod. There's a sense of trust in the air. A promise of hope... It's mutual, invigorating -- life-giving, like the sun and blood in your hands.

You don't know if the son of Minos has ever smiled in here, but from the quick glint in his eyes, you suspect that he's smiling right now, the man under that animal mask. Somehow, it reminds you of the stars in the sky.

“Lead the way, maiden.”

[fictionismyreality3]

Jealousy is my Best Friend (18+)

Jason Todd x Reader

Tags: Smut, jealous!jason todd, protective!jason todd, possessive!jason todd

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, penetrating sex, hair pulling, choking, spanking, sir kink

Notes: am I.. a whore? MaByE🤪 I would certainly let Jay do anything mentioned in this oneshot 🫣and OMG ANGry SeX

When you got invited to the Wayne Christmas Party you knew Jason would be livid.

It was almost a year since you’d been together and you grew to know him inside and out. Once you got past the edgy, broody and overly aggressive personality, he really was a sweet guy. But he got jealous.

Really jealous.

Since you had moved in with Jason a few months ago, you had gotten to see his more possessive side almost 24/7. He was rarely ever out of touching distance, always keeping a hand on you, especially if you had company over. The few times you met his brothers, he was practically acting like a viscous guard dog.

That’s why you knew he wouldn’t be happy that Bruce had invited you without him knowing. But, in defence of Gotham’s Dark Knight, everyone knew that Jason didn’t want you involved with his family.

So, obviously you accepted the invitation.

Yes, you knew he would be mad when he found out and when you insisted on going, but you wanted to be a part of all aspects of his life.

So, here you were. Standing in the living room of your apartment, all dressed up and ready to go, with Jason sitting fuming on the couch.

“You’re not going.” He murmured.

“Why? Do you know how bitchy I would seem I didn’t show up?” You said exasperated.

Jason ran a hand through his hair in frustration, letting out a long sigh as his eyes drifted up and down your outfit again.

“You’re not going in that.”

You were reaching the end of your rope. You had been arguing with Jason for the better part of half an hour and he hadn’t budged. The dress you had picked out for the party was one of the few times you let yourself splurge. You looked hot. You knew you looked hot and Jason knew it too. That’s why it was so impossible for him to sit with the fact that other men would be seeing you.

Jason’s eyes roamed your body again. The red fabric of the dress hugged your hips, making him want to reach out and grab you. His colour. He knew you chose that dress just to get him worked up and he loved how well it was working.

Not knowing who was going to be looking at you was utterly infuriating, even more so since he knew exactly what they would be thinking. A gorgeous girl like you? Fuck, if he wasn’t already with you he’d be eye fucking you along with the rest of them. Not that he wasn’t already.

“Are you even listening, Jay?”

Your voice broke him out of his lusting thoughts and he felt the sour pang of jealousy creep to the forefront of his mind once more.

“I’m not gonna waste this dress! Do you know how much I spent-”

“Shut… christ, shut your pretty little mouth and let me talk for one fucking second.” He growled.

Your mouth hung open, floundering for a second before it closed. Jason’s fists were clenching and unclenching. You watched that vein that only popped out when he was angry beginning to pulse with blood. His head was in his hands as he ran his hands through his hair.

With a predatory speed, his head raised and his gaze snapped to yours. His eyes pulsed green.

Before you could figure out what was happening he was striding across the room and pinning you against the wall, his hands on either side of your head.

“Jay, I didn’t-” You tried.

The rest of your pleading sentence was cut short as Jason’s hand slipped from the wall to wrap around your throat, squeezing slightly. He really wished you would just be quiet. Every time you opened your mouth he just wanted to fill it with something other than words.

“Do you know..” he inhaled sharply, “how fucking hard it is to let people seen even an inch of your skin?”

“I can-” You began to say, but Jason’s grip on your throat tightened and the words stopped at your lips.

“Stop. Talking.” His jaw ticked.

With a tortured sigh, he dipped his head down to the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin. He was utterly enraptured by you, and the thought of anyone else having you made his skin crawl.

“You’re not going to the party.” He said, his voice a little softer as he placed a gentle kiss to your neck.

“Jay, please. I need to meet your family.” You protested.

Your continued pleading was interrupted by your phone ringing where you had put it on the kitchen counter. Squinting your eyes, you just made out the caller ID. Dick Grayson. Thinking he could talk some sense into Jason, you used the distraction of the noise to break from his hold and run to the kitchen.

Grabbing the phone, you answered as quickly as you could. But, before you could get a word out, Jason snatched it right out of your hand.

“We’re not coming.” He said darkly, and hung up before Dick could say a word.

Okay, now you were fucked.

You took a step back and retreated all the way into the kitchen until the back of your legs hit the counter.

The taste of jealousy Jason had tried to push down was rearing its ugly head more than ever. Of all people, you were going to get his brother to help? He was fine when strangers tried something with you, he could always break a few arms. But his brother? Fuck no.

Jason prowled towards you. The sound of each step on the kitchen tile reverberated through your bones. He consumed your field of vision as he trapped you between him and the kitchen counter. You bit your lip, knowing better than to say anything. You knew that you had earned a rough punishment.

He closed his eyes, trying to keep a lid on his temper, and took a deep, shuddering breath.

He kissed your forehead.

“Knees.”

Your legs clenched together as a rush of heat flooded your core. The dark eyes of your boyfriend looked at you expectantly, and it was all you could do not to melt on the spot. Not wanting to earn a harsher punishment, you lowered yourself to the floor.

Jason’s eyes drifted to where your skin met the hard tile. He took off his suit jacket and bent down to put it underneath your knees. The only marks on your skin would be from him.

Your heart swooned at his actions. Even though he was gonna fuck you silly, he was still treating you like a princess.

“What should I do with you, huh?” His fingers found your chin and he tilted your head up to look at him.

Seeing those pretty doe eyes of yours staring up at him was almost enough to make him cum in his pants.

“Should I fuck your bratty mouth?” He said condescendingly sweet. Your head was swimming as your panties pooled with desire. You loved how he reduced you to a speechless mess with just a few words.

“Answer me, sweetheart.” He rasped.

“Yes, please Jay.” You whined.

Your begging was only met with a sharp tug of your hair, and you realized your mistake.

“Sir! Yes please, sir.” You corrected quickly.

That was more like it. Jason smiled down at you proudly, almost smug with the way you went from angry to eager for his cock. With torturously slow movements, he undid his belt and placed it on the counter beside him. He usually liked to please you first, but he was too riled up to go slow.

His hand came to hold your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he undid the zipper of his pants. Most of the times he made you take him out, but he didn’t want to look away from your pretty eyes.

Even if you wanted to move, you couldn’t with the way he was holding you. The head of his cock brushed against your lips, and he finally let go of your chin.

“Show me how sorry you are, baby.” He said lowly.

Your previous anger had evaporated into a haze of desire, and you greedily took him into your mouth, earning a deep groan from Jason. One of his hands threaded into your hair as it had done a hundred times before, and you twirled your tongue around the head of his cock.

The familiar heat of desire thrummed through your veins, and with each lick you felt your pussy dripping with arousal. Jason murmured praises under his breath, his quiet groans filling the room.

God, he loved your mouth.

So hot and wet. Perfectly skilled at drawing all sorts of noises he didn’t know he could make from his lips. And your hands were even better. As soon as you started to roll his balls in your hand, his head tipped back in ecstasy.

“Dirty girl.” He gasped out.

Seeing how much you affected him filled your heart with pride, but before you could make a bratty comment, he had both hands in your hair and was pushing his cock to the back of your mouth.

You gagged instinctively, and your hands shot out to his thighs, pushing weakly against him. You moaned around his cock, only making him press himself deeper in your mouth until your nose touched his pubic bone.

“Oh, fuck baby.. just a-” His cock pulsed, heavy in your mouth. “Just a little more.”

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes and your pussy clenched on nothing. God, he loved making you cry on his cock. He barely held back his orgasm as your little hands started to hit against his legs.

“Oh.. okay. Shit, princess you’re so.. whiny.” He mummers.

You try your best to take all of him down your throat, but he’s so big that it makes it hard to breathe. Wanting to please him seemed to be the only thought in your head as your core burned with the anticipation of the pleasure you would receive in return.

You sucked hard once, then twice, and had him gasping. Taking his cock from your mouth, he pulled you up from the floor.

“You want this cock so bad you have to be fucking brat?” He growled as he bent you over the counter top.

The cool air suddenly rushed across your skin as he ripped your dress off, throwing it to the floor without care. You were left bare apart from your bra and panties, which were red to match your dress.

“That was expensive..” You complained.

“I’ll buy you another one.” He said as he kept you pinned to the counter with a hand on your back.

And you knew he would.

He loved seeing you like this. Bent over, legs spread, your pussy dripping so much your panties already had a dark patch. Your red panties. His colour on his girl. He took a breath in through his nose, his hips jutting forwards and brushing against your clit.

“Jay-” A swift spank had your ass blooming with stinging pain.

“Sir! Sir, sir, sir.. M’sorry.. please, sir.. please.” You whined, repeating the title over and over again.

Jason got to his knees, pushing your legs apart, and pulled your panties down, throwing them with your discarded dress. His hands ran up and down your legs, the calloused skin of his palms making you shudder with impatience. Sensing your desperation, he decided to take mercy on you. You had been a good girl so far.

Without warning, he licked from your clit to leaking slit, moaning at the sweet taste his girl on his tongue. He could eat you for days and never need to come up for air.

“So needy..” He whispered, the air from his words brushing your clit and making you whine.

With one hand on the back of your thigh, and the other on your ass, he began to eat you from behind. His movements were aggressive like him, and he licked and sucked you without abandon. He had your hands flailing against the countertop, only to find nothing to hold on to.

He felt your thighs shaking where they were around his head, and pushed two fingers inside. You cried out in pleasure, your eyes squeezing shut as he curled his fingers to hit that perfect spot over and over and over and-

“Don’t you dare fucking cum.” He hissed, his words muffled by your cunt.

Strings of moans and high pitched mewls fell from your throat as Jason worked you up to the edge, only to pull his fingers out or take his tongue off your clit. You couldn’t even lift your head anymore, your mind too dizzy with pleasure as he pumped his fingers into you.

“I’m gonna.. need to.. oh, pl-please-” You words came out choked when when Jason suddenly added a third finger, stretching you out.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” He said pulling his head back, leaving you missing his tongue.

“Y-yes..” You mewl breathlessly.

Jason hummed in consideration, his fingers slowing down almost to a stop. You felt painfully empty as he pulled his fingers out of your needy pussy, your walls squeezing around air. Jason stood up, still behind you, and leaned down. His chest pressed against your back and all of your senses were consumed by his weight on top of you.

“Who gets to touch this perfect little pussy?” He whispered into your ear.

“You, sir.” You gasped.

“Hm.. and who gets to decide if you get to cum?”

“You, sir..” You words came out breathy.

“Good fucking girl.” Jason rasped.

Far too soon his weight was off of you, but your mind was quickly calmed as you felt the tip of his cock rubbing up and down your entrance. You sighed out in bliss, your mind running through all the other times he had you screaming.

“Gonna take me real good, huh?” He muttered and slammed his cock into you without a moments notice.

Your mouth fell open in a silent cry. Tears pooled in your eyes as your breath caught in your throat.

You were so full.

Everything about Jason was large, including his cock, and you felt like you were fucking him for the first time all over again. You could never get used to his size.

After letting you adjust for a moment, ever the gentlemen even when blowing your back out, he began to lazily roll his hips into you.

The teasingly slow pace was incomprehensibly difficult for Jason to maintain. As soon as he was inside of you it took every ounce of willpower to resist fucking you so hard that your brains leaked out of your pussy.

But he wanted to see you fall apart even more.

You whimpered and whined, making such pretty noises for him. His large hands gripped your waist easily, allowing him to prevent you from getting greedy and bouncing back on his cock.

“Oh g-god please.. I can’t handle it..” You said in what felt like part moan, part sob.

Jason stilled his movements and you thought you might cry, but then he tangled a hand in your hair and pulled you up so your back was flush against his chest.

“Who owns you, princess?” He said as he wrapped his hand around your throat.

“You do, Jason.” You mewled.

“That’s fucking right, baby. Good girl.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

And before you could ask he was already bending you back over, your chest against the cool marble countertop as he began to pound into you relentlessly.

You cried out at the sudden roughness, your walls clenching around his cock, earning a strangled moan from Jason. If it wasn’t for the hand he had on the back of your neck, you would have been pitching forward with each thrust. Your hands shot out to press against the white tile backsplash, needing something to ground you. Every time he pumped into you the tip of his cock would brush against your cervix, the delicious pang of being full of Jason had you screaming.

“You’re okay. You can- oh fuck..” He gasped out as your pussy tightened around him. “You can take it, pretty girl.”

He rasped out the reassurance, but he didn’t know how much longer he could stop himself from cumming. Every time he fucked you he only got more hooked on your body. The sounds you made, the noises and little breathy whimpers always had him harder than he thought was possible.

And you really were doing so well.

He knew he had been rough with you, but when your sweet little cunt was so fucking tight around him, how was he supposed to go slow? With every thrust he watched your eyes roll further back into your head. It felt like he was molding you from the inside out. Shaping you to fit with him and only him.

All you could do was lay there and take it. Tears had begun to fall down your cheeks, and Jason reached down to brush them away.

“You.. jesus christ, you’re mine, sweetheart.” He gasped out.

You nodded, your wanton moaning answer enough. You looked over your shoulder at Jason and his resolve snapped.

His hips were suddenly pistoling into you with a speed only reachable by a man like him. Your jaw hung open as a string of curses and groans bubbled past Jason’s lips.

“Need to..” You begged incoherently.

“I know, I know.. shit-” His cock twitched inside you. “cum with me, sweetheart.”

As soon as the words of permission slipped from his mouth your body reacted before your mind could process it. You cried out as your eyes rolled back in your head, your legs quivering so much you were grateful to be bent over the counter. Jason was cumming just as soon as he felt your cunt squeeze around him with a vice like grip. His thrusts became erratic and sloppy as he gasped and groaned out in pleasure.

Your head was hazy as your legs twitched with aftershocks. The only reminder that you were still on earth was Jason leaning down to press a kiss to the back of your neck.

“That’s it. Deep breath. Did so good for me, baby.” He cooed soothingly and pulled out.

You whined at the loss of him, feeling empty, but he quickly silenced you with a searing kiss. He watched with a proud grin as he leaked out of you, dripping down your inner thigh.

After you had calmed down enough to remember how to breath, Jason picked you up easily and began carrying you to the bathroom, his eyes on your face the entire time.

“Maybe I should make you angry more often.” You giggled.

He rolled his eyes at your remark, giving your nose a little kiss.

“Don’t even think about it.”

[amoristt]

euclid

「 ✦kang dae-ho/reader ✦ 」 ・❥・he chokes you for the first time tags: smut MDNI // afab! reader, choking, pwp oneshot, unprotected, rough kinda?? for daeho's standards im sure

a/n: tiny little thang i had to to write bc i couldnt get this out of my head and its eating me alive !!!!!! word count: 1.2k

・❥・ you’re alive- perfect underneath him. a squirming, moaning, mess of a thing dragging your nails down the flexing muscles of his back and pressing your thighs to either side of his hips. warm and soft, every last part of you, down to your very DNA. built for him and the curve of his cock, eager to take it when he’s sliding against your gummy walls and finding the very essence of you against the tips of his fingers. he’s mapping out the shape of you, he’s finding every curve and every valley, remembering outline and the heave in your chest. nothing goes to waste. nothing goes unexplored, all appreciated, all a prayer from within the temple. 

Dae-ho is burning alive. every sound you make is fodder for the incineration he’s scorching in. the bed is creaking with the intensity how he takes you, the wooden frame knocking off the wall in thumps until he has to shush it- reaches up and grasping the frame until every knock is bouncing off his white knuckles. his other hand runs paths over your breast, your collarbone. grazes just below your jaw, and you’re already tilting your head back to bare it. 

the moment his grasp rests on your throat, you’re watching him through the thick fog in your eyes, equal parts lust and anticipation. pulse as quick as a rabbits- beat, beat, beating from underneath his broad hand. vibrating notes of fervor rumbling from your throat into your lips, into his waiting ears with every snap of his hips into yours. 

the clutch of your jugular in his hold does not come naturally to him. he lingers until you place your hand over his, puffy lower lip caught between your teeth in a hunger so true it flashes it’s great maws and swallows his whole right then, right there. he digs his fingers into that endless drum of blood pumping flush through your body and then he sees it- the shift in you. excitement into gratification, eyes losing their focus. he loves when he can see himself within the mirrors of your pupils, but he can’t deny how he’s transfixed to watch you lose yourself. feeling, seeing, experiencing nothing except elated bliss. your legs wrap around his waist, heels driving into his lower back. 

you want this. by the look of you, you need this. evident when you clutch the top of his hand with your own and look up from heavy lashes and urge him to press harder, to squeeze tighter. he ruts into you and hit’s something good, something that makes you arch your back and toss your head into the pillow with a wailing cry on your lips. 

“please,” you manage, struggling to get anything out except wanton moans with the way he drives himself within you. your fingers twisting into the bedsheets, your legs shaking around him, there’s something like tension growing within his gut.

he hears the exact moment your breath cuts short around his grip. rough inhales bottlenecked into wheezes, chirpy mewls snuffed out into rasping gasps for air. you don’t leave the spotlight of his eyes, you never do, but more so now than ever. watches the way your eyes slip shut, feels the way your toes curl, shivers when he takes your smile. smiling, and constricting around his cock so much so that he feels like his own breath is trapping within the confines of his lungs. his knuckles have gone numb between the bedframe and the plaster wall, forgotten by the raging sea of your sex, all things loud and urgent, smearing over his thighs with every clap of his skin meeting yours. 

you’re gripping his biceps and his forearms and anywhere else you can get purchase on, nails digging into his skin in the most delightful of ways. he lets up his grip, listens to you suck in wet, rapid breaths before he traps it in your throat all over again. keens, cries, all rewards you sing for him strangled out. a rush of something infects his body and runs it’s course into the burrow of his brain- this sense of power that’s making him lose himself in your heat. the ability to choose when you breathe, when you don’t, watching you split apart at the seams until you’re nothing but red faced and drooling under his grasp. tightening around his shaft like a vice, begging to keep him there forever. he doesn’t realize you’re cumming until your walls are fluttering around him in waves of euphoria. he can damn near see the stars behind your eyes.

that tension in his belly is growing into something he can’t hold back, pleasure so palpable it could be touched, dragging all the composure out of his body. you’re still gripping him so fucking tight it’s making it hard to breathe, in the throes of your orgasm, unknowingly dragging him to the very edge of that precipice himself. he’s driving you up the bed, pressing you into the mattress with the weight of his body. 

he slams into you once, twice, three times, and then the festering tension within him breaks into this overwhelming wash of intoxicating bliss. finds the very depths of you and the thrill of your walls sucking him in when he can’t help but let go. it’s not his intention to bury himself sound against your cervix when he cums, but he does anyways, in thick spurts of pearly white that's filling you to the brim. his hand leaves your throat in favor of bracing himself on the pillow beside your head, and you suck in ragged breaths. he’d think you were pain if not for the dazed, lopsided grin on your face, spent and fucked.

properly satisfied.

it takes all the power in dae-ho’s body to not crush you when he collapses over your form. he’s leaning on his elbows, your legs still loose around his waist, panting in your neck. pulling out is his least favorite part of sex with you. it’s lonely outside of your body, too uncomfortably cold to bear at times. you don’t speak at first, nails idly dragging up and down his spine under goosebumps form in their wakes. 

“was that,” he has to collect himself, searching for the words. “...was that good?”

“that was amazing, yeah.” you giggle at the waver in his tone and place a chaste kiss to his shoulder. your voice is honey sweet in his ears.

“i didnt hurt you?”

“stop worrying about that. you wont hurt me.”

“i always worry.” 

“i know.”

your fingers are dancing through his hair, melts all else away except for you. his lips find your neck, placing kisses to the sore skin, as if apologizing to the very marks themselves before he rolls to his side. 

Not a second goes by wasted before he’s wrapping his arms around your form, yearning for that warmth to be all over him once more. he pulls your back against his broad chest and buries his face in your hair, and you, you mold into him seamlessly, two conjoined souls, lost on where one ends and the other begins.

[edgeray]

“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt. 

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes. 

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them. 

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here. 

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be. 

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead. 

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage. 

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly. 

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it? 

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form. 

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you. 

"Someone wants you." 

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight." 

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight." 

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else." 

"They're not someone you or I can refuse." 

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh. 

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living. 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.” 

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking. 

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting. 

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both. 

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you. 

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken? 

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself. 

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch. 

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end? 

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face. 

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them. 

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face. 

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily. 

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount. 

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh. 

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client. 

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers. 

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk. 

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation. 

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice. 

“Sit.” 

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own. 

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin. 

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave. 

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly. 

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin. 

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson. 

“Doll.” 

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you. 

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by: 

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds. 

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger. 

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make. 

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge. 

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste: 

They taste like sin. 

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them. 

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds. 

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody. 

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh. 

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact. 

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.  

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips. 

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you. 

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle. 

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf. 

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips. 

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting. 

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear. 

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward. 

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.” 

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

[flowerandblood]

The Temple of the God

[ Ares • Ettore x Aphrodite • female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, fingering, smut, angst, violence, swearing, marital infidelity ]

[ description: Many men look at her with lust, however, no one's gaze is as terrifying as that of her brother, the god of war, cruel and cold, reminding her more of a barbarian than one of the kings of Olympus. He is known to care little about pleasing women in his brutal rapprochements with them, however, he surprises her with his attitude when he visits her one night. ]

This oneshot is my Valentine's Day gift to all of you. I love you, thank you for being here! I plan to come back to this couple in the future, let me know what you think! 💕

Part 2 − The Temple of War

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

My other works: Masterlist

_____

She could see it in the way he looked at her. She saw it in the light movement of his head, his raised chin, his slightly parted lips, his gait lazy, confident, careless, like that of a bear or a lion. He circled around her, angry and frustrated, unable to get what he wanted.

There was something animalistic in his nature, in his posture, in his aura, his gaze seemed to her empty, yet at the same time endlessly deep and dark; he could not concentrate on calm deliberation, there was a perpetual, irrepressible storm in his mind.

He would exert himself on the battlefields, at the head of armies of his heroes, with whom he would train and duel for days, their muscular, broad bodies often completely naked, glistening with sweat and oil.

She watched them sometimes from the windows of her chambers on Olympus. Their great wars and pointless exercises aimed at making them tear their opponents to shreds, with one sword cut depriving them of their members, wallowing in their blood.

Her brother did not abhor carcasses, decay, murder, cruelty, she thought he fed on it, his enemies knew no mercy from him, their pleas clashing with the cold stone that was his heart.

Her nature was the complete opposite of his and they both knew that they had nothing to offer each other. However, whenever he caught sight of her silhouette, walking in the company of her servants, river and mountain nymphs, entertaining her with conversation, he did not take his piercing, hot gaze off her, his lips pressed into a thin line; he turned the hilt of his sword as if in a trance then, drifting away with his thoughts.

He did not desire her, he wanted to devour her.

She knew that he had cohabited with many women, including her maidservants, who later lamented to her that he was brutal and cruel, that he did not know or understand what female fulfilment and joy were, did not know the women's bodies and their secrets, because he was only interested in his own fulfilment.

One day she visited him while he was practising with his warriors; they were wrestling and throwing each other to the ground, the one who gave up had to pat the other on the shoulder.

They were completely naked.

Seeing her, several of them covered themselves, knowing full well who she was, ashamed that she might judge them or their bodies, mock them and expose them to the ridicule.

She, however, approached her brother, looking straight into his eyes beaming with utter black emptiness, his broad chest adorned with drops of sweat rising and falling in heavy breathing.

He stood before her without any sign of embarrassment, his eyes roaming all over her body, judging apparently how her flesh presented itself in her soft velvet-like translucent white robe, pearls braided into the curls of her hair. They stared at each other for a moment in silence, as if testing each other, her face, like his, expressing nothing.

"Stay away from my servants, brother. They have complained to me that you are hurting them." She said at last, his jaw clenched at her words, his nostrils quivering in impatience.

He didn't answer.

He never answered.

She turned away, heading back towards the cloisters, feeling the thirsty gazes of the men turning behind her, disappearing at last into the halls of the gigantic ancient palace.

Men craved her for many reasons, one of which was the urge to prove to themselves that they could be desired by the goddess of love herself.

It was a great oversimplification, however, because of her experience this is what she came to be called, people, men and women, began to offer prayers to her begging her blessing in their marriages, asking for her intervention in matters others would have been afraid to whisper about.

She blessed ardent loves, burning to the core.

Yet she herself, though she was ashamed to admit it, had not experienced one herself.

Every time she thought it was the one, the man she believed to be her beloved died, or betrayed her by following another goddess, bored. Her heart was broken so many times that she allowed herself to be approached by men only to give her physical pleasure.

Her husband, Hephaestus, was a good and warm-hearted man. He spent his days in his great forge located in the heart of the volcano, in which the fire flowed constantly. She visited him there rarely, the dust and noise there was unbearable for her.

Although they both had respect for each other and a kind of cordiality, he preferred to devote himself to his work. He did not understand her needs, just as she did not understand his, for which she did not blame him.

Their marriage, unlike that of Zeus and Hera, was more peaceful, both of them resigned to their roles and didn't get in each other's way.

She knew, however, that before her father, ruler of the thunderbolts and all of Olympus, had decided to marry her to Hephaestus, it had been the God of War himself who had furiously demanded her hand, believing that she was his to claim.

Their father did not share his decision, apparently fearing his violent nature and what kind of husband he would turn out to be.

Her brother then disappeared for years, sinking into great wars and battles, the earth trembled from his rage, from the peaks of their heavenly mountain she heard the cries and moans of his enemies.

That day, after what she had told him, he came to her at night.

Completely naked, without a trace of embarrassment on his face, he walked slowly across the cold stone floor towards her bed, draped with a canopy and translucent curtains, which he pushed aside with an impatient flick of his hand, passing between them.

He stopped when he caught sight of her bare figure, looking at him with furrowed brows she raised on one elbow, feeling no shame whatsoever, yet unable to stop the squeeze between her thighs and the heat in her lower abdomen noticing that at the sight of her body his manhood twitched and swelled.

"Get out." She said coolly, but he only hummed as if he was considering something. She turned on her back, ready to scream if necessary, knowing her servants would come to her aid and her brothers would drag him away from her.

She was curious, however, to see what he would do.

She looked vigilantly at his silhouette walking slowly towards her, with his big cold black eyes and tense body he reminded her of a wild animal preparing to attack.

She thought he was about to throw himself at her and try to take her against her will.

He, however, sat down beside her; his large, wide hand raised and, in an uncertain, calm movement, ran down her thigh, his fingers digging into her skin as if he wanted to see what it felt like.

"− like velvet −" He murmured low, breathing through his mouth as if he was trying to calm himself; she seemed to notice on his face something of childish curiosity, as if she and her body was something unremarkable and completely incomprehensible to him.

His hand went higher, to her breast and began to rub and play with it, as if he liked the shape of it and how pleasant it was to the touch. She sighed quietly, realising with disbelief that what he was doing and how he was behaving was making her wet, her fleshy insides pulsing with tension.

Finally his fingers ran over her neck and face, his thumb stopped and parted her plump, glistening lips; he leaned over her as if he wanted to get a proper look at her, his warm breath enveloped her skin, the smell of his sweat seemed primal, masculine to her, her body involuntarily quivered at the thought.

He kissed her, kissed her as if he wanted to devour her, his caress full of chaos and impatience, of his hot, sticky lips, of his wet tongue, of his saliva and teeth. She gasped into his mouth, surprised to feel what he was doing between her thighs, her heart pounding like mad.

He groaned low into her mouth in surprise and tightened his fingers on her cheeks, panting hard as her hand gripped firmly his hard, swollen manhood.

She gasped for air when she felt how generously he had been bestowed by the heavens; she gave him a few slow, encouraging squeezes sliding her hand from the fat, pink head of his cock to it's very base, his hips involuntarily began to respond to her movements.

"− harder −" He commanded, closing his eyes, his hand involuntarily squeezed her breasts, too hard and without sensitivity. She hissed quietly, clamping her hand tighter on his length, wanting to cause him pain; he growled feeling it, digging his fingers into the skin of her cheek, looking at her with rage.

"− not like that − more gently −" She explained, clamping her hand over his, showing him with the strokes of her fingers how he should caress her, directing his thumb to her nipple.

"− rub this place − ah, yes, just like that −" She mumbled, tilting her head back, feeling his impatient breath on her, watching her and her reactions with interest, surprised apparently at how she was able to change in a matter of moments.

She felt his length tremble in her grasp when he heard her first, quiet moans.

"− that's enough −" He said impatiently, laying down on top of her, his large hands, rough from holding the sword, gripped her thighs, wanting to spread them apart and finally possess her, her fingers tightening on his sweaty, muscular shoulders.

"− no − not yet − touch me there −" She mumbled.

He looked at her with a gaze from which her whole body froze, it seemed to her that his irises were completely black, menacing, burning with a desire that destroyed and devoured.

For a moment he didn't move, breathing heavily as if he was considering her words; she licked her lips realising that he had never done this before.

He had never touched a woman down there with his fingers or his lips, never caressed her before he owned her.

She swallowed loudly, sliding her hand down to his, in a gentle motion encouraging him to sink his fingers into her hot, leaking womanhood.

She heard him draw in a loud breath at the sensation, foreign and unfamiliar, tense, he rested the weight of his body on his elbow, leaning to the side, watching from the corner of his eye what he was doing to her.

"− here, brother − touching me here will give me pleasure −" She whispered, guiding his fingertips to the bud hidden between her folds, showing him how to tease her clit with circular, slow movements.

She parted her lips, feeling the pleasant tingling in her lower abdomen, her hips involuntarily began to respond to his strokes.

"− only here? −" He asked lowly, furrowing his eyebrows, his stony face expressing concern at her words knowing that the place she was showing him was outside and not deep inside her. She sighed quietly, guiding his middle finger to her slit; he looked at her face, gasping out loud, feeling the way her fleshy walls resisted him, hot and sticky.

"− not only − can you feel it? − right here −" She whispered, directing him to the spot inside her just above her opening, between her muscles. He shuddered all over, licking his lips, dried apparently from emotion, his erection hard and swollen, twitching involuntarily, betraying how aroused he was.

"− yes −" He exclaimed, digging his middle finger into the spot she showed him, his thumb teasing her pearl, clearly wanting to see what would happen when he started touching both places at once. She moaned loudly, tilting her head back, delighted at how unexpectedly pleasurable the sensation was.

"− gods − put it inside me −" She mewled, feeling that she no longer cared about retaining any remnants of her dignity, her free hand sank into his hair, pulling him close. He grunted loudly into her mouth like an animal throwing himself at her body, her fingers dug into the bare skin of his back, a moan of exertion escaped her throat when immediately the thick tip of his cock began to push against her tight walls.

"− wider −" He exhaled with a grin that was disturbing to say the least as with an impatient, confident thrust he forced her to let him in deeper. She breathed loudly, unable to believe how hard he was stretching her and threw her head back, a drop of sweat running down her long neck.

"− brother −" She whispered, something in the way she said the word made him lose his patience, his length began to slam into her in a fast, brutal rhythm, each time rubbing the spot inside her from where she could see the stars; it seemed to her that everything around her was spinning, the fingers of his hand cupped her cheeks, forcing her to look at him.

"− no, fucking look at me − look at me and listen to what my cock is doing to this weeping cunt − pathetic −" He hissed out through clenched teeth, as if he was both furious and proud at the same time. She whimpered helplessly, a loud smack echoed around them each time his thighs hit the bare skin of her buttocks, there was something lewd and definitive about the sound, proof of how wrong she was.

"− mghm −" She babbled, feeling like he was going to pierce her, the movements of his hips quick and aggressive, full of desperation and desire, their breaths embarrassingly loud and raptured. They stared at each other with their mouths wide open, as if they couldn't believe in what was happening.

"− what does it feel like, brother? − what does it feel like to fuck your own sister? −" She gasped, heard his surprised sigh at her question, his cock quivered hard inside her, his fingers dug harder into the soft skin of her cheeks, causing her pain.

He was moving so fast inside her that he was hardly slipping out of her, her fleshy walls, all leaking from her moisture, were no longer resisting him.

It seemed to her that he wanted to reply something, but the pleasure took his speech away; he leaned over suddenly and pressed his forehead against hers, panting loudly, his hot breath enveloping her face.

She could smell the masculine scent of his sweat, from which her cunt began to throb around him, her fingers traveled down from his back to his buttocks, stroking them with movements that could be called tender.

"− it feels good −" He whispered, looking at her with a gaze that sent shivers through her, at the same time animalistic, empty and full of something she couldn't name, desire as dark and disturbing as the night around them. The sure, loud, deep thrusts of his hips made her breath get stuck in her throat, she thought with horror, feeling a pleasant tickle in her lower abdomen, that she was about to come.

"− it feels right −" He muttered and ran his tongue over her lips, something in the way he said those words, in this shameless, lewd gesture, in the way the tip of his fat cock rubbed her again and again at the spot of her greatest pleasure made her melt in front of him.

She involuntarily tilted her head back and closed her eyes, a soft, helpless moan of delight broke from her throat as a wave of wonderful heat and relief shook her body, her walls began to squeeze him, sucking him inside.

"− fuck − fuck-fuck-fuck −" He merely muttered before sighing loudly.

She felt his hot seed spill inside her, filling her, and although she rarely allowed anyone such an honour, she was unable to deny him.

She stroked his naked buttocks with calm movements full of affection, in some subconscious, natural reflex, he continued to thrust into her for a moment longer, looking down at her with his mouth open wide in pleasure.

They stared at each other, breathing loudly, and she raised her hand, letting her fingers run over his temple, his cheek and his clearly defined long jaw. She saw him close his eyes for a moment, as if he wanted to remember this moment and this feeling.

"− there is no place for me to rest − no haven where I can take refuge − here is my only true temple −" He gasped in half whisper, as if he were revealing to her some shameful secret that was tormenting him. She swallowed quietly, feeling his body cling to hers, her breasts pressed against his bare, broad chest, his face snuggled into her hot cheek, his soft manhood still throbbed deep inside her.

"− my home −"

_____

General Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@triscy @re-per @diiickbrainn @queenofshinigamis @eponaartemisa @zaldritzosrose @writerloversjm @lauzy87 @targaryenrealnessdarling @briefcollectivepersona @ginarely-blog @lcecgg @an0ther-us3r @blackswxnn

[blueberrypancakesworld]

- anon

Ewan as Martin in the Fontaines D.C. music video "in the modern world" with the song "emo boy" by Ayesha Erotica specifically with the lyric "he may not look like he gets bitches, but honey that dick was 11 inches", would it be okay if you could write something based off of this? i know it's super vague but i'd like you to have some freedom with this request and let loose and write whatever comes to mind with this as the basis of the smutty, slutted–out oneshot/blurb/drabble (whatever writing form you'll use x)

Modern world and modern love

Martin x girlfriend! reader

warning : +18, smut, mentions of wounds/blood, pain play, body whorship, fluff/comfort

Summary : In a modern world it's hard to be sure of anything, he knew and she knew but while she helped with pain Martin needed the pain a difference between them that brought them both together again and again in the early hours of the morning in a heated encounter of love, lust and pain.

info : thank you very much for the request dear anon i thank you for all the freedom and hope you like how it comes across, enjoy reading and have a nice day :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was always the same in the city, you woke up, went to work, the day passed you by and at the end of the day when the sun went down you were already back in bed trying to sleep.

A never-ending cycle of doing nothing and living and yet feeling nothing, something almost everyone knew about but only a few could do anything to feel something again.

They existed together, a nurse and he a dark spot in the night, a sentient young man who ‘helped’ others to feel again in a way that may have seemed unusual but in a city where there was infinity it was necessary.

A nurse in white to contrast with his black who cared for the victims and made them realise with hope that there was always something to feel…until she always came back to her heart in the morning hours.

The sun slowly faded and then the foggy city with the heavy clouds loomed, a car pulled up in front of his house, the lights of the headlights always pointed at his room, showing him for a moment that she was back, that she would be with him again as soon as the lights went out and he heard the front door key.

,,I'm back!" her voice echoed through the house but only reached his ears which still seemed to be ringing from the punches, kicks and choking he thought he could barely hear his own voice as he returned a mumbled ,,I missed you” and heard her take off her shoes and hang up her coat before heading towards the bedroom.

The squeaking of the door like the ticking of a clock seemed to be the same every time and yet he didn't straighten up he lay sideways looking at the slowly brightening window ,,Oh I missed you too my bat" she mumbled her mood more cheerful than his it was always like a sun coming back to him and his gratitude for her was almost greater than the love between them.

The bed squeaked as she lay next to him her gentle hand over his body he had just laid down as well the smell of disinfectant, blood and rain seemed to cling to them ,,I'm sorry" he said as he winced the cracked knuckles ached as her fingers touched them but she just grinned gripped his hand tighter hearing the sharp intake of his air not afraid but excited for what was to come.

It was always the same every time she came back he lay there on the bed messy hair, cracked knuckles, bleeding lips and scratches on his face that were as dark as the strangulation marks around his neck and in return she did what always brought him back to loving him now.

She let her hands wander slowly over him, cuddling her upper body against him, pulling lightly at the strands of his hair, she would comb them later and braid them a little, ,,You seem happy," Martin realised and his slightly trembling hand stroked her cheek, leaving a slight hint of blood behind as she cuddled her head in his hand, his coldness still seeming to cling to him, the night not wanting to leave him.

She nodded, running her hand over the choke marks on his neck and told him how she had treated a few sex workers in the last few hours and they had associated her with him, ,,They seemed almost embarrassed to ask but they wanted to know if I was sleeping with you," she said and couldn't help but laugh when she saw that Martin was laughing too and his hands held her tighter, it had happened somehow since she had seen Martin on her night shift at the hospital.

He had been hanging around outside too unsure to go in until she had intercepted him another night and just fixed him up since then it was like an unofficial rumour that they were like sun and moon together but someone like Martin with blood on him was hard to imagine that he could do something so intimate for some.

The cool tip of his nose touched hers as he asked her, ,,What did you tell them?‘ curiosity resonated in his voice as she felt his hands wandering under her shirt, pain and lust close together that they both knew, ,,Honey that dick was 11 inches" she said in a proud tone and an almost proud grin came to her lips before his lips captured hers in a long awaited kiss.

Martin opened her bra and the two of them kissed again and again, pulling the clothes off her body, she wanted his coldness and he needed her warmth he needed her softness she was different from the pain and his pain he had for her was something hard in a soft environment.

The more fabric the two lost the more different they became blood and colourful wounds on his body seemed to become more and more and her kisses barely kept up as she kissed his wounds, her hands pressing on them his moans filled the room as his hands explored her perfect body.

Not a single mark, scar or blood to be found on her was an angel who never seemed to be in pain, a thing that excited him, that he wanted to claim and that he loved when his dirty bloody fingers were on her, massaging her soft breasts, he could see exactly how she closed her eyes in pleasure, presenting her body for him, her lips moaning his name when he caused her anything more than pain.

,,Need-Need…you’ she breathlessly released his rough hands buried themselves in her hair and pulled her into another kiss his centre rubbed lightly against her thigh a shudder seemed to go through both their bodies a taste of what they would both get.

A throaty moan left her as his fingers lightly pinched her nipples she held herself against him trembling her fingernails pressed against a blueflecne making him moan too the pain he had was her arousal.

The knowledge that she was the other half of both of them was like a mirror that was reflected when they were together, ,,I'm here, dear," he hugged her from him so that she could be beneath him as much as he liked it when she put her hands around his neck when she rode him, he seemed to crave her completely today.

Her hands clung to the dark duvet as he kissed his way up her leg, caressing and cherishing every centimetre of her, ,,Perfect" she heard his voice every now and then he heard the lobe miest in front of him babbling barely audibly and yet full of love as he kissed his way up to her centre, her hands gently cupping his face, ,,I want you" she said to him as he overcame the moment to kiss her again as his hands went to her hips, taking the position they both wanted and entering her.

The kiss was punctuated by muffled moans and grunts as the feeling of familiarity seemed to be ever new her hands clutching at him he helped her through the moment with kisses and praise massaging her flesh scratching over his injuries before he saw her head nod slightly ,,I'm-only yours" he replied before he began to move still slightly cautious her hands still holding onto him at the beginning seeking the support that was hardly needed.

Her sounds were his spur her lust veiled gaze met his bright eyes the dark ones seemed dark with lust and blood he lost himself in her is one hand placed on her hip her body adjusting to his rhythm but never too firm he would never harm his heart, an angel, ,,Ahh-fuck my pretty shadow" her lips trembled as her body was once again reminded of his size and width she held onto him lightly.

Enjoying his touch as he used his other hand to cup her breasts and she massaged the mottled spots with her squeeze, the red of the blood resembling the warmth between them, the wet shudder running through the man's and woman's bodies as she wrapped her legs around his hips as she began to feel the pull in her abdomen, the tingling in her nipples and his thrusts that slowly became uncontrollable, the lust that seemed to merge the two more and more.

,,I'm here," she heard a mumbled, unspoken phrase somewhere between the moans, whimpering and grunting as she moved quickly, this time entangling him in a kiss, her hands scratching his back, his throaty moan resembling hers as he let go of her sleeve and ran his hands over the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing her to squeeze her back slightly, the intense feeling of arousal overwhelming both of them.

She could almost feel the twitching of his shoulders and his eyes, which seemed to darken further from the lust despite the increasing brightness outside, they were both close to climaxing, ,,I-I gonna fuuck cum," he heard her murmur and felt him pull her closer to him, the thrusts becoming faster but more intense, the closeness almost unbearably hot, threatening to engulf them both before their loud moans echoed through the house.

His pain mingled with her softness and vice versa the moans of two lovers as he held her close and she heard his own twitching as their bodies leaned together, shaky hands holding each other, murmured praise and sloppy kisses reaching cheek and lip.

The rays of the morning sun slowly fell on them both and they saw the beauty of each other an angel in white with wings of healing and a shadow with a bloody body merged for another night with the words they exchanged I love you before they lay together safely under the covers and would stay in this room together until the angel flew away and the shadow struck again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[shegatsby]

Requests are open!

Hannibal Lecter Fanfictions!

Requests;

 Sweet Serial Killer    Taking Care of You   Shard of Blood  Thanksgiving Dinner

Honesty  Losing Him  Their Secret   Whisper of Evi  Polar Opposites

 Mistletoe  Hannibal x Will Request Oneshot; First Kiss

Anxiety Attack    Audacity    Audacity part 2

Hannibal x Reader x Will; A New Beginning

Hannibal x Reader Request; Chapter One Chapter Two(final)

Hannibal x Will x Reader; Tangled In Between

 Mrs. Lecter    Hannibal x Will x Reader Request; Allergy

Jealous Kiss   Princess   Crisis of Lust   

Oneshot; Hannibal just found out he have the first symptoms of parkinson’s disease, like his hand are beginning to shake and freak out and try everything he could the hide it

 Oneshot;  Hannibal x reader when Mason Verger gets too close to their young daughter and Hannibal immediately goes into protective dad mode and his daughter immediately doesn’t like Mason.

  Oneshot; Reader is Abel Gideon’s daughter & was in medical school but dropped out after the whole “dad killing her entire family” thing. The FBI questions her when they think her dad is the Chesapeake Ripper & she is just shy.

 Oneshot ;  How Hannibal would react to and tend to a S/O who age regresses? Not super young but like regresses to 10 or 12 to destress or cope.

Oneshot; She's his wife and one evening Will randomly shows up at their house, while they're talking Will notices she has a bite mark (or whatever) on her shoulder/neck and Hannibal catches him staring.

  Oneshot; Hannibal comes home and sees that the reader is missing. He thinks she's ran away, she broke up with him but didn't tell him, she's been kidnapped, etc. He searches the whole house and just when's about to give up or start a major freakout, he finds the reader. And it turns out that the reader had just fell off their bed when she was alseep and happened to roll under the bed and stayed alseep.

Onehsot; The reader is innocent and sees the good in everyone, something that attracts Hannibal. But she surprises him when he’s under attack and she just deadass kills the guy hurting Hannibal and her only explanation is “I don’t like the people I love in danger” (bonus points if that’s the first time she tells him she loves him)

Oneshot; Reader is good friends with Will and meets Hannibal but Reader is naturally shy and quiet, Hannibal decides to help her open up with a bit of flirting and rewards her at the end of the night with the long awaited kiss!

Oneshot: Hannibal x reader request where the reader washes Hannibal’s hair and styling it the way he likes it for him after he’s been badly injured and can’t do it himself.

Oneshot: Hannibal x female!avenger!reader part 2? Where it takes place after the snap which 5 years later when everyone that turned to dust already come back and Hannibal come back to search for her.

Oneshot: Hannibal x shy student reader. He is obsessed with her while she has a small crush on him and then he invited her to her house and just cant get enough of her.

Oneshot: Hannibal caught their darling smiling on their phone.

Oneshot: Hannibal x fem(or gn) reader where she gets kidnapped and he finds out and saves her(but she’s injured). Heavy angst to pure fluff!!

Oneshot: Hannibal keeps you all to himself like a Rapunzel situation.

Oneshot: where he is in love with Alana‘s best friend. He met her after she picked up Alana from one of his dinners.

Oneshot: Meeting in an online portal similar to tattle crime where you can chat privately, they start talking and develop like a relationship but for the sake of their identities they keep their real names out of the chat one day you go to therapy and he is your doctor, he calls you by your username, turns out he stalked you the night you met.

Oneshot: Hannibal x Gone Girl type of reader who is running from her past life.

Oneshot: Where Hannibal and the reader are soulmates.

Oneshot: Where he takes his wife in the garden ;)

Oneshot: Reader is a doctor which attracts Hannibal.

Oneshot: Le Chiffre is back!

Oneshot: Reader attempts suicide.

Oneshot: Reader is a ballerina.

Dangerous Game (Finished) Hannibal x reader

Hannibal X Female Reader

Genre: Romance, Slow burn, SMUT. 

Summary: Y/N Hobbs an opera singer and also the eldest adopted daughter of The Minnesto Shrike, and her entire life changes after what happened. She will be the object of affection of a certain psychopath, whether she likes it or not. 

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5

Chapter 6  Chapter 7 Chapter 8  Chapter 9 Chapter 10    Chapter 11 

Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 (final)

[queers-gambit]

"Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover"

prompt: ten years ago, Lucerys claimed Aemond's eye, and now, a Lannister will claim her debt.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 5.5k+

note: i use 'lover' because it sounds like the original line, 'mother'. also, what the fuck is this, Cherry?

warnings: very much not for minors! deranged characters? blood lust? depiction of grotesque, unhinged behavior. there's cursing, depiction of canon-typical violence and injury, show timeline and spoilers that lead into some VAGUE book references that might produce a slight AU timeline...? character death, obviously Team Green, so, there's some Team Black slander. half edited!

⚠️ season one, episode ten AND book spoilers

PLEASE BE AWARE I AM GOING TO MERGE THIS ONESHOT INTO A SMALL SERIES BUT WILL STILL LEAVE THIS UP

I AM CHANGING LANNISTER READER INTO A VELARYON READER

Rain water beaded against his leather trench overcoat, rolling off him like pellets to leave a scattered trail on the material. His boots splashed in the muddy terrain, dark castle looming tall in the stormy sky, and Mother Nature voiced her displeasure in the form of booming claps of thunder throughout the raging storm.

Long, straight hair turned unruly and crinkled in the torrential downpour; sticking to clothes and clinging to skin. His sword was latched to his weapons belt, bobbing on his hip with every stride he took to approach the Keep of The Stormlands, Storm's End.

"Identify yourself!" A guard shouted through the haze of rain.

You smirked, "Prince Aemond Targaryen, second son of King Viserys Targaryen, the Peaceful, and rider of Vhagar along with his wife, Lady Lannister."

The guards exchanged looks, then the other asked, "What business do you have here?"

"Official business that surely goes beyond your responsibility," you snapped. "We require an audience with your liege lord. Is Lord Borros in? Willing to receive? You'd do well to answer quickly, Vhagar isn't known for her patience - nor is my husband and I."

There was no dispute in leading you into the castle's throne room, members of court lingering in curiosity when they saw the One Eyed Dragon Prince and his Lady Lioness prowl through Storm's End. Lightning struck to flash through the cracks of the eery castle, creating an uneasy atmosphere and making Storm's End feel spookier then it probably was. Aemond smirked when you looked around the semi-empty throne room, the guards instructing you to stay put as their lord was fetched; you looking positively bored.

"You seem to have a natural liking towards our new status, do you not, my lioness?" He mused softly. "The way you commanded the guards to retrieve their Lord for us was very telling of your ease."

"Perhaps. Though I do not like the reason we are here, flexing our status in the first place," you told him with a sharp look. "Surely, there's other alliances to be made, Aemond. Why marry you off to some plain-faced Baratheon bitch?"

"Because war's come for us and we must all sacrifice for the cause," he sighed, staring at you without so much as twitching; letting you approach until standing chest-to-chest. "We require this pact, my love, because we must strengthen Aegon's claim. To use Daeron and I as marriage pawns feels logical given our proximity to the King."

You snarled, "You told me yourself that Aegon did not deserve to be King. Now, we must sacrifice our marriage vows for his claim?"

"I know it is not ideal," he relented, "but it's our current reality."

"Only for now, I sense the tides will turn several times before this is fucking over."

"Hmm."

When Lord Borros finally arrived, he appeared disgruntled by the abrupt arrival of you and your husband, Prince Aemond. He was grouchy, but still welcoming enough; slumped in his chair, eyeing you both, mentioning, "This must be of grave importance to arrive in such a manner, with no warning."

"It is," Aemond answered smoothly, "because war has come to shadow Westeros once more, my Lord."

"Is that so?"

"King Viserys is dead," he informed clearly, "and as such, the natural succession would've passed to the King's named heir, Princess Rhaenyra, but King VIserys had a change of heart. Instead of his daughter, the King wanted his first born son, Aegon II, to ascend the Iron Throne after him."

"And that's to do with me...?"

"The Princess will demand your loyalty, Lord Borros," you stepped in, "to uphold a stale oath your father made decades ago. Come the day, you will be forced to pick sides; yet we simply would like to offer you terms of consideration before hearing Rhaenyra's."

"If the Princess is willing to offer terms, that is," Aemond punctuated.

Borros sat still, then leaned in slightly, "And what are these terms you wish to offer, girl?"

"My Lady-wife has earned the title Princess, my Lord," Aemond corrected sharply, "and will be addressed as such."

Borros nodded stiffly, "Of course, my apologies."

"No matter," you assured. "Tell me, Lord Borros, do you not have unwed daughters?"

"I do, a gaggle of them."

You smirked, "My husband, though not King, is of ancient and rich Valyrian blood. He is happy to uphold customs of his ancestors by taking another wife - so, we offer a marriage pact in exchange for your swords and banners."

"And what of you?"

"What of me?"

"You would just let your husband wed another woman?"

"Who am I to question the will of the Gods?" You mused, figuring you wouldn't tell him how Aemond had already promised never to bed the Baratheon girl. "Should they smile upon this union, so would I. My father, may he rest in peace, before his passing ensured to instill in me a sense of duty and honor, Lord Borros, and with this civil war, we might all do our part to see the end of it."

He hummed, eyeing you both. "All right," Borros half-agreed, "but which of my daughters, hmm? I've four of them - uh," he snapped, "what is this? Someone fetch the girls! Let the Prince see - he may choose to wed whichever he deems acceptable."

"Do we have a deal, Lord Borros?" You asked.

He nodded, "Pending the Princess' terms - my father did swear fealty to Princess Rhaenyra, I would do well to honor that by at least hearing her."

"A noble answer," you accepted.

It wasn't a long wait for his four daughters to arrive, an even shorter wait for Aemond to make a decision. There was Cassandra, Maris, Ellyn, and Flora Baratheon - all ripe for the picking. "Well?" Aemond asked you.

You shrugged, "This is your choice, you're the one who has to bed her." His lips twitched in amusement, eyeing the women stood in a straight line. "Fuck's sake - why not kiss them all and chose that way? Leaves less room for surprise later. Plus what're the odds Rhaenyra's sent her envoy? We should solidify Baratheon's loyalty now."

Aemond chuckled, looking each woman over carefully as a guard entered the room. "My Lord," he called, earning the attention, "another dragon has been spotted and is approaching the Keep."

"What did I fucking say?" You smirked at Aemond.

"Receive whoever it is," Borros permitted. "And you? Have you come to a decision? My girl, Maris, there, would make a clever wife."

"I've one clever enough wife and would be overrun with another," Aemond answered wistfully. "The Lady Flora is acceptable."

"Very well," Borros nodded, "and the terms of dowry?"

You watched as Aemond pulled Flora from the line of sisters, standing to the side as he examined her. He told Lord Baratheon the number of Gold Dragons he thought his daughter was worth, the two haggling lightly over prices before Borros accepted that with the threat of war, his son might become preoccupied, so, the seat of Storm's End would be inherited by Aemond and Flora's children.

Thunder rumbled as a deal was struck.

Boots marched down the stone hall and all conversation ceased to await the newcomer with taunt curiosity. Aemond subtly turned to look at you, ignoring his pretty new intended, as a procession of guards marched into the gloomy room. You boldly stared at the arrival, feeling your heart stall in your chest when you saw it was him... That bastard... The Strong Bastard that mutilated both you and your husband a decade ago.

"Prince Lucerys Velaryon," it was announced, marching coming to an echoing halt. Aemond chose that moment to turn and present himself to the young prince who haunted your every living and dreaming nightmare. He looked startled to see you both there, the guard ending, "Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen."

Against the thundering storm, Lucerys spoke timidly - as if, any louder and his voice would squeak and crack. "Lord Borros... I brought you a message from my mother... The Queen."

"Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King," Borros shot at the young prince. "Which is it? King or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it." He laughed at his own joke, but when none others joined, he asked Lucerys stoically, "What's your mother's message?"

The Strong Bastard just held up a scroll like the spoilt brat he was, a guard taking it from his fingers to walk it to the Stag Lord since the Prince deemed himself too important to hand deliver the message. Lord Borros sighed when he took up the scroll, looking expectingly to his court, then snapping, "Where's the bloody Maester?"

Lord Borros Baratheon could not read, you see.

So, you all waited as the Maester was retrieved; Lucerys sparing spooked looks at you and Aemond - the latter of whom just smirked in amusement. Luke couldn't truly see the disfigurement he caused, but your scars almost glittered in the flashes of lightning to assure him they were right where he left them. You turned to your husband, whispering in his ear, "Remember all those times when you promised me his eye as a gift? When shall we be presented an opportunity such as now?"

He shushed you with a restrained smirk, wanting so bad to entertain your banter - and daydream about doing to Luke what he did to you two. You told Aemond you didn't need Luke to bear a scar like your own, and that's when he promised to give you the Prince's eye.

The Maester arrived when Luke felt uneasy enough to palm a fist around the hilt of his sword, elderly man hobbling up to Lord Borros, taking the scroll, then reading it.

The Maester bent to summarize the letter to his Lord. You smirked at Aemond when Borros snapped, "'Remind' me of my father's oath? King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact! If I do as your mother bids," he leaned forward on his throne, looking to the side, asking, "which one of my daughters will you wed... Boy?"

"My Lord," Lucerys trembled, "I am not free to marry. I'm already betrothed."

"I did not realize betrothal was weighed heavier than marriage," Borros sneered, indicating to you and Aemond, "which means you come with empty hands. Go home, pup, and tell your mother that the Lord of Storm's End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes."

There was a beat as his words sunk in.

"I shall take your answer to the Queen, my Lord," Lucerys informed, sparing everyone one last look before turning on his heel to vacate.

Yet he couldn't just walk away so easily.

"Wait," Aemond called out loud before you could, the Prince halting, "my Lord Strong." You grinned when Luke turned fully and then stepped forward to the edge of his guarded protection, a look of disbelief adorning his features. "Did you really think that you could just fly about the Realm," he continued, taking a few slow, stalking steps forward with you on his flank and Floris stepping further away, "trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?"

"I will not fight you," Lucerys declared. "I came as a messenger, not a warrior."

You giggled to mock the boy's sword skill, wanting to hurt the boy's ego as much as possible. Your husband smirked at you before musing, "A fight would be little challenge." He paused to consider his options. "No," he told Lucerys, reaching for his eye patch and pulling the leather from his head. "I want you to put out your eye," He growled, staring at Luke, sapphire winking in the low torchlight; his arm coiling around your waist to keep you at his side. He explained, "As payment for mine. One will serve," and he flipped back his leather overcoat to reveal a dagger, yanking it free to toss across the distance at Lucerys. It clattered and skidded, the sound ominous between the claps and rolling booms of thunder. "I would not blind you," he told the boy. Then, as if concealing a smirk, he finished, "Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover."

The ground shook violently when Vhagar landed outside the Driftmark Dragon Pit. The air whooshed your hair back, little feet stumbling back a few paces into the rock wall, hair on the back of your neck standing on end when Aemond dismounted the beast. It wasn't as if you weren't proud or incredibly impressed by his ability to claim the oldest dragon in the known world, but you weren't a Targaryen and dragons made you uneasy.

You could understand animals had minds of their own, and while, yes, Targaryens were closer to Gods than Men because they fly on dragons, you knew they did not control the dragons. They merely domesticated the winged terrors, but you knew the animal could snap at any moment's notice. You didn't like being so close as to become an accidental casualty, so you waited in the mouth of the Pit to give plenty of room between you and Vhagar.

"Well? How was it?"

Aemond beamed at you, "Like nothing I've ever experienced before."

"She's much, much bigger up close," you eyed the dragon watching you both. She was too large in size for the Dragon Pit, but for you, it was a way back into the Driftmark Castle; so, Vhagar was left to her own devices as you and Aemond strode inside.

"You'll have to come flying with me."

"No, no, I like the ground very much. It's safer down here."

"You'll love flying, I can all but promise you."

"If the Gods wanted me in the air, they'd of made me a Targaryen," you teased, both entering the torch-lit passage. "Alas, I am not, so, I think it wise to keep my feet on the ground."

"I'll get you on dragonback with me one day," he smirked. "She's the oldest, you know, and the largest, too."

"I know," you beamed in amusement.

"And she's mine," he whispered, shaking his head and fighting off his grin. You looped your arm with his, giggling your praise over his display of bravery; entering the division foyer of the Pit only to spy Prince Daemon Targaryen's daughters, Baela and Rhaena, with Princess Rhaenyra's sons, Jacerys and Lucerys Velaryon.

"It's them!" One barked.

"It's us," Aemond sneered quickly, understanding confrontation when he felt it. You didn't like this... Something about this exchange felt very wrong; there was four of them, two of you, and you were not their blood relative - so, why be involved at all?

"Vhagar is my mother's dragon!" Rhaena seethed.

"Your mother's dead," Aemond reminded sharply.

You smirked, tacking on, "And Vhagar has a new rider now."

"She was mine to claim!"

"Then you should've claimed her!" You barked in annoyance. "You are not the only dragon-less Targaryen, but you're the one who expects to just be gifted one!"

Aemond sneered right after you, "Maybe your cousins can gift you a pig to ride. It would suit you."

This (rightfully) angered the girls. Rhaena charged and latched onto Aemond but was easily swatted to the ground. At that same moment, her twin, Baela, took the opportunity to jab her knuckle into your nose, sending you into the dirt. "Fuck's sake!" You snapped, Aemond clocking the injury and slamming his fist against Baela's cheek to send her into the dirt, too.

Aemond helped you to your feet as he snarled at the girls, "Come at us again and I'll feed you to my dragon!"

Jace charged, and from there, it was a blur of adrenaline. Before you understood, you were defending yourself from a hurricane of fists and feet; reaching up to grab hold of Rhaena's locs and yank as hard as you could. It gave you a small advantage to get up, see the three others beating on Aemond, and rushed for the fray.

The Prince saw you and pause his resistance to let you grab hold of Baela - also pulling her so hard, a loc or two might've been ripped from her scalp. Aemond kicked Jace, you sent the girls into the dirt, and Aemond managed to catch hold of Lucerys by the throat as he got to his feet. Aemond's hand found purchase on a large rock, standing above them all as you panted from his side; rock raised in threat.

"You will die screaming in flames, just as your father did!" Aemond declared, snarling, "Bastards."

Through his whimpering, Luke sobbed, "My father's still alive!"

For a moment, Aemond appeared disarmed, but then sneered, "He doesn't know, does he? Lord Strong?"

This upset Prince Jacerys enough that he brandished a concealed dagger from his sleeve; holding it at the ready, ignoring his cousin's pleas of his name. "Blade in play," you warned Aemond.

Luke was kicked away, Jace was dodged, disarmed, then shoved to the ground. You were all bruised, bloodied, beaten; thinking that despite twice the numbers, you and Aemond managed to hold your own pretty damn well. The Prince lifted the rock again, this time with his sights set on Jace, ignoring Luke scrambling in the dirt.

Pretty damn well until it was too late.

You screamed in absolute horror when a white hot pain flashed across your face when you meant to turn away from the fight. You went down, Aemond looked over in shock and confusion, and in that moment, Lucerys swung his brother's blade again. It cut through half of Aemond's face, the eye being severed in two; blood gushing between both your hands.

Of course, this was the time the White Cloaks arrived - but it was too late. The damage was done. You sobbed uselessly as the knights tried to help you off the ground, trembling violently as adrenaline wore off. You were instantly escorted to the castle's throne room where the Maester and other attendants met you.

Guards posted.

Blood soaked into cloth.

The Queen arrived with the Hand before anyone else - instantly demanding her son (and you) be attended to at once. She listened to the shaky account of events, but it was difficult to get an accurate picture as you and Aemond were both preoccupied with being medically attended to.

You held Aemond's hand as you were both cleaned up. There was nothing to save, Aemond's eye removed and your face being pinched and stitched. Nearly 200 years from now, one of your descendants will earn nearly the exact same scar during the Battle of the Blackwater; a mark that cut through the face from temple, over the nose, to opposite ear.

You listened to the spoiled brats spin their webs, opting to remain quiet in the presence of the King.

However, after Princess Rhaenyra finally showed up with Prince Daemon, after Lord Corlys Velaryon and Lady Rhaenys Targaryen arrived, attention shifted.

" - Didn't just mutilate our son, but the Lady Lannister as well!" Alicent raged.

King Viserys eyed you as if seeing you for the first time, slowly approaching. "My Lady," he spoke softly, "you have not yet said a word this evening."

"It is not my place, Your Grace."

"It is now," he permitted. "Speak, and tell me the truth of it. What happened tonight?"

You swallowed nervously, "The Prince Aemond claimed his dragon, Vhagar, Your Grace, and upon returning, the... Uh, well, the Princes Jacerys and Lucerys along with their cousins, Ladies Rhaena and Baela, were waiting for us."

"Waiting?" Viserys repeated.

"Yes, Your Grace, I believe they wanted to see who had claimed Vhagar," you offered.

"Who hit who first?"

With a sigh, you answered, "Lady Baela hit Prince Aemond first. A solid hook, for whatever it's worth."

Alicent now approached, squatting in front of you and asking, "How did you sustain such injury, Lady Lannister? Come... Speak the truth. Tell us the meaning of this."

"Prince Jacerys brought the blade, Your Grace," you mumbled, "but it was lost in the scuffle. It was Prince Lucerys who offered injury to both Prince Aemond and I."

You could've cried when Rhaenyra, as usual, managed to somehow spin your story into making her sons the victims. Despite being told the four ambushed you two, they weren't even reprimanded because their parents were all so angry that it truly distracted from the present situation at hand. In the end, Queen Alicent snapped and charged to attack, but the Princess Rhaenyra intercepted her before damage could be done.

The blade Alicent stole from her husband's belt was dropped - but not before the tip sliced into the flesh of the Princess' forearm. You were fuming, watching them all leave; you had been seriously maimed, and so far, you had been the one spoken to as if a criminal. Rhaenyra would need stitches, sure, and a broken nose was the worst of their injuries - but Aemond lost his eye, and you?

You felt as if you lost your life because who the hell would want you now? With this scar? This big, fat, noticeable scar that split your face? Sure, your Lannister name would get you places - but not everywhere. Considering your young age, this only left time for rumors to fester and for everyone to notice your injury; being no escape and no where to hide from ridicule.

For years, you would consider yourself damaged. For years, you would mourn yourself. For years, you would sharpen your mind, wit, and intelligence because if you couldn't bring standard "beauty" to the table, you wanted to be able to offer something redeeming.

For years, you would undergo emotional turmoil before your engagement to Aemond is announced; convincing yourself you did not deserve love because your anger made you likened to a shrew. You felt ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside; a product of your environment and experiences. When the promise of marrying your best mate was bestowed, the entire court was shocked by the 180 you both did; where once stony and stoic, both were now soft and kind - but only to one another.

To everyone else, you were both still stony and indifferent. But to each other? You and Aemond would move mountains.

Yet that night on Driftmark would haunt for you for the rest of your lives; no matter the promise of love, marriage, and a 'normal' life. Late nights would be held together, fantasizing about your revenge; considering the future in which you made Lucerys Strong pay for what he did to you.

"Plan To Make A Gift of It To My Lover."

"No," Lucerys barked, looking distraught by the sheer idea of what Aemond demanded. His answer made the amusement drain from Aemond's features, this was a man not often told no. His hand passed you his eye patch for safe keeping; the raging storm outside portraying the tension brewing in the throne room of Storm's End.

"Then you are craven as well as a traitor."

"Not here!" Borros understood fighting words when he heard them - not wanting the repercussions of a dead or injured Prince Lucerys, because, let's face it, Luke couldn't do damage to Aemond even if he tried.

Aemond literally sprang into action, releasing his grip on you, shouting as he strode forward. "Give me your eye," he stooped to snatch his dagger from the ground, "or I will take it, bastard!"

Lucerys brandished his sword for protection, but Borros launched out of his seat to intervene by shouting, "Not in my hall!" This made Aemond skid to a halt. "The boy came an an envoy. I'll not have bloodshed beneath my roof. Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon... Now."

You smirked when Aemond just watched the boy flee the hall, hand flipping his dagger expertly before sheathing it. You met his gaze, holding prolonged eye contact to publicly show you were not afraid of him, his looks, his lack of eye, or adoration for him.

"Well, Lord Borros," you mused, turning to the Stag Lord, "looks as if you've chosen in this war."

He huffed, "We can discuss specifics later."

Aemond nodded, "We'll be off."

"Do not - "

"You said no blood shed under your roof," you reminded, "not above."

"The Prince is young and small - "

"We gave him a fair head start." Borros looked ready to rebuttal, but you snapped, "We're at war, my Lord. Either you let the dragons fight in the skies or it'll be your men fighting in the trenches. The choice is yours."

"See that? His woman bites harder than he," Maria scoffed to her sisters, only juuuuust loud enough for her voice to carry across the room. Then she snarled at your husband, "Tell me, Prince Aemond, was it just your eye Prince Lucerys took, or one of your balls, too? You threw a dagger at him and stopped when Daddy said stop," her eyes rolled, "those are not qualities of a man."

You were ready to attack. In fact, you started striding up to Maris when Aemond intercepted you swiftly with a suffocatingly strong grip. "We've more important matters," he reminded you, turning, and promising to send word to Lord Borros before disappearing out of the side door.

"How dare she," you seethed on your way to Vhagar. "That buck-tooth looking rodent dares insult you? Her own Prince? In front of others - oh, the nerve of that family!"

"Bigger picture at work here, love," Aemond mused as he fixed his patch back on, never one to address the things that were bothering him - like when someone hurt his feelings or bullied him over his missing eye.

But you were always ready to bite those that offered insult. You were a Lion in a golden cage, after all.

You grumbled the entire time, reaching Vhagar, launching as discreetly as she possibly could to scan the skies. It wasn't easy to find the Prince because his dragon blended into the storm so perfectly, but once the tiny beast was located, you were locked on. You rode behind Aemond in his saddle, both being harnessed to prevent any unseating; the combined weight never phasing his ol' girl. Vhagar understood they were in some kind of chase, and when she gave a grumble that rumbled over the thunder you flew through, Aemond gave her a command in High Valyrian to quiet herself.

You could see glimpses of Luke turning to search areas you had just vacated; loving this game of cat and mouse. You hoped the anticipation and anxiety of being watched was upsetting the Prince - just so he had a little bit of emotional trauma from this, you know? Just so he had a little taste of the emotional turmoil you had to suffer the past decade.

"Ready?" Aemond asked you.

You squeezed his waist before boldly reaching down to palm his cock through his breeches, hissing in his ear, "Do it, you owe me a gift."

Aemond grinned and directed Vhagar to circle around and fly forward until almost colliding with Lucerys - should he not've steered Arrax lower at the last moment. The close call was enough to make you both laugh, the sound traveling over the noisy nature. Aemond turned Vhagar again, trying to snatch at Arrax with her talons while your husband hurled insults and taunting phrases as his nephew.

With a small groan, you reached for a separate piece of the saddle to hold onto while Aemond drove Vhagar into a nosedive after the smaller dragon. When they came up to a cavern of sea rocks, Aemond was forced to pull Vhagar back before she could crash - but Arrax had no issue navigating into and through the canyon. You were forced to fly above it, searching for your prey once more.

Lucerys seemed to evade you for a time.

"What happens when we find him?"

"I will have the bastard's eye," he reminded you.

"Yes, but what if he resists?"

"Of course he will."

"So you mean to kill him? Is that the plan, Aemond?"

He did not answer you, looking over Vhagar's sides for his prey. He shouted in High Valyrian, "You owe a debt! Boy!"

Suddenly, from your left, Arrax descended upon Vhagar with a vicious spewing of fire that licked your flesh hatefully. Aemond flinched back into your chest, trying to shield yourselves from the heat of the flames, but it was too late. You cried out, whimpering with discomfort when the flames died; marring and mangling your skin. Prince Lucerys was heard scolding his dragon, and for a moment, you felt as if you could see the future because there was no way Vhagar was going to let that kind of disrespect occur and do nothing about it.

The ol' girl gave a rumble before bellowing after Arrax. She turned herself to where the other dragon had disappeared and started to push off as her owner begged and pleaded with her not to. "Serve me, Vhagar, no!" He commanded, desperate to keep his beast under control, but being evident these two wild animals were in an altercation all their own and meant to follow their instinct.

"We want his head still, Vhagar!" You laughed loudly, Aemond growling with a smirk.

"Do not encourage her!"

"Do not try to domesticate a 180-year-old dragon!" You gave a small whoop of excitement. "She's a Dragon of War, Aemond! Violence is what she knows!"

He grunted as he struggled with the reins. However, Vhagar ignored him and made her own turn, pumping her wings twice and then breaking into the morning sun above the storm. For a fleeting moment, it was incredibly gorgeous to be so high in the sky...

And then it was over before anyone could stop it.

Vhagar opened her mouth and gave one chomp around the body of boy and dragon. There was a shrill cry of fear before Vhagar's moan of content, then eery silence settled as half-consumed bits fell to the ground beneath.

"Well," you cleared your throat, staring at the bloody bits falling, "if it wasn't enough that Aegon took her crown, surely, the two of us taking her son will be the push Rhaenyra needs to meet us in conflict."

"No," he cleared his throat, "you were not here - "

"I was, I would not allow you to bear this burden on your own. To take the blame," you met his eye. "I encouraged this just as much, and Rhaenyra will know it was us - she'd never believe I was not involved."

"Can you not be logical right now?" He trembled, leaning his forehead to yours.

"Okay..." You whispered, "Well, could we go see if there's anything left?"

"That's morbid, my love."

"What? You're the one who promised me his eye. I know you didn't mean for this, but the truth is," you smirked, "you did. You knew what pursuing him would result in - your dragon doesn't understand your need for revenge, she understands eat or be eaten."

Aemond sighed, "Too soon for that phrase."

"Noted. Now, c'mon," you encouraged, giving his waist a squeeze. "I know you're curious to see what's left, too."

And he was, so Aemond directed Vhagar back down. It was difficult to predict where the body parts could've ended up, but seemingly, luck was on your side and you descended to the shore. There was a small scattering of remains, bits being washed up or away with every new lap of sea water.

You dismounted and started searching through the remnants, storm still outlandishly raging around you. "Love?" Aemond spoke from behind you, making you jump slightly. He smirked, "Got something for you, my Lioness."

"You do not..." He held up the messily decapitated head of Lucerys "Velaryon", your laugh surprising and genuine. "Oh, we're sooo going to Seven Hells," you sighed, shrugging, "but you know, it doesn't really get worse than what we've already done, so," you motioned for him to set the head down.

"Here," he agreed, using his dagger to harvest Lucerys' eyeballs from the skull you helped hold. When he was done, you chucked the head away before Aemond's bloody hands set both eyes in your cupped, outstretched palms; watching you weigh them.

"You know, Lannisters always pay their debts," you mused, smirk pulling at your lips, "but we also are always repaid our debts. How strange, to hold his eyes and think they were once functioning... In his head, of use, probably full of tears when Vhagar chased him in the sky."

"Hm," Aemond considered, then pointed to your hand. "It's with his eyes, I promise you, my Lioness, the fall of our enemies." He proclaimed, then musing, "Should we give Maris Baratheon one to prove ourselves?"

You smirked, "She said you must've lost your balls, right?"

"Almost positive Vhagar ate Lucerys' so we cannot present her with them."

"Damnit," you pouted. "All right, fine, sure, we might show the Baratheon's we mean war... But I'd like to keep them both, please."

"What are you going to do with them?"

"Put them in a jar and keep until I'm no longer angry about what he did to us..."

"So, his eyes are going on our mantle?"

"You bet your sweet balls," you grinned, twirling Lucerys Velaryon's Strong's organs in your hand like a pair of game dice.

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

[rippersz]

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒕

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✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

A Larissa Weems x F!Reader oneshot (for now) - Normie Reader experiences a very sudden heat for whatever reason and oh good lord Larissa is just so hot how can anyone expect you to work under these conditions… (NSFW: Vulgar, Breeding Kink, Shapeshifting Advantages, All that Jazz) (Larissa is just mentioned/imagined in this.) Am I sorry? Meh.

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

There was just something in her that lit something in you.

A fire the likes of which you’d never encountered before. As though a flame was constantly flicked on beneath your heart, causing it to race, causing it to pound, causing it to bring the blood from your limbs up to your cheeks; painting you in a deep blush. Making you dizzy. Making you ache. Making you feel a type of delicious never-ending burn that seemed to spark the very moment you saw her.

Her.

Oh, her.

The same woman that made you realize that you wanted to become heavily acquainted with Lust and all of the friendly benefits it could offer. The very catalyst to your panic and your flush and the shake in your hands as you pressed yourself up against the wall of your shower and imagined it was her doing it instead. Oh how her hands would feel… how her touch would mold… how her teeth would graze and nibble and bite and gnash in ways that sent you spiraling. The muscles in her biceps flexing as she interlocked your hands and forced your arms up over your head, holding you to the chilled tile, making you shiver even if the water was hot.

It felt like the word ‘Please’ was on the very tip of your tongue whenever you passed her in the hall. ‘Please,’ you wanted to murmur to her one day, ‘Please, put me out of my misery and ruin me before I explode.’ Because that’s what it felt like, didn’t it? The strange pull in your bones, crawling up through your veins, invading your mind, it felt like you were being stretched taut and that no amount of self-assured pleasure could help release your tormented body. Explosion, at that point then, was imminent. And dangerous. You could barely concentrate on classes; you could barely pay attention to another person; you could barely think about anything other than her fingers… and her tongue… and those deep bottomless sapphire eyes - staring straight into your soul as you fell apart beneath her.

Some part of you told you that you were going through heat. That the very desperate natural human basic need for pleasure was just that - something a person experienced from time to time. Something that werewolves and cats and animals felt whenever that season came around. But you were a ‘normie’. You’d never felt that before… until Larissa Weems, of course. Until you sat down in a staff meeting one day and peered down at her painted nails and long tapered fingers and delicate hands, woven with blue veins and a wicked strength you’d never seen, and wondered what her index and middle finger would taste like when resting on your tongue. The thought still brought redness to your cheeks and drool to the inside of your mouth. It was just so terribly depraved. So desperate. So needy in a way that you wanted her to say- to tell you- to whisper in your ear while you whimpered into the warm skin of her shoulder.

‘Look at you… such a silly little thing… trembling all for me…’

All for you. All for her. All for Larissa, at all times, no matter what.

You knew that people were starting to worry about you and your actions - especially Larissa herself. She was your boss after all, she was supposed to pick up on any behavioral changes, and you had definitely changed. Without even knowing, you became far more introverted and spent more time alone than you ever had before. Though then again, most of that time was dedicated to taking care of the relentless throb between your thighs. Honestly, sometimes it got so strong that it interrupted your entire day and you had to find some way to ease the strange pangs before they got out of hand.

And you’d been doing a good job. Really, you had. You’d been taking the necessary moments to rid yourself of the feeling for at least a few hours before it came back - and that was enough. It was enough.

Until it wasn’t.

Until it began to hurt.

Until you realized that yes, indeed, you were somehow going through heat - and there was no one there to help you with it.

–

‘Good morning Larissa,

I just wanted to email you with a quick update and say that I, unfortunately, have fallen quite ill. I don’t think I’m equipped enough to handle my classes, and I’m very sorry for the inconvenience. Knowing this would get worse, I already printed out lesson plans and activities for my students. They’re all on my desk in my classroom.

Thank you - hopefully I get over this soon.

Y/N’

A quick email. That was good. You didn’t specify timing but that was fine. Your ‘heat’, for lack of a better word, had already been happening for about three weeks. If you were correct in your research, it wouldn’t be too much longer - perhaps a week or so more. Though in the long run, it would be a bigger pain in the ass than you expected. Already, your room smelled of sex and was so stuffy that you had to keep a window open constantly. And to get rid of the scent, you resorted to wall plug-ins and incense; they were the best you could think of on the fly. The rest of the issue - such as the air being far too hot - could only be remedied with a lack of clothing and many cold showers.

You supposed that was the best blessing during your time of strife- having an ensuite all to yourself. Staff were given the option to live on campus or live near Jericho, but you decided that ease of access was more important than living utterly alone. And, another plus that allowed you to let out a sigh of relief from time to time, was the fact that the teacher’s wing was very far from the students’. So any of the werewolves that wandered the halls wouldn’t smell you - as long as you stayed in your room. Thus, the email. And the isolation. And the constant worry that often came as an after-thought during your moments of… reprieve.

Even then, you truly felt you were going mad.

Tears often leaked from the corners of your eyes at night when you twisted around in bed, trying (and failing) to keep your hands from wandering about your body. You’d never experienced the phrase ‘instinctive’ to such an extent until that span of time where your searching fingers tip-tapped their way down the soft skin of your rounded tummy and found themselves drawing circles around your clit without thinking. Because it was all done without thinking. Even thinking was done without thinking.

Most of the time, your head was filled with thoughts of your boss. It was always Larissa. It was always Larissa and it was always her tall figure dwarfing your own, pushing you into a state of submission that you wanted to fall into anyway. She wouldn’t even have to try very hard - she wouldn’t even have to bend you over her lap and spank you red unless you came without her permission and she wouldn’t even- she-

‘Y/N,

I’m very sorry to hear you’ve fallen ill; please don’t worry about your classes as I can provide a substitute immediately. That being said, take as much time as you need to recover. I’ll stop by later today to chat briefly about the form you can fill out for an extended absence. Thank you for letting me know and I sincerely hope you feel better soon.

Larissa W.’

The ping of the email distracted you for a moment.

Good- that was good- your classes would be covered and you were ‘off the hook’. Great. Take as much time as you need mhm mhm… blah blah blah… stop by later today… mh-

Wait.

Wait, what?

You blinked, stared down at the lit up screen of your phone, and then blinked again.

She was… stopping… by? Later? On that day? When the clench in your abdomen was so strong that you were descending into sniffling sobs every two seconds? On that day, when you had just reached the point in which your fingers- the four you managed to fit and utilize- no longer got rid of the ache? On that day, when you were cursing yourself for never buying a fucking sex toy just for the Hell of it?

In your defense, you didn’t think you were ever going to descend into a spontaneous excruciating heat at any point in your life- but it didn’t really matter anyway.

Because whether you liked it or not, Larissa Weems, your boss, the headmistress of the Nevermore Academy for Outcasts, the main event of your wet dreams and sexual fantasies was going to stop by your room for a ‘brief chat’... and you hadn’t been clothed for three days. And your legs were trembling all the time. And the insides of your soft thighs were coated in slick constantly. And your skin was always overheated and sensitive and your voice was hoarse due to the amount of muffled screaming you pressed into the fabric of your pillow and your bed was very much unmade and your room smelled like a 24 hour sex dungeon and the blush on your cheeks had only increased tenfold by the time you sat up in your unmade bed, winced, and let out a whine.

Oh why had the Gods cursed you so?

Why had they placed a hex on your little human body and filled it with a libido that could only match the ferocity of dragons? Why did they force a potion of lust down your throat and place you in front of Larissa Weems and make you look at her with eyes of dark desire? Why did they place the image of her sloping hips and long legs and thick thighs in your mind and poison you with dreams that followed you into the waking world?

Why did you want her so badly?

Why did you yearn for her touch and why did you want her smell enveloping your body and why- oh god why- did you want to kiss her so often? Why did you want her to take care of you? Why did you want her of all people! to take you to bed and make you see stars? Why did you want red lipstick covering your skin and why did you want your face between her thighs and why did you want to feel her come apart beneath you? Why did she drive you wild? Why did she force you into a state of fluster that you could only pull yourself out of when you were alone?

Why did she plague you?

“I can’t do this…,” you suddenly confessed to no one in particular as you let out a sigh.

The fire had dulled to a simmer long enough for you to stand and slowly make your way to the bathroom.

Pain experienced during heat, you came to find, was far different than any other pain. It was like you felt empty - utterly disgustingly empty - and your body hated that. It rebelled. It made your abdomen, your fucking womb, feel hot. And after the heat, it began to ache. Like you were sitting on the edge of an orgasm and you needed that extra push- that extra kiss- that extra lick of praise- to send you tipping off the edge into an ocean of bliss…. But you couldn’t have it. The push, the kiss, the praise wasn’t there. Nor was the thrust of strong hips, or the scratch of fingernails, or the hissed growl of dominance in your ear. None of it. And your body knew that, so it made you clench and unclench constantly; and it punished you for your negligence and made your clit extra sensitive and your nipples hard and eager to be teased and your skin- oh your poor skin- was practically begging for someone to touch it. To mark it. To hold it and squeeze it and bite it and make it theirs.

Make it hers.

Goodness, you were pathetic. The fog that fell over your mind whenever you thought of Larissa was so hypnotizing that once your thoughts got going, they couldn’t stop.

‘Think of her,’ the strange lustful monster within you hissed, ‘Think of her and all of the sinful things she could do to you. Think of her hands pulling your hair, think of her warm thighs straddling your waist, think of her tongue running itself along your neck… and down your chest… and lower and lower… lower… pooling with drool and letting it drip-drop onto your cunt… licking at your clit…’

A whimper slipped past your lips as soon as you stepped into the water of your shower.

The heat was both soothing and torturous, doing you no favors as it instantly glazed the top of your mind; normally you’d prefer to make it cold to put a damper on your libido, but the need to get off yet again overpowered any lingerings of common sense.

But really, if you were being honest with yourself, there was no common sense during ‘heat’. At all. You figured that out rather quickly when, on the fourth day of wanting to be fucked mercilessly, you began entertaining thoughts of breeding. Of course you didn’t want a child. But the thought… the thought… of such warmth in you… filling what was always so painfully empty… of someone- of her- holding you down and breeding you full, growling that you were to be hers forever, was something that had you cumming in under five minutes. You simply couldn’t help it. And ever since that thought, it was as though you crossed into the dark side. All kinds of kinks and experiments filtered into your horny little brain, and all you could do to keep yourself from going crazy was to keep orgasming until your fingers could barely move.

It was the worst experience of your life…

…when you weren’t sitting on the built-in shower stool and thrusting three fingers into yourself, imagining Larissa watching you from beyond the glass. It was terrible except for when you pictured her telling you to go faster, to slow down, to take your fingers out completely and spread your folds wide so she could coo over how cute you looked when your cunt ached for her touch. It was maddening while you weren’t fantasizing about her stepping into the shower with you- all 6 feet, 3 inches of her- and threading her perfect hand in your hair and pressing you to her venus mound and making you kiss it until you came around your own fingers. Then making you stick your tongue out and look up at her as she slowly rolled her hips, coating you in a taste you knew you’d never ever get tired of.

Maybe even… oh god… maybe even shifting that part of herself and surprising you by sliding the head of her cock into your mouth and making you worship her until you forgot your own name. Running your eager tongue along the hot veins… peering up through your eyelashes as she slowly- slowly- craned her head back and let out a deep bone-shaking groan… Unable to help herself as she pushed you down just a bit more, slowly making that ‘pretty mouth of yours’ (as she called it) take as much of her as it could.

“There… yes, right there darling…” You could practically hear her words, as if she were with you, while your eyes rolled back and your other hand came up to rub furiously as your clit.

Unfortunately, even as you sat there and felt the prickling wave of heat wash over your body, clenching tightly around your own fingers while you orgasmed, you knew that it wouldn’t be enough. You knew that the water running down your face was mixed with frustrated tears. You knew that no climax you reached all by yourself would ever be able to properly satiate your body and every thing it was feeling. After all, a ‘normie’ was not supposed to experience ‘heat’ - and your mind was already so close to breaking all by itself.

It was just a shame that Larissa wasn’t there to snap it in half for you.

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

This was just a quick exercise - I want to better my smut writing abilities. New updates soon and all that. Any thoughts on a Part 2? - Ripley x

✩*⢄⢁✧ --------- ✧⡈⡠*✩

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

I think I'm falling in love with you. 

Those words slam into his chest like an iron, not hot with lust or heavy with fear, but with the warmth of love, as if Fadel's heart was finally answering his in kind.

Because he knows now, that feeling he had tried to ignore, the feeling that has been slowly wrapping around him like a vice. This feeling that has taken over his every waking moment for the last two weeks. It's love that made him ache with longing, that had his insides twisted with worry when he'd been unable to contact him.

It's love that led him here tonight, because even though he'd promised Kant that he'd let it go, that he'd let Fadel go….he couldn't. 

He'd shown up to the diner every day since the failed take down. He just couldn't stay away, not if there was a chance he'd return. He didn't care about his promise with his best friend, because he couldn't overwrite the promise he'd made with his own heart. 

That if Fadel came back….he’d do what he attempted to do a week ago, when he had so desperately tried to get Fadel to let him in, to show him that Style is here to stay, that he accepts him, all of him. Not just the smiles or his quiet, sweet caring side, but the scars and filth and blood…Style would take it all. 

Despite the voice in his head, the one that sounds like Kant, telling him over and over that this isn't a good idea. That Fadel is a killer. That he is dangerous, and no matter what happens, this only ends in heartbreak. Despite all of that…

He can't give Fadel up. 

Because he loves him…

And because he loves him, because he came back. Style needs to fulfill that promise he'd made with himself.  

He needs to warn him. He needs to tell him to run, as much as the thought of that makes his chest want to concave…

Fadel kisses him and pulls him closer. He wraps his arms around him, leading him in a slow dance as the music swells around them. 

Fadel is holding him as tightly as Style had wanted to the night before it all fell apart.

And Style…

He knows it's time. It's now or never.

He needs to tell him the truth.

(Sneak peak of some FadelStyle episode 6 Canon divergent oneshot)

[fruitmins]

For You | yoongi

➭ summary: in which Yoongi is the son of a big business man and is now the CEO of the million dollar company so naturally he grew up distant and stern. But suddenly, his attitude changes when he meets you, a local kind hearted stripper that catches his curiosity. He finds himself lost in your smile and warm spirit, despite him being the opposite. But he’s willing to let down his walls for you..

➭genre: oneshot, strangers to lovers, stripper reader, slowburn-ish, fluff

➭warnings: mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence & blood, tsundere-ish tbh, didnt check the spelling, yoongi is stalker-ish but that’s ok, daddy issues

➭note: don’t ask me why this takes place in winter💀 senior year of high school + writers block + I’m lazy. i like half of this and i hate half of this. omg yoongi going to the military I’m gonna cry & throw a fit

Yoongi put his cold hands in his pockets, small snowflakes falling from the sky as he stepped out of the dirty and vulgar parking lot. He ignored all of the horny thugs who were making out with hookers outside as he headed to the dimly lit building.

SEASAW

The word was lit on top of the building and for some unknown reason, Yoongi had been drawn to it for weeks. He knew there were better clubs than this one, and he’d most likely be seen and on some headline by the time he stepped in the door but tonight, he didn’t care.

His mind went back to the fight he had with his dad on the phone as he stepped through the door, some terribly made whiskey in mind.

A breeze washed over him as the door closed with a loud thud, it was at least a little warmer than the cold air outside. Yoongi glanced around taking in the symphony of multicolored lights illuminated the air, casting a vibrant palette across the dance floor. The room throbbed with an infectious energy, resonating with the beat of the music that reverberated through every corner.

Soon, his eyes found the bar, a couple of nicely dressed men sat at the stools. Without another thought, Yoongi strutted to a seat, leaving an empty space to separate himself and another man.

“Whiskey.” He said in a deep raspy voice despite how the woman working was already in the middle of making another drink.

“Yoongi!” A older sounding man suddenly called out of him, making his head turn to the man on the stool next to him. He recognized the man as one of his dad’s friend.

Perfect. He scoffed to himself, hoping his drink would came faster.

“Now what are you doing in a bar like this?” The man asked with a scratchy laugh, hitting his shoulder.

Yoongi tried to let out a small chuckle that ends up sounding dry. “Same as you.” He spoke, turning back to the bar when he hears the bartender loudly slam his drink on the counter.

He goes to take a large swig as the old man continues to chat and laugh with him, his reeking odor hitting his face as he turns to look back at him.

Behind the old man, Yoongi notices the dance floor. Bodies moved in sync with the rhythm, twisting and gyrating, surrendering themselves to the intoxicating melodies. But one soul figure seemed to catch everyone’s attention on stage.

Slowly, he started to tune out the annoying old man the more closely he watched. But unlike the other men in the bar, he watched with curiosity rather than lust. Your movements were elegant and graceful, your tight crop top and glittery skirt making every sway of your body seen.

Your hands played in your hair and caressed your body as your body moved, painting a mysterious story about you with help of the music. Your eyes closed and a bright warm smile on your face as if no one else was there.

Despite dancing in a shabby club probably to make ends meet, you were dancing as if this was your long time dream.

“Her?” The old man’s itchy voice suddenly came back to him, pointing to you on the stage. “That’s Y/N. She’s kinda a favorite here.” He said and this made Yoongi even more intrigued.

“Has she worked here long?” Yoongi asked glancing back at the old man as he nodded. “Almost a full year.” He said and everyone clapped and whistled as you suddenly came down from the stage with a warm smile.

Yoongi just hummed before quickly finishing his drink before paying the bartender and leaving, deciding to dismiss the thought of talking to you.

But at weird hours of the day Yoongi would think about you, so every time he happened to pass the club he went in and watched you perform.

This happened for weeks. He never said a word to you, he never went further than the bar. Until one day when you had stepped off the stage, looking cheerful as usual, only to be met with two men meeting you half way.

Yoongi watched, his blood starting to boil as the man surrounded you, complimenting you and touching your hair. It didn’t take them long before they got more physical, grabbing your arm to stop you from walking away as they started to trail closer to you so that their body touched yours.

Yoongi can see the panic and fear settle in your face before his vision was blocked by the taller men.

Without thinking, Yoongi practically sprung up from the stool, furious as he made his way over to where the men had circled you.

“Move.” He said, his voice deep and hoarse as the two men slowly turned around to face Yoongi.

“Mind your business, hot shot.” One man spoke, obviously trying to spook Yoongi which only wanted to make him laugh.

“I’m not going to waste my breath telling you again.” Yoongi said simply, remaining calm as he watched the two turn irritated.

“You wanna get jumped punk?” The man said, raising his voice as he stepped closer to Yoongi.

Instantly and without warning, Yoongi’s right arm swung in the air. His already clenched knuckles that were in his coat pocket suddenly flew out and connected to the guys face, all of his pent up angry unleashing.

Before anyone can react, he punched him a second time, this one making him stumble to the ground with a yell of pain.

The other man quickly backed away with his hands in the air, “I don’t even know that guy.” The man claimed before quickly rushing off.

Yoongi looked up from the ground where the other man was laid, his nose now bleeding heavily as Yoongi stepped over the body, ignoring his groans when he did so.

“You alright?” Yoongi spoke, his expression softening as he meets your eyes. His eyes glazed around your face as he inspected you, trying not to get lost in your gorgeous and unique features as he looked for any sign that they had touched you.

“I’m fine.” You muttered back, out of breath from shock as you looked at the man on the group and then up at him with wide eyes.

“Thank you.” You say with a polite bow, taking a moment to collect yourself before a small smile appears on your face.

“What?” Yoongi asked, curious on why you were suddenly smiling and chuckling despite everything.

“Well, I was wondering when you were going to come talk to me.” You say with a teasing smile only making Yoongi more confused. As if reading his expression you chuckle. “You think I haven’t noticed you always coming in here and watching me?”

Yoongi bit the inside of his cheek, shrugging lightly as he looked away. “I don’t care if you noticed or not.” He spoke in a defensive tone, harsher than intended. He saw the smile on your face drop slightly in disappointment and he bit the inside of his cheek harder out of frustration. He didn’t want to be responsible for a frown on your face when you always wore a smile.

Wordlessly, Yoongi took out his wallet, taking out three hundred dollar bills and holding his hand out for her to take.

Your eyes widen in shock, chuckling nervously as you shake your head, denying it. “Why..?” You start to question, getting a little suspicious.

“For the inconvenience, and all the dances I’ve watched without tipping.” Yoongi states with a serious expression, trying to cover up any other intentions he might of had.

“You just have that much on you at all times? That’s risky.” You respond, still hesitant to take the money. Yoongi lets a smile crack at the irony, “I’ve been watching you for weeks and that’s what your worried about?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Do you want a favor in return or something?” You ask him, still skeptical as Yoongi rolls his eyes. “I guess we’ll never know if you don’t take the money.”

With a sigh, he watches as you slowly take the money out of his hands and put it in your pocket. “Thank you.” You mumble as he turns around and heads for the door. “Wait!” You call for him in confusion, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him as he turns around slightly.

“What’s the favor?” You ask in confusion but Yoongi just looks at you before continuing to walk out without a word.

It doesn’t take Yoongi long to wonder back into the club days after that. Despite the weird exchange it only made him want to get to know you more. But something in him grew colder when he walked in the club only to see you not onstage. Usually around this time you had already started and had a small crowd of men watching you.

“Whiskey.” He ordered in a lower tone as he sat down, tapping impatiently on the counter as he waited. “This was stupid.” He mumbled to himself, ashamed of how he had gotten caught up with this stripper and was just about ready to leave it all behind.

“Min Yoongi! You’re back!” He heard your familiar voice right next to him, causing his head to turn to the side in confusion.

“What are you doing here?” He asked his finger slowly stopping as he looked at you, sat next him in the bar.

“Aren’t you going to ask how I know your name?” You reply instead, wiggling your eyebrows playfully. “I assumed you already knew.” Yoongi spoke calmly, lightly shrugging even.

“Cocky much?” You reply, jokingly rolling your eyes with a smile. “How did you find out, if not the internet?” Yoongi asked curiously, as the bartender slams his whiskey on the counter.

“Well when the son and CEO of a million dollar company starts to take notice to the best employee in the club, word gets around.” You reply with a slight grin and Yoongi can’t help but chuckle a little.

“Cocky much?” He echos your words as he sips on his whiskey and this only widens your grin further. Yoongi stares into your smile, feeling a weight being lifted off his shoulders when he realizes it’s been a while since he actually genuinely smiled for once.

When he finishes his drink he takes out his wallet and pays for the bad alcohol before taking out another three hundred and handing it to you, not waiting for you to take it this time.

“This has to be your way of flirting with me.” You mumble in disbelief as you stare at the bills before reluctantly shoving it in your skirt.

Yoongi scoffed, shaking his head in disagreement. “I don’t have time to flirt.” He mumbled firmly while looking at his empty glass.

“You have time to come here.” You differed causing him to bite the inside of his cheek, standing up and dusting himself off. “Wait that didn’t mean leave!” You state quickly getting up with him and Yoongi can’t help but glance at the sudden look of displeasure and sadness on your face as your hand brushes against his as you attempt to stop him.

“I..actually like having you here. You make me feel safe.” You mumble sheepishly as Yoongi stood there, completely frozen as he took in your words. How had he, of all people, made you feel safe? In a run down place like this?

“Then your standers are low.” He said in a low voice, a hint of playfulness in his tone as you look back up at him, snickering at his comment.

“You say that, but under that frown and sharp eyes is a warm hearted gentleman.” You speak causing him to look away from you, not wanting to take your words seriously. He didn’t want to show any signs of vulnerability, he’d never be ready for anything heavy.

“You don’t believe me?” You challenged him, seeing his silence and he heard the heard an underlying tone in your voice when you asked. “If I asked you to walk me to my car, you’d hundred percent do it.”

Yoongi scoffed and rolled his eyes at you, but quickly knew not to didn’t deny it. “See! You would.” You grinned at his sour expression, knowing you were right.

“Whatever, do you want to be walked to your car or not?” He asked trying to dismiss the fact all together. He had never seen himself in a situation like this, feeling embarrassed and maybe bubbly.

You laughed at the question but nodded, grabbing your nearby coat that was filled with stains as you attempted to squeeze your shoulders in the coat.

Yoongi rolled his eyes, walking in front of you as he leaded the two of you out of the door and to your car. Yoongi sighed as he looked at the state of it, effortlessly taking out his wallet and starting to count some bills.

“If you’re going to give me more money don’t bother.” You quickly said as the two of you made it to your car, stepping in front to him and holding onto his hand so he would stop rummaging through his wallet.

“I don’t need it, I’m fine!” You tried to convince him and he simply raised an eyebrow at you, before going back to counting, taking out a couple hundreds as he did so.

“Then consider it flirting.” He mumbled in a flat tone, taking out five hundreds and getting ready to hand it to you.

As he looked back up from his wallet he felt something soft touch the corner of his lips, eyes widening in shock when he realizes how close you were to him and before he could stop it, you had planted a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips.

Your lips lingered on his skin for a couple seconds before finally pulling away from him, taking a step back.

“Come back tomorrow, okay?” You say with a warm smile, practically glowing in front of him as you spoke to him in a soft low tone.

Silently, Yoongi watched you chuckle at his reaction before getting into your car and slowly driving off, his heart thumping as he watched your car drive off onto the road.

He slowly started to move again when your car was far away enough that it was out of view, as if snapping him out of a trance.

Yoongi could feel himself getting lighter, warmer. He could feel his muscles relax as he took his hands out of his coat pocket.

[blue-sadie]

.Avatar.

.Request page.

.Second Master.

Platonic = 🌼 Fluff = 🌺 Smut = 🌹

Lime = ⚘️ Angst = 🥀 Yandere = 🍁

Imagines

I Choose... - Aonung 🌺

The Heat Cycle - Jake 🌹

Evil No More - Jake 🌹

Never Alone - Kiri 🌺

Too Late - Lo'ak 🥀

Wild Animal - Lo'ak 🌹

BFF To Lovers - Lo'ak 🌺🌹

Broken Girl - Miles 🥀🌹

Tied To The Bed - Miles 🌹

Unplanned - Miles 🌺

Run!!! - Neteyam 🌹

Jealous Boy - Neteyam 🌹

The Distraction - Spider 🌺

Demon Blood - Tsu'tey 🌹

Combos

Different Kind Of Lessons - Aonung, Rotxo 🌹

Commanding Officer - Ghost, Köing, miles 🌹

It Was An Accident - Jason Todd, Lo'ak 🌹

Pride And Joy - Jake, Neytiri 🥀🌺🌼

Something In Your Eyes - Jake, Neytiri 🌹

Lust Filled Beasts - Neteyam, Lo'ak 🌹

Second Glance - Tonowari, Ronal 🌺

One Room - Tedros, Jamie, Neteyam 🌹

Drabbles

To Many To Count - Jake 🌹

A Last Goodbye - Neteyam 🥀

Combo

Two Masters Now - Anakin skywalker & Jake 🌹

Oneshots

Is That So - Aonung ⚘️

Dilf Material - Jake 🌹

Eye To Eye - Jake 🥀🌺🌼

The Heat - Jake 🌹

(🍗) Thanksgiving Stuffing - Jake 🌹

Confession Time - Lo'ak 🌺

Only Us - Lo'ak 🥀🌺

Broken minded - Miles 🥀🌹

Tears Of Gold. Prt 2 - Neteyam 🥀

Never Be Ashamed - Neteyam 🌺

Bully As A Brother. Prt 2 - Neteyam 🥀🌺🌼

Spoiled Brat - Neteyam 🥀🌹

Our Love Is Pure - Neteyam 🥀🌺

A Distant Memory - Neteyam 🥀🌺

Back Off - Neteyam 🌹

Five Stages Of Feelings - Neteyam 🥀🌺

Beyond The Shadows - Norman 🌺

Hope - Trudy 🌺

Hidden Surprises - Tsu'tey 🌺

Injured - Tsu'tey 🥀🌺

Na'vi At Heart - Tsu'tey 🌹

Different - Tsu'tey 🌺

What Is This? - Tsutey ⚘️

Badly As My Heart Does - Tsutey 🌹

Intriguing - Tsu'tey 🌺

At Fault - Tsu'tey 🌺

Combos

Lesson learned - Aonung, Rotxo 🌹

Sun Bathing - Aonung, Rotxo, Lo'ak, Neteyam ⚘️

Parents Love - Jake, Neytiri 🥀🌼

Tied Down - Jake, Neytiri 🌺

Chained - Jake, Tonowari 🌹

Hard Stares - Jake, Neytiri, Tonowari, Ronal 🌺

My Our Plaything - Neteyam, Lo'ak 🌹

Temperamental - Neteyam, Aonung 🥀🌺

The Blurriness - Sully Family 🌼🥀🌺

Connection. Prt 2 - Tonowari, Ronal 🌺

Series

Fucking The Nerd - Lo'ak, Neteyam, Aonung, Rotxo 🌹🥀

Modern Day

Aonung x Crush Reader 🌺

Jake x Fan Reader 🌹

Lo'ak x Ex Reader 🌺

Neteyam x Girlfriend Reader 🥀🌺

Spider x Dog Lover Reader 🌺

Tonowari x Student Reader 🌹

Medievel/Fantasy

Knight Jake x Princess Reader 🌺

Worshipper Neteyam x Goddess Reader 🌺

God Neteyam x Offering Reader 🌹

Omegaverse

Unclaimed Omega - Alpha Neteyam x Omega Reader 🍁

I thought- - Alpha Neteyam x Omega Reader 🥀

Crossovers

Stuffed - Anakin Skywalker & Jake 🌹

Unknown Planet - Cal Kestis & Neteyam 🌺🥀

A Bit Feral - Ethan Landry & Spider Socorro 🌹

When Stars Aligned - Stark Reader x Neteyam 🌺

A Gift From The Stars - Togruta Reader x Jake 🌺

Preferences

Alleyway Sex - Jake, Miles, Lyle, Neteyam, Aonung, Spider, Lo'ak 🌹

Breeding Kink - Jake, Tsu'tey, Miles, Neteyam, Aonung, Lo'ak 🌹

Childhood Room - Lo'ak, Spider, Aonung 🌹

Locker Room - Jake, Tsu'tey, Neteyam, Lo'ak, Aonung, Rotxo 🌹

Shower Sex - Tonowari, Tsu'tey, Aonung, Jake, Lo'ak 🌹

They Wake You Up By Eating You Out - Jake, Miles Tonowari, Neteyam, Lo'ak, Aonung, Spider 🌹

NSFW and SFW alphabet

NSFW - Jake Sully

SFW - Norman Spellman

NSFW - Spider Socorro

NSFW - Tsu'tey

Combos

SFW - Lo'ak, Tsireya

Headcannons

How He Asked You Out - Lo'ak, Neteyam, Jake

Yandere vibes - Aonung, Rotxo, Tsireya, Kiri, Lo'ak

Yandere Vibes 2 - Spider, Neteyam, Miles Jake, Tonowari

Their Kinks, Turn Ons/Offs - Tsu'tey, Tonowari, Jake

Tag.List

@greekgods15 @erenjaegerwifee

@sweetirilly @neteyamyawne @laylasbunbunny

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Stake to the Heart

Geralt of Rivia/The Witcher x female reader

Oneshot

18+ MDNI

Warnings: Aggression/violence, demeaning behavior, derogatory terms, BLOOD, sexual content, possessive behavior, hate fuck to confused fuck to hey I think I might die without you fuck

Info: This NOT Netflix Geralt, this is my husband video game Geralt. He’s totally an ass most of the time (but when he’s not he’s really sweet)

The one where you let Geralt stay in your guest room while he’s in town searching for a blood thirsty vampire. (Uh oh it’s actually you)

“Are you alright? Find anything?” You asked, trying to sound interested and definitely not nervous.

Geralt closed the door behind him, his eyes narrowed in anger as he glared at you. "You know damn well I found something," he growled, throwing his coat onto the couch.

"Come here," he snapped, storming towards you. Before you could react, he grabbed you by the collar of your top and slammed you against the wall, pinning you there with his weight.

“Sh-shit.” You gasped with a trembling voice as your back hit the wall, the air being forced from your lungs, eyes wide with fear.

You expected for him to kill you, drive a stake through your heart and end it right here. But the pain never came; instead of death, he offered you something you wouldn’t have believed if it weren’t for you actively living through it. His mouth hot and warm and desperate for contact with yours. His tongue grazing over your fangs making him moan.

You were so confused… but much too turned on to question what was happening. The way his rough hands and strong arms held you effortlessly aloft; pressing your body in a crushing embrace against the stone wall behind you. Paired with the surprising tenderness of his unexpectedly soft and plump lips against yours. It was almost too much, yet not nearly enough. So you did the only reasonable thing to do in this situation: surrender.

Geralt's hands roamed the expanse of your body, tearing at your clothes as he deepened the kiss. His tongue tangled with yours in a primal dance, the taste of him was mind numbingly addictive; mead and tobacco mixed something oddly sweet. His hips ground against you, pressing his rock hard erection into the softness of your lower belly.

"Mine," he growled between heavy breaths, his voice thick with a lust that was almost tangible. "All mine."

“Oh fuck.” You whimpered, feeling a rush of slick flooding your panties at his words.

“Yeah, yes I’m yours.” You agreed the minute your brain registered the meaning behind his words. You nodded eagerly, gasping as he sucked on the soft skin of your neck.

His teeth grazed the fleshy juncture of your neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of small marks in his wake. His hand moved from its supporting position under your ass to cup your breast roughly through the fabric of your bra.

"You taste so fucking good," he groaned, biting down harder now that he’d reached less tender flesh.

You helped get rid of the pesky little barrier between his palm and your hardened nipple, arching your back to reach behind you and unclasp your bra. Exposing your soft breasts and pebbled nipples to his hungry gaze.

"Christ... you're perfect." His normally gruff voice was softer, lulling you into a sensual comfort that you’d never felt before.

His golden eyes glowed brightly from the flames of the firelight, making his already intense stare seem hypnotic. With a grunt of finality he hoisted you over his shoulder and smacked your ass for good measure as he swiftly toted you toward the bedroom.

With a surprising gentleness his calloused hands lowered you to the mattress, his eyes never leaving yours as he stripped himself of his armor. Growling in frustration as he cursed the damned thing for having so many buckles. Tossing the thick leather to the floor he wasted no time in tearing his under clothes off as well before joining you in the rumpled sheets.

All you could do was moan in response, he’d stolen away your ability to speak coherently after you caught sight of his sculpted and scarred abdomen. He smirked down at you with a prideful glint in his eyes, he may be outwardly humble in many ways, but he wasn’t unaware of how attractive he was; that much was clear.

“I-I don’t understand.” You whined, watching him crawl up between your legs. “I thought you’d hate me… Kill me… when you found out.”

He laughed, a true bellowing laugh straight from his chest as if you’d said the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. A devilish grin spread across his lips while he hooked a thick finger into the waistband of your panties and pulled them down gently.

“Hate you? Not fucking likely," Geralt chuckled, his voice thick with lust. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, so sweet and soft… kind."

The way the words fell from his mouth was… different from anything else you’d heard leave his lips. Though he kept his natural gravely and gruffness to his voice, somehow whether intentional or not, he added an undeniable layer of adoration in the sincerity of his words.

With your panties removed he took your legs into his hands, his fingers nearly touching as they wrapped around the meaty part of your calves, just under the crook of your knees. With a steadying breath he slowly pried your legs apart to look down at your glistening and swollen folds.

You’d never seen him look so weak, so oddly vulnerable. The black of his eyes overtook the golden halo around them, dilating with lustful need. His breathing visibly changed as his grip on your calves tightened.

“Never… never have I seen something so perfect.” He whispered, his eyes roaming your nakedness as if he hoped to memorize each mole, each freckle, even imperfections you thought you had; he coveted as heaven-sent.

His finger tips tickled along the inside of your thigh, your face flushed with the heat of need and alittle bit of embarrassment from how he seemed to worship every inch of you all the way down to your very soul. He stopped momentarily at the apex of your thighs, his palm flattening over your mound as the pad of his thumb tentatively brushed against your slick coated clit.

The noise that bubbled up from his throat at this tiny bit of contact was inhuman, the primal part of his brain begging him to hurry the hell up and fuck you dumb. Though his heart, large and yearning for love quieted those thoughts.

“Let me touch you… please?” His voice cracking under the weight of the tension between you.

“P-please yes.” You whimpered.

“Thank the gods.” He moaned, salivating as he slipped one thick digit between your folds and sunk it deep into your hot, wet cunt.

“Oh…” He trailed off, eyes closing in ecstasy at the realization of just how wet you truly were.

Slowly pumping his finger, massaging circles with his finger tip against the spongy spot deep within in you, making you squirm. Soon enough he slipped a second digit into your pulsing hole, eliciting a gasp from the sudden shock of his fingers stretching you.

“Too much?” He asked, soothing you with his warm palm coming to rest on your hip.

“No. No it’s okay.” You moaned, “just… I need you, I need more.”

“Patience.” He mumbled, knowing you needed this before he would even consider fu- no, making love to you.

He laid flat on the bed between your thighs, putting a pillow under your ass for easier access. He continued his slow stretch with his fingers scissoring in and out with each thrust of his hand.

Bringing his mouth down to taste you after taking a moment to truly enjoy the sight of your swollen cunt swallowing up his fingers. His tongue darted out with the intention to circle your clit but the second he made contact with the warm and smooth flesh he stopped.

“Goddamnit.” He groaned low, his voice unintentionally rasped beyond its usual growl.

He inserted a third finger and stretched you even further, soothing you with his large hand traveling lazily across your breasts. Returning his mouth to your clit to devour you with the fervor of a depraved beast. It was as if the taste of you had set him on fire.

“Fuck… I- you just taste so damn good.” He spoke softly from between your thighs, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

“I can’t wait.” He admitted sheepishly. “I mean… I can if y-you need more that’s not what I meant it’s just-“

You cut off his sudden nervous rambling by squishing his cheeks together to get his attention. A wide grin spread across your lips.

“W-what?” He asked in surprise.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” You teased, watching his neck get red with embarrassment.

“Shut up. I’m not- nevermind.” He grunted, slowly removing his fingers from your drenched hole.

Moving to kneel in front of your spread legs, slipping off his boxers to reach down and wrap his hand around his massive cock, squeezing the base and rocking his hips forward, fucking his hand. He was truly a sight to behold. This brute of a man, acting this way, it was… strangely angelic.

He rubbed his swollen cockhead around your wet entrance groaning at the feeling of warmth from your pussy.

"I want to fucking own you, claim you as mine forever." His eyes bore into yours, filled with an intensity that made you think he truly meant it.

“You c-,” He cut himself off with a loud moan as he slowly inched his way into your tight cunt.

"Tell me you're mine, that you’ll belong to me… th-that you’ll promise me something," he growled, his hand gripping your hair roughly, forcing your head back so he could stare into your wide-eyed gaze.

“Yes, yes I- I’ll be yours, I’m yours.” You nodded vigorously, desperately clawing at his back as your legs wrapped around him.

Geralt groaned in satisfaction as he fully penetrated you, his large member buried to the hilt in your needy pussy.

"Good girl," he murmured, his hips rocking back and forth slowly at first, allowing both of you to adjust to the new sensations.

"Say it again." His voice was low, husky with lust.

“I-I belong to you Geralt. Only you.” You whimpered, hardly able to speak from how overwhelmed by the feeling of being stretched by his thick cock you were.

Geralt picked up the pace, pounding into you harder and faster. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through you both, bodies slapping against each other in a primal rhythm. His hand reached down to grope your breasts roughly, pinching and twisting the nipples until they hardened for him.

"That's it," he growled, his hips pistoning deeper. "Now promise me you’ll never fed from someone else again."

“B-but Geralt.” You started to protest.

“Promise me.” He said sternly one hand shooting up to firmly grip your neck. “swear you’ll never do that again.”

“But I c-can’t!” You said frantically.

“You can and you will.” He tightened his grip on your neck and your ass with his other hand as he fucked you mercilessly. “you’ll feed off me and me alone. Everyday if you have too.”

Geralt's eyes flashed with a primal possession as he continued to thrust into you, claiming you body and soul.

"I don't fucking care if you have to hold me down and drain me till I bleed out," he growled, his voice deep and commanding. "You belong to me now, and you’ll only feed from me."

In response, you moaned in agreement, nails scratched down his back, leaving red lines in their wake. He could feel your pussy rhythmically pulsing, knowing your orgasm was building rapidly.

“Do you understand me?” He growled aggressively shaking you by the neck.

“Y-yes… yes I understand I promise. I promise.” You nodded, gasping for breath as you clamped down on his cock and came hard around him. Screaming out his name as you flooded his cock with squirt.

You couldn’t help yourself, it was all so much, so overwhelming, You were still so confused and still so terribly hungry. So you bit him. Sinking your sharp fangs into his neck as your orgasm peaked and began to slow. Starting to lap up his blood like an animal starved.

“So fucking good.” You whined, licking your lips and moaning as he kept fucking into you.

Geralt roared in ecstasy, his cock throbbing inside her as you bit into him. Blood rushed down your throat, helping to quench the insatiable thirst that had brought him to this fucking village in the first place.

"Fuck... yes." He growled, his hips pumping faster, harder. "Drink from me, you fucking whore." His words were laced with lust and self-aimed disgust; mixed together in a toxic brew.

He reached his own climax shortly after, filling you up completely with his seed, marking your spent body as his own. Breathing heavily, he leaned over you, sweaty bodies sticking together.

"You're mine now," he panted, his eyes glazed over with satisfaction.

You nodded, lips and fangs still attached to his neck, hungrily drinking down his warm blood.

“Best I’ve ever tasted.” You moaned, cunt contracting around his cock that stayed slowly, softly fucking into your cum filled cunt.

“Sweet… rich. Like- like chocolate.” He smiled at your whining, moaning mess as you lapped and sucked at the puncture wounds.

Geralt's heart raced wildly as he watched you drink from him, a perverse pleasure washed over him. He shouldn’t like this, he shouldn’t do this, he should stop you, he had duties to uphold and right now? Right now he was failing miserably. Despite know how badly this could end, how horribly this situation could escalate; he couldn’t… wouldn’t, let you stop now.

"More," he groaned, his voice strained with need. "Give me more."

You nodded, detaching from his neck and making him sit up against the head board.

You slowly sunk back down on his half hard cock. Licking away the stray drops of blood running down his chest.

“Tell me when I need to stop.” You said sternly. “don’t let me hurt you okay?”

You kissed down his throat, sinking your fangs into the opposite side of his neck and rocking your hips on his cock.

Geralt's chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to catch his breath. "Gods above... you're- oh ohhh," he managed between panting breaths. "Keep going, don't stop."

His hand reached down to cup your ass again, squeezing firmly before roughly slapping it. "I want more of this... all night if you can handle it."

“Fuck.” You groaned, detaching from his neck.

“I’ll ride you all night if that’s what you want.” You said, devouring his lips in a bloody kiss. “but I can’t keep drinking from you much longer.”

He whined and gripped your hips in protest. A real, throaty whine; you didn’t even realize he was capable of making such a sound. If you weren’t so drunk off the power of making him so weak for you… you might’ve died right then and there.

“I can’t, I’ll hurt you.” You tried to reason with him. “you’ll have to tell me when to stop, when you start getting light-headed.”

Geralt's eyes fluttered shut as your tongues tangled, their bodies moving in sync once more. "I can handle it," he growled, his voice deep and husky with desire. "Just... keep going."

He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding on tightly as you rode him, his fingers digging into the meat of your shoulders possessively.

You doubled down snd rode him hard and fast, his grip would definitely cause bruises but you didn’t care. Never in all your years had you been with a man this eager to let you feed. It was intoxicating, watching him love every second, it made it all even sweeter.

You licked the thin trickles of blood from the newer bite mark before tilting his head back harshly and tightly gripping his hair in your fist. Cocking your head to the side you dragged your tongue across his throat before sinking your fangs back into his skin, right over his Adam’s apple.

This bite would make the blood drain faster, make him lightheaded quicker, it was messier but you got the feeling that he might like it that way.

You clenched down around his cock and your legs shook as he moaned loudly. The vibration of the noise could be felt through your fangs, reverberating in that tiny animalistic corner of your brain. Triggering you to cum violently on his cock, fangs digging deeper accidentally.

He groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. "Don't stop."

He arched his back, thrusting harder into your tight hole, his orgasm nearing its peak.You moaned in agreement with him, pulling his hair tighter and keeping his head tilted back. Your other hand with an iron grip on his shoulder as you rode him violently, as hard and fast as you could handle. Even then he was still thrusting up into you, his hands roaming my back and ass.

Geralt's cock twitched deep inside your tight channel, spurting hot cum to paint your inner walls white. He groaned deeply, his entire body shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. His hold on you loosened slightly, allowing you to collapse onto him, breathing heavily. Your sweaty bodies were intertwined, covered in a mess of blood and cum.

After several long minutes of heavy breathing, Geralt finally managed to speak, his voice raspy from exertion. "That... was fucking amazing."

You licked and kissed away the remaining trickles of blood, circling your hips slowly on his softening cock.

“You okay? Do you need anything?” You asked in concern, blood dripping from your lips and chin as you made him look up. Gently using your thumb to pull underneath his eye so you could check to see if his iron level was too low after having drank so much from him.

Geralt's eyes fluttered open, his vision still a little blurry. "I'm fine," he panted, reaching down to stroke your hair affectionately. "Just... give me a minute."

He sat back against the headboard, catching his breath as she continued to move on him slowly. You slowly raised off his lap, stepping down from the bed and giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“Stay right here, I’m gonna go get you something to drink and something sweet to eat.” You cooed in a soft voice.

“Please don’t pass out.” You added; half joking-half serious.

Geralt chuckled softly, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to regain his composure. "I won't," he assured you, watching you walk out of the room with an expression of pure bewilderment etched on his features.

He should feel bad about this. About disrespecting his fellow Witchers and breaking the code, he was quite literally ‘laying with the enemy’ as that old saying goes. Though he didn’t.

‘Cause you were an ethical vampire, right? He’d noticed the pattern of victims, slimy criminals, horrible husbands and fathers. The world would be better off without them anyway, and it’s not like you were going nuts like a cat in a bird cage, you seemed like you had self control, he reasoned.

Not every monster is just… a monster, right?

Maybe he was just light headed. Maybe this was all a fever dream or a trip from an accidental mushroom mixup. Or maybe he was just loosing his fucking mind, but at this point he was more than willing to be certifiably insane if it meant having more of you.

TagList:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch@cherrylooney@star611

@tahliac11 @exquisit?corpse @jeldog @arzua10

@bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay

@aliciaasky@naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn

@illiethefairy @slut-4-ani @offthethirlwall

@slutforhayden @ausskywalker @angelsadmired

@slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

@starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @no1klet @lethargic

@allhailbuckybarnes @shadowhuntyi

@bobtheturmpetman29 @mortalheartache

@fallinlovewithevil@sythethecarrot

@joshfutturmansrighthand @chaoticantihero

@vadersslut @luvvfromme

Let me know if you want to be on this tag list or nah! I love you all so many xoxo (my feelings will not be hurt if you don’t wanna get tagged for non-Anakin content)

[comicwritesstuff]

any yandere velvet x fem reader headcanons or oneshots? :3

I got you >:)

Yandere!Velvet x Fem!reader headcanons/one shot

tw! NSFW, cursing, possessiveness, stalking, mentions of death, blood, knifes.

The first time Velvet ever saw you was at a party or an event, at first she wasn't as obsessed, it wasn't until you came up to her and asked her if she wanted to dance, thats when it started.

After that night she started stalking you, since she's so famous and has access to basically anything, it was easy to find you.

So easy to put cameras in your room, all over your house, she was fully aware of how wrong it was, it didn't affect her at all.

She would go into your house at random times, when you were there or not, spraying her perfume on your clothes to get you used to her scent.

After maybe a month or two of stalking she "coincidentally" met you again in a coffee shop.

She got your number and asked if you needed a job, you probably had a job so you declined. So, she offered to double your salary, and with that became Velvet and Veneer's assistant, replacing crimp.

When you start working their, Velvet is definitely rude, always making fun of you and picking you apart, trying to make you feel like you aren't special and that no one likes you.

Veneer would try to be nice to you, but Velvet would but in, telling him to shut up, and, "Stop being so nice to the new assistant, they work for us after all."

At this point your only staying working for them for the money, and once you're almost completely mentally broken down, thats when Velvet makes her move on you.

She'd find you in your room crying after she had yelled at you or something, and completely switch up.

"Oh you poor thing~ was I a bit to harsh? Baby I'm so sorry~" She would say in a fake apologetic voice, cupping you face with her hands wiping your tears away. Hugging you and comforting you. Toying so easily with your emotions, you knew what she was doing but you couldn't stop getting attached to her.

After she comforts you and you stop crying, she'll finally kiss you, passionately and full of lust but just as you give in she pulls away and leaves the room.

After that night she isn't openly as mean to you, but she will say things that don't necessarily sound like insults, but they are.

She is closer to you know, randomly pulling you into empty rooms, and making out with you for a minute or two then leaving.

It goes on for a week or two before one night your in your room, about to sleep and she walks in, going towards your bed and getting on top of you, kissing you.

Your so absorbed in the kiss you didn't realize she brought a knife in the room with her, she she starts stripping your clothes off, you don't even try to argue both because you wanted this and because she wouldn't stop no matter what.

Once all your clothes are off she starts leaving hickeys all over your body, your neck, collarbone, chest, telling you after each one, "You mine now, aren't you." Making you answer yes each time, until she gets to your thigh.

Thats when you notice the knife after she starts carving her name into your thigh.

Obviously you yelp, crying in pain, begging her to stop as she is holding you down.

"It's okay baby, I'm almost done, red looks so pretty on you..." She coos, finishing carving her name and licking the blood off your thigh, you were embarrassed to say it turned you on.

She wiped your tears once again, find gauze or something for the cut. Then as a "reward" for being a good girl, she eats you out, over and over until you physically can't anymore, she stops, gives you a kiss on your forehead and lets you fall asleep on her chest.

Most nights go like that, if she gets jealous or sees you talking to someone she probably hires a hitman or something. She would even kill Veneer if you got to attached to him, she gets jealous of everyone.

And god save you if she finds out you have a partner or if you cheat on her, she would kill them in front of you, make you watch as the life slips out of their eyes, handcuffing you to a wall in an empty room, making you stay the night with your partners lifeless body, teaching you a lesson.

If it came down to it, she would kill you if you deny her, she believes that if she can't have you, no one can.

Velvet would say to you, "I'm the only one who could ever love someone like you." She makes you feel like shit, makes you so dependent on her that you are blind to the abuse and over obsessiveness.

But at the same time, she can tell when your about to break, and each time, right before you do, she builds up your confidence, just so you stay sane.

"Let me see that pretty smile of yours baby~" "Nothing could or would ever come between us, you're mine."

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

Penance

Astarion x Y/N x Abdirak - oneshot - 3.8K WC NSFW 18+

Masterlist

Warnings: Smut, Bondage, Spanking, Riding Crop, Inappropriate use of a mace hilt, Degradation (slut, whore, etc). Dirty talk, Spit, Edging, Blood, Mean Dom/Soft Dom, THREESOME, Aftercare (duh), Yeah, they talk you through it. Absolute depravity, you're gonna need to go to church after this one. You’re responsible for your own browser history.

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“You bore that pain like a true believer dear one, Loviatar herself could not have done better.” Said Abdirak, his head tilted back and little pants of air leaving his mouth.

Erotic, you thought. Not knowing pain could feel so good. Your eyes met Astarion’s, he looked far away. The only prominent thing about him in this moment was the straining hard on. Oh. The thought of him enjoying seeing you squirm sent a jolt between your legs. Rightly or wrongly, thoughts crossed your mind. Impure, heinous thoughts of what it would be like to have them both. Abdirak and Astarion. 

Astarion shut the chamber door, causing your head to whip to him. His eyes were dark, full of lust. It almost scared you, he was stalking towards you like you were prey to be devoured. Glancing over your shoulder you saw Abdirak pushing towards you as well, with a painfully obvious strain in his pants. 

“There is only one god, little love…” Astarion said as he gripped your face. You lowered yourself to your knees, keeping your eyes on him always. “So good for me… for your god…” he said as he traced your jawline, looking over you with hungry eyes.

Your hand reached for Astarion’s belt before Abdirak’s hand caught your wrist. “Use them.” He told Astarion, “Allow me to alleviate you both.” 

Astarion’s eyes held a wicked gleam, “Are you alright with that love? With both of us?” He asked, both of them looking at you waiting for your consent to move even an inch further. 

“Avavaen, eath'she” you replied nodding, knowing that when you spoke Elvish it drove Astarion mad. He pulled you closer to him by your throat. You whined as you strained against Abdirak’s grip. He held your hands together behind your back with his much larger hand. 

“I can’t wait to see the way you work…” Abdirak whispered in your ear before nipping your neck.

Astarion’s cock stood proud against his stomach, you licked your lips as he guided it towards you. He indulged himself and his most carnal desires. He drew your head in and out at an impossible speed but you were determined to be good. Your gags and chokes egging him on. Tears flowed from your eyes as you took him. 

Abdirak licked up a tear, shuddering. “Magnificent.” He mumbled, keeping your hands in place as your struggled against him. He led his free hand up your shirt, tugging and rolling your nipples while his tongue and teeth made work of your neck. Your moans only pushing Astarion closer to the edge. Right when Abdirak pressed his hand to your clothed crotch, Astarion shuddered. His seed coating your throat as you moaned around him. 

“So pretty for me…” he gasped as you kitten licked his tip. 

Your head was pulled back by your hair, you groaned as the tears of pleasure kept flowing. “You are so delicious…” whispered Abdirak. His hand fists in your hair, roughly pulling your back flush with his chest. You groan, arching to try and relieve the twinge of pain from your scalp. “Tell me dear one, as beautiful of a performance as that was, did you really think your penance would end with a few hits?” Abdirak murmurs, tugging your head back for emphasis.

Astarion hummed as he closed the gap between you, his gaze utterly predatory. His head dipped down, as if to kiss you, but his lips stopped just before meeting yours. You whine, straining to close the gap. Abdirak laughs cruelly, jerking your head back and slapping your ass as he released your hands..

“Now pet, when did we say you could move?” Astarion teased as he stood back up to his full height. His hands reach out to swipe a tear off your cheek, trailing down to stop at your lips. They ghost over your lips, dipping in to lightly stroke your tongue. “Suck.” 

You suck his fingers, drifting your tongue across them and giving them the same attention you gave his cock just moments ago. Lifting your gaze, you gently nibble the tip of his fingers. Astarion’s calm exterior remains, but his eyes twinkle in amusement. “Abdirak, forgive me, but did I say to use teeth?” Astarion smirked.

You couldn’t see the priest, but you could feel the rumble of his laugh as he responded. “This little one seems to be just begging for punishment,” Abdirak says as he punctuates the statement with another slap on your ass. 

Astarion gently pulls his fingers from your lips, trailing your spit down your chin before roughly grabbing your jaw and wrenching your mouth open with his thumb. You whine, drool dripping from your lips as Astarion spits in your mouth. “Hold it there. Don’t you dare swallow. You’ve disobeyed enough today.” You moan, unable to respond with the teasing comeback.

“Sweet thing has been spoiled far too much,” Abdirak all but purrs, “she’s clearly forgotten her manners.” 

“Abdirak, be a dear and make y/n more comfortable. She seems far too warm in all those clothes.” Astarion orders, his gaze never leaving yours.

“With pleasure.”

The priest releases his grip on your hair, his hands sliding to your chest to fumble with the ties of your shirt. Growling in frustration, Abdirak grabs a knife from his table to cut the shirt from your body. Your breath hitches as the blade tears through the fabric. Abdirak makes short work of your pants, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Grabbing a leather strap, he quickly ties your hands behind your back.

While Abdirak works, Astarion fucks your mouth with his other hand. The fingers roughly moving in and out. You groan as you feel the mixture if his and your spit run down your chin. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, “taking it like such a good fucking slut.” You whine in response as he continues to degrade you. “My perfect little slut. You would get on your knees in camp and worship my cock in front of our entire party if it meant getting just a taste of my cum. Wouldn’t you?” 

A beat passes, but you’re unable to respond as his fingers plunder your mouth. Abdirak, finished with his task, roughly grabs your throat from behind. “Answer him,” he orders, spanking your pussy. 

You squirm in their drip, but another swift smack on your mound halts your movement. 

“Well pet?” Astarion grins. “Yes sir-” You attempt to answer. With his fingers nearly prodding your throat, it comes out a messy gurgle. Astaration chuckles and he pulls his hands from your mouth. 

“Swallow now pet, you’ve earned it,” Astarion purrs.You silently thank him as you swallow. His gaze shifts behind you, to Abdirak. “Come on priest, you said you would alleviate us. What would you have our darling little whore do?”

Abdirak motions for Astarion to sit on a nearby bench. “I think if she wants any chance of coming, she needs to earn it.” His attention drifts to you, “show me how bad you want it dear one. Ride his thigh.” 

Astarion shifts to make room for you as you scramble to fulfill the priest’s request. You moan as your pussy makes contact, the friction heavenly. Astarion’s hands shift to your hips, guiding you as your buck against him. 

Abdirak moves to his desk, and you can hear him moving things around as he looks for something. Your head turns to see, but Astarion swiftly slaps your thigh. “None of that. Eyes on me. The priest was kind enough to let you rub your cunt on my thigh after your pathetic attempt to follow instructions earlier. The least you can do is give us a good show.” 

You groan at the filthy words, the only think that could rival your lover’s prowess on the battlefield was his dirty mouth. Grinding down faster, you feel your release building. Right before you have the chance to cum, Abdirak jerks you from Astarion’s lap. You whine, having no idea how he knew you were close.

“What the fuck?” You hiss at him. “I was so close-”

“She’s got quite the mouth on her.” Abdirak says to Astarion without so much as a glance towards you.

You whip around to face Abdirak, “that’s not fair! I was so close. You said I could cum!”

Abdirak laughed, “No manners and now you can’t listen. I said you could show me how bad you needed it. You’re not quite down earning it.” His drifts down, slipping into your underwear and dipping two fingers inside you. Your head drops back as a moan escapes you. Abdirak pulls his fingers out, pausing to rub some of your wetness into your clit. 

“Please,” you whimper. Abdirak drops his head to nip your neck.

“Now you’re getting it,” he praises, rewarding you with slightly harder pressure against your clit. He retreats his hand and tweaks your nipple harshly before stepping back to reveal the riding crop he picked up from his table. “We are going to play a little game and give you a chance to earn that orgasm.”

“And here I thought we were going to deny this disobedient little slut until she was begging for it,” Astarion teases from his spot on the bench. His demeanor is relaxed, but you can feel him reach out psychically through the tadpole to check in. What’s your color, pet? 

Green, but I’m going to get you back later for edging me. 

I’m sure you will. You can hear the smirk in his words.

“Oh she’ll be begging,” Abdirak smirks.

“What do I have to do?” you ask.

“Simple, all you need to do is count to twenty. Nothing difficult.”

You eye the priest suspiciously, “What’s the catch.”

“No catch, dear one. But, if you forget or make a mistake, we are restarting.” Abdirak guides you back to where Astarion sat, bending you over. You blush, seeing that you had left a wet spot on Astarion’s thigh. 

As if sensing your thoughts, Astarion guides your head to it. “Tongue out, clean your mess pet.” You groan, lapping your juices from his thigh. He hums in contentment as you finish. 

Abdirak kneels behind you.”Not the only mess you’ve made,” he says, running his fingers across your drenched panties. “Such a dirty little slut. We give you a chance to remedy your actions, but here you are. On your knees, with soaked panties, begging for more.” He roughly tugged your panties off, tossing them to Astarion. 

Your lover caught them, smirking as an utterly filthy idea came over him. Using two fingers, he pushes the wet fabric into your mouth. “Come on, pet. Suck them clean.”

Your eyes flutter when you hear Astarion’s breathe hitch at the sight of you dutifully cleaning them. A snap against your ass jerks you from the task you were so absorbed in. Abdirak had struck your ass with the riding crop.

The sting faded as Abdirak fisted your hair and pulled you off of Astarion’s fingers. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“One,” you whine. 

“Such a good little pain slut,” Abdirak murmurs, dropping your hair. He delivers another swift hit onto your other ass cheek and you choke out the count.

“Now pet, we both know you can multitask,” Astarion tuts. “Finish.” You return to your task as Abdirak smacks the crop onto you again. You gag out the third count from around Astarion’s fingers.

The two fall into a rhythm as Abdirak warms your ass with the crop and you continue to count. Astarion adding a swift slap to your ass whenever you neglected your task. The initial sting had begun to build as the count increased and you could feel your pussy drip down your thighs as you squirmed to get any friction.

Abdirak, noticing your pitiful attempts, delivered a hit right on cunt. “None of that.”

You cry out in shock more than pain. You blink away a tear, and notice that Astarion is looking down, expectantly. 

“My dumb little slut,” Astarion coos. “Couldn’t even count to twenty.” He pulls the panties from your mouth, tucking them into his breast pocket.

“It’s not her fault,” Abdirak answers. “Poor thing simply can’t focus on anything but that greedy little pussy.”

“Maybe you should do something about that,” you moan. Silently begging for them to give up this stupid little game and just fuck you already.

Abdirak pulls you back a bit, pushing your head down to the floor. “Ass up.” 

Your arms slightly ache from being bound behind your back, but the burn just adds to your arousal. Astarion gets up from his spot, shucking the remainder of his clothes. You shiver in excitement as you feel him nudge your legs further apart with his feet. Astarion fucks two, then three fingers into you, prepping you for what’s to come. 

“Finally gonna give up this manners bullshit and just fuck me already?” You tease. 

“Something like that,” Astarion laughs, and you can hear a shift as Abdirak hands him something. You arch your back as you feel something prod at your entrance. The cool metal wasn’t exactly what you were expecting. You moan at the intrusion as Astarion fucks the object into you.

“What th-”

“My mace,” Abdirak supplies. “You haven’t quite earned a cock yet, so you’ll be taking the hilt of my mace while we finish your punishment.” Abdirak finishes his sentence with a smack to your now tender ass cheek. He had clearly abandoned the riding crop for a more hands on approach.

Astarion gently fucks the handle of Abdiraks mace into you, dipping his other hand down to rub your clit in swift circles. “Come on pet, you can take it.” 

You moan, your breath coming out in pants as you whimper out the count. “One.”

“There’s my girl.” Astarion purrs, rewarding you with a harder circle over your clit. 

The two continue their game, Abdirak delivering harsh slaps to your ass and thighs and Astarion rewarding you after every count. You struggle to focus on the count as you feel your orgasm slowly build again. It’s all so much. The stimulation was coming from all sides. Your pussy was full and the drag of the hilt against your walls was delicious. Astarion’s ministrations on your clit were steady and practiced. Abdirak’s slaps on your ass caused you to jerks forward slightly on every hit. The rough ground adding to everything.

“What number was that?” Abdirak asked after his last hit. You wracked your brain for the answer. You had been focused so hard on the building orgasm, but Astarion stilled his motion on your clit so you could answer. “Twelve?” You guess breathlessly. 

“Again?” Abdirak chides. “This is the second time you’ve lost count.”

“Poor thing,” Astarion mocks, “given a second chance and all she can do with it is drool on the floor and moan like a dumb little slut.”

You desperately try to find something, anything to say in your defense but you don’t have a chance. Astarion resumes fucking the hilt into you and doubles down his efforts on your clit as Abdirak rains down slaps onto your ass.

“Please, please, plea-” you beg them, your legs shaking and your fingers uselessly dangling behind your back. 

“You got yourself into this mess, dear one. Take it,” Abdirak orders.

��Hold it,” Astarion growls. “Don’t you dare fucking come yet.” 

You whine, begging for him to relent and just let you come.

“Please, sir I’m so clo-”

“No,” he punctuates with a slap on your clit. Your eyes roll back into your head and you tremble as you fall over the edge. Your pussy flutters around the mace’s hilt as Astarion fucks you through your orgasm. 

You nearly black out from the force of it, and when you blink your eyes open you can feel Abdirak gently cut the ties from wrists as Astarion pulls the hilt from your pussy and tosses the mace to the side.

“You did so good for us, baby,” Astarion murmurs as he stands and picks you up and places you on the table. You hiss as your ass makes contact with the cool surface.

“But I didn’t do what you said,” you say softly. “I came when I wasn’t supposed to and I-”

Abdirak chuckles and slides beside Astarion to give you a kiss. “You were exquisite, my dear. Moaning and writhing beneath us so beautifully. You were never going to win our game.” 

“Now, I think our darling pet has earned herself a reward,” Astarion purred. Abdirak nodded in agreement and walked away to take a seat on the same bench Astarion was in earlier. “You’re not joining?” Astarion asked.

“I’m enjoying the view,” Abdirak answered as he pulled his cock out, stroking it lightly.

Astarion grins, turning back to you. “Color?” 

You pull him in for a quick kiss before answering. “Green. Now get to it.” “Yes ma’am,” Astarion replies as he pushes you flat onto the table and pulls your leg up from under your knee. Sliding his cock slowly into you, Astarion moves your leg to rest on his shoulder. He turns his head to press a kiss into the skin before nipping it.

“Astarion,” you whine as you move your hips to meet his. 

“Such a needy little thing,” Abdirak chuckles. “Give her what she wants.”

You turn your head to look at the priest and go to offer a retort, but you’re cut off as Astarion thrusts deep. You moan as Astarion sets a slow pace. He fucks you lazily, trailing his hand down to press on your lower stomach. Abdirak fists his cock at the same pace, watching you and your lover intently. 

Astarion’s curls bounce as he thrusts into you, and you can’t stop yourself from reaching up to run your fingers through his hair and gently tug the strands. 

A hand reaches out to tug your nipple and you let out a moan. Looking over, you see that Abdirak has abandoned his bench to get a closer view. Not wanting the priest left out, you try to reach a hand over to stroke him but he repositions you down to your clit. “Come on, dear one. Rub your greedy little clit like I know you want to.”

You groan as you follow his instructions. “That’s it, pet” Astarion purrs. “Just like that.”

“Keep going. You’re so good for us.” Abdirak continues to pinch your nipples and roughly pluck them. He dips down to take one into his mouth, gently biting it before lapping his tongue across it.

“Fuck,” Astarion moans. “You’re doing so good.” His pace picks up, and it’s clear he’s getting close. “Come on baby, I can feel you clenching around me, I know you’re almost there.” He pants as he turns to bite your calf. He moans, drinking deeply from your leg as he climaxes.

You whine as you cum again, circling your clit and working yourself through it. Abdirak, gently rolled your nipple in his fingers as he watched the two of you come undone. 

Astarion pulls out, kneeling down to watch his cum drip from your cunt. “Beautiful,” he murmurs as he lifts his hand to your center. Your breathe hitches and you moan as he runs his fingers through the mess and presses them inside you, fucking his cum back into you.

Astarion stands up, helping you stand up. “Poor pet,” Astarion teases, “think you can take another for me?” You nod and he moves behind you and picks you up. Your back is braced against his chest as he grips underneath your knees to hold your legs open, exposing your soaked cunt to the cool air. 

“What are you-” “Now priest,” Astarion’s chest rumbles as he speaks, “why don’t you give this little sinner some divine penance.” 

Abdirak stalks forward, fisting his cock as he takes in the view. You whine as he slides his cock into your sensitive pussy. Your cheeks flush as you hear the squelch of him fucking Astarion’s cum deeper into you.

Your eyes flutter shut as Abdirak hits a particularly sensitive spot. “None of that, pet.” Astarion grunts. “Open your fucking eyes and look at him.”

“She’s positively sinful,” Abdirak moans. “Fuck, just look at how well she’s taking me.” 

You glance down to where you’re connected and whimper as you see his cock slide in and out. Both your and Astarion’s mixed juices are coating his cock, making a mess of both of you.

“Harder,” Astarion hisses. Abdirak speeds up, fucking you deeper and you moan in response. “Oh that’s it,” your lover groans. “Gods you’re taking it so well, pet. You’re probably so ready to cum, but I need you to hold it just a little bit longer.” 

Abdirak catpures your mouth in a searing kiss as he continues to fuck into you, breaking apart to look down to watch where you’re connected. Moaning, you try to reach down and get some friction on your clit. 

Abdirak bats your hand away and works tight circles onto your clit with his thumb as he fucks up into you. 

“Please Astarion,” you whimper. “Please let me cum, I don’t know how much longer I ca-”

“Cum for us.” Your eyes roll back and you give into the feeling of your building orgasm. As your orgasm wracks your body, Abdirak groans and thrusts up into you faster, finishing shortly after.

Astarion gently pulls you from Abdirak’s grip and lays you back down on the table before diving his head between your thighs. You whimper in oversensitivity, squirming underneath his practiced tongue. 

“Come on dear one,” Abdirak encourages, “one more. You’ve got one more in you.”

You moan and cry as Astarion sucks your clit hard before lapping over it. His hand presses onto your lower stomach, stopping your movement as he moves his other hand up to fuck into your tender cunt.

“One more. You’re almost done, come on dear one.” 

You scream as the last orgasm rips through your body and you writhe in Astarion’s hold.

“That’s it sweetheart,” Astarion says as he stands up. “You did so good for us.” 

He lifts you from the table and sits on the floor, cradling you in his arms. He rubs your back, murmuring sweet nothings into your ear.

Abdirak joins the two of you, placing gentle kisses into your skin. “You were so perfect, dear one.”

Your breathing slows and returns to normal. 

“Pet,” Astarion murmurs, “are you with us once more?” You nod, nuzzling into his neck. You feel his chuckle rumble in his chest. “We wore you out, didn’t we?” 

He kisses your head, combing his fingers through your hair. “Don’t fall asleep yet darling. I’m gonna clean you up and get you a well deserved snack.”

“Thank you both for that wonderful performance,” Abdirak said. “Dare I say it was inspiring.”

“Inspiring indeed.” Astarion murmurs as he stares at you in awe. Abdirak watches the scene before him. The tenderness wasn’t lost on him.

“You really love her, don’t you?”

Astarion’s fingers pause in your hair as he answers, “You have no idea.”

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

Naboo's Note:

I need professional help after this one. BUT - I hope you all enjoy because I really just went ham on this. Wanted to start 2024 off with a bang and by golly did I ever. Did not proof read, was possessed while writing - too lazy now. Thanks for all the likes, comments, reblogs, and requests! ILYSM <3 !!!

[cdragons]

Blood & Pain - Druig x Hecate!Eternal Reader (Kaetlyn) Oneshot

Pairings: Persephone!Eternal Reader & Hecate!Eternal Reader, ft. Sephia x Ikaris, and Kaetlyn x Druig Word Count: ~3.5k Summary: A lil' oneshot to show how Druig and his wife got together, and what way to show that than with hot and heavy SMUT! Warning(s): SMUT (if you are under 18 DNI), some angst if you squint, mention of bullying (sort of), slight mention of blood, knife conjuring, Druig is obsessed and we love that, I just really wanted to write something to get me into the Halloween Spirit Notes: This a surprise oneshot to my wonderful beta reader, @valeskafics! She is in the middle of midterms, so I wanted to gift her a lil' oneshot to thank her for all of her help and encouragement! She is an incredibly kind and patient human and one of the best and most incredible fanfic writers for HOTD, GOT, and the Ewanverse on Tumblr! If you love any of Ewan Mitchell's works or are a fan of GOT/HOTD, I highly recommend checking her blog out! You will not regret it! Also, the BIGGEST thank you and shout of love to @ethereal-athalia my good man in the storm, I have never clicked so well with someone on this platform when it came to crazy ideas, and thanks to her, I can write out my ideas and share them on this site!If you want to read more from this AU, please click on this masterlist!

No matter how the rest of the team believed, what ideas his own children liked to conjure, how the tale was spun by generations -- Druig did not fall in love with his wife at first sight. He knew who you were, Kaetlyn, a fighter who could manipulate the shadows of every living being. You would later the mother of surgery and modern medicine- and even beyond that, a scholar and pioneer for feats of magic that remain untouched even by the greatest of the Supremes in the Mystic Arts.

He couldn’t remember the time he first realized that he loved you- he only knew that when he recognized it, he had fallen so deeply that he could no longer remember what it felt like not to be in love you. You were everywhere. There was simply no place left on this planet where Druig would wander that you wouldn’t be there beckoning him to you.

It was almost shameful how long it took for him to fall in love with you in comparison to how quickly you adored him. It had taken him over 100 years for you to fully gain his attention, and another 200 years for you to wait for him to confess his reciprocation. 200 years of clever banter and harmless flirting that shifted to longing gazes and lingering touches, until you finally had enough of his lame patience and reluctance. You dragged Druig to a secluded area- away from the Domo and humans alike, and took his face in your hands and forced his lips to yours. One kiss become two, two became five, and soon you and he had joined together in an explosion of passion that would bind you to him for the rest of eternity.

The sun had long set, and stars and moon glittered in the night. The two of you were as naked as the days you were born. Your need to have each other was beyond a matter of lust, it was primal need. Druig had torn your clothes without any thought- he starved for you. Any barrier that separated your body from him was flung away. Your skin glowed in the moonlight, every curve and line of your frame gloriously highlighted for his eyes alone. His lily-bloomed skin laid under you, ready for anything and everything you would give him. He still remembered the words you whispered to warn him all that would come as a result of your love.

“Druig, I must warn you,” you whispered. Druig kissed you across your collarbone, and you tugged on his hair to gaze into his eyes. “I can be very selfish- I will have all of you, or none of you.” 

He could feel your wet center throb with each wince that escaped his lips. “You already do, my love,” he whispered back, silently pleading you to let him continue. “I swear you do.”

He craved you. He desperately wanted to map his tongue and lips across your body; he wanted to memorize the feel of your skin, the smell of your sweat, the taste of your cum. Whatever you gave him, he wanted it all.

Pushing him to lay on his back, you crawled forward to hover your soaked cunt over his cock. “I’m selfish- relentlessly so, any other woman that catches your eye will feel no end of my wrath.” You lowered yourself only enough so that his tip could paint its precum on your clit, the corner of your lips curled into a cruel smirk in response to the strangled moan he let out. Your body trembled from the sheer delight you felt at witnessing the surly telepath whine so pathetically from your touch.

“Please,” he begged, “please angel. Let me feel you- I need it- I need you.” Druig could feel his eyes filled with tears from the overwhelming pleasure that would fill him. “I want to touch you, please-”

Druig’s whimpers were brutally cut off as you placed a finger over his lips.

“Shhhh- not yet,” you breathily whispered, “you need to earn your pleasure, my love.” Your pupils dilated seeing him take your finger in his mouth, and used his tongue to suck on it. “I need to know if you understand what it means to love me, and have it in return.”

Before Druig could respond, you lowered yourself further- until he filled you to the brim with only a single thrust. You were so taken back by the sheer size of him that you felt your climax wash over as every part of you trembled from the intense euphoria.

“By Arishem,” you thought, “how is he so big?”

You wanted to make him beg, to drown him in so much pleasure that it would hurt. Whatever pain you inflicted on him now, it was nothing compared to the torture you experienced in having to wait for him to admit his feelings. You lost count on the number of times you pleasured yourself at the thought of the man beneath you. So many times, you wanted to sneak into his bed, and wake him to witness the maddening effect he had on you. But having him inside you was better than anything you could imagine.

Gripping his shoulders, you lifted yourself until only his tip remained-before slamming your hips down to his- repeating this motion until falling into a rhythm that was accompanied by a song of wild moans and gasps. Everything about this man- the aquamarine shine in his eyes, the glowing pallor of his body, the tone and strength in his muscles- screamed the image of perfection to you.

“Druig, Druig,” you could only cry out his name- as if it was the only word you knew, “I love you, I love you, I love- FUCK!” You screamed out at the feel of his hips moving to meet yours, and before you could blink, he shifted your positions so that you would be laying on your back as he caged your body with his frame.

Druig couldn’t take it anymore, it tormented him to not take you without abandon. For so long, he dreamed of having you like this- warm, teasing, and his. You called yourself selfish, so what? Druig knew what it meant to be selfish, to want to possess and devour every part of you until there was nothing left for anyone else to take or see.

You must have blind to not see his desperation for you. How could someone so bright and brilliant not understand that he would gladly let you tear him limb by limb if it meant to be loved by you.

To have you under him like this- writhing in ecstasy, crying from exquisite pain, your soft curves molded against his hard frame- it was as if this was his true purpose. It was not to assist in humanity’s evolution, but to belong to you as you would belong to him. It was to have you like this at every waking moment- filling you with love, and overwhelming you with desire.

As he continued to slam his hips against yours with reckless abandon, he trailed his lips down your throat, sharply nipping your collarbones, until all that he could reach were your heaving breasts that moved in tandem with his thrusts. He was so enraptured by your presence that when you peaked once more on his cock, his rutting only grew more relentless and rougher than what you thought was possible.

Stars, he loved the way you screamed his name. He wanted everyone to know it was him who made you mad with elation. He wanted the whole world to know that you, Kaetlyn- gloriously headstrong, brilliantly beautiful Kaetlyn- the wielder of shadows, and master of the darkness and night, was begging for his cock like a common whore.

“Look at you,” he snarled- jaw clenched so tightly that his teeth threatened to break from the pressure, “what were you saying m’darling? I could have sworn that you were trying to get me to beg- but look at you now.” Your head thrown back as your hair sprayed around you like a beckoning halo as you babbled nonsensically, legs wrapped around his torso to minimize any potential loss of distance, your wickedly sharp nails cutting into his skin to leave vibrant trails on his back as blood leaked from the wounds. “You can’t get enough of me, can you?”

Your only response was whimpers and cries, so Druig decided to be a bit cruel, and slowed down before pulling himself out and stopping completely. The loss of your warmth was complete agony, but the consequence was well-worth the pain at the sight of your immediate reaction.

“DRUIG!” You cried out in pain. You tried to move yourself to feel more of him, but the smug bastard had pinned your torso down- and your body was still recovering from the overstimulation of your previous orgasm. Still maintaining his grip, Druig towered above you in order to gain a better vantage point. Staring down at the aftermath of his onslaught, he almost came right then and there. You were the very likeness of desired perfection- tears had leaked from your eyes and were trailing down your face, your flush travelled down to the tips of your breasts, and there was not a corner of your body that wasn’t covered in marks left by his teeth.

“Please, Druig, please-” you begged him, “don’t stop! I need you!” You felt you were dying from his loss, you felt so empty. It was like you finally felt complete, and when he pulled away it was as if all the air in your lungs were completely snuffed out. You couldn’t bear the pain- it was tearing you apart. You tried to pull him down to get him to kiss- you needed his love; nothing would ever be enough- not when it came from him.

Your soul craved his.

Crystalline blue eyes softened momentarily before steeling once more to grip your hips even tighter, Druig barely lowered himself- just enough to mix his throbbing tip’s precum with your slick. No matter how much he adored you -- however much he wanted to give in to you-- he needed you to admit that you were his first.

“Open your eyes,” his rasp sent chills to run throughout your entire body, “and see what you do to me.” When you looked into his eyes, you were taken back by how dark they had become- that beautiful pale hue had minimized into a thin ring from how dilated his pupils had become. It wasn’t just lust that swam in his gaze, but also mania and lunacy. His piercing gaze, along with his heaving breaths created such a stark contrast to the calm and collected mask he showcased to everyone- humans and Eternals alike. Druig looked less like the usual apathetic god everyone thought him to be, and more like a raging terrifying beast that fed on savagery and only cared to fulfill his most primal urges.

You have never seen such a magnificent and enthralling sight before, and you prayed to the stars above that this time would not be the last.

Druig could hear your thoughts, and he didn’t care how insane he looked. He wanted you to see all that you did to him- how you engrained yourself into his very soul and being. You called yourself infatuated, but he was obsessed. And as aware he was of his own delusion; he didn’t ever plan to stop.

Fuck Arishem- fuck anyone and everyone who would dare keep you from him. He didn’t care the lengths he would have to go to keep you by his side. Let them paint him the villain- it was all worth it if it meant having your love.

“Tell me.” He pleaded you, “please, my angel- tell me your mine. Let me in, I want all of you and only you.” His eyes held so much love and trust that it took your breath away, and it made your heart swell with so much adoration for the man that caged you between his arms. There was only one thing to say, the only thing that mattered that would seal a vow between you both for the rest of eternity.

Summoning all your courage, leaving behind all your bravado, letting all your insecurities to be put on display, you whispered, “Yes.”

Immediately after you condemned your soul to his, Druig speared himself into you to the hilt with a single thrust, and pressed his lips to yours to drink in every one of your throes of passion. Setting off at a relentless pace, it was not long until another brutal climax sheared through your body. With each push, Druig’s cock hit that spot inside you – resulting in stars to bloom around you as your mind was clouded in lust. With each thrust of his length, tremendous stimulation tearing through your walls. The sound of skin-on-skin surrounded the area around you, creating a forcefield of bliss that could not be intruded by anyone but the two immortal beings engaged in their act of fervor. The only other sounds that could be heard were the gentle whispers of the night breeze, along the soft chirpings of the crickets.

Feeling his cock throbbing, Druig knew that he was reaching his limit. However, he refused to finish without you going over the edge with him. Setting an even more ruthless pace, he could feel the trembles that ran throughout your body as he fights to hold control over himself, and not releasing himself deep inside you. Only being able to get a few more thrusts in, Druig viciously cursed as he let out a snarled cry – the loudest you have ever heard from him. With one final push, he came deep inside your cunt, painting your walls with his cum as you felt his warmth flooding inside you. The sensation of the thick ropes of cum engulfing your cunt triggered your final climax, and you felt the evidence of your indescribable pleasure that washed over you mixed with his thick cum that overflowed within you to the point where it leaked out of your core.

Refusing to part, the both of you let yourselves bask in the bliss-filled bubble that was the aftermath of your lovemaking. But as happy as you were, dread filled your mind as you realized what you had done. You knew how the others saw you. How Kingo and Sprite liked to poke fun at your darkness, how Ikaris would voice his doubts of your ability to protect with ill-hidden snarks to Ajak, even the humans would whisper in fear at the sight of you soaked in deviants’ blood in the aftermath of your many onslaughts. It was bad enough that they looked down on Sephia for how she so faithfully remained at your side, you couldn’t let the man you loved be dragged down as well – it would have been too much.

No matter how Druig liked to present himself as cool and indifferent to human conflict – you knew that it was far from true. You’ve watched him for centuries, and there was no one else on the world whose soul was as gentle and carried more love for humanity than even Ajak and Sersi. You couldn’t let your own selfish desires bring his ruin, you refused to let that happen.

“This was a mistake,” you forced yourself to say as you faced away from him to locate your attire, you couldn’t bear it if he saw how much it killed you to say it, but it needs to be done, “I never should have let it go this far.” You crawled on your knees to reach your tunic, “Let’s just forget this ever hap-”

A vicious growl cut you off as Druig’s hands grabbed your wrist to the point where you were sure bruises would show tomorrow. “Don’t,” he snarled, “even try to insult me by suggesting to pretend that this never happened- that we never happened.” Pulling you back to cage you in his arms, Druig buried his face into the crook of your neck- as if imprinting the scent of your skin to his memory in fear that you would disappear before his very eyes.

Leaning forward to whisper in your ear. “How could you ever think for a second that I could possibly go on with my life after finally having you? Tell me angel, how do you expect a man to simply live on weeds after finally partaking a drop of ambrosia?”

Your heart melted at his words, but you could not let yourself be swayed. “Druig,” you started, “you don’t understand the cost of being with me. You deserve someone who is kind and warm and-”

Druig forced you to look into his eyes. “Stop. Don’t you dare let the words of those idiots make you see yourself as less than the perfection you are. Do you know what I see when I look at you?” His eyes softened for what he was about to ask next. “Let me show you, my love.”

As his pale blue irises glowed into a golden hue, making him transform into a sight akin to godliness, you opened your mind to his, and what you saw shook you to your core. You saw scenes of yourself travelling through your shadows, taking down dozens of deviants with only a few arrows from your quiver, as well as the aftermath of you standing alone in a field of mangled corpses dyed with black tarlike blood. You saw yourself as the humans did, embodied darkness that killed with cold precision and controlled beings with their own shadows.

But soon you saw moments that you had forgotten, moments that you believed were private. You saw yourself sneaking away at night in the cover of darkness to watch ghosts roaming aimlessly, along with the pity in your eyes from hearing their sorrows. You saw yourself in your room at the Domo, surrounded by scrolls from topics ranging from rare spells to hand-drawn diagrams of the human body. You witnessed the smile spread across your face when you helped a spirit finally reach their peace to the other world. You saw the time Ajak approached you to ask for your assistance in delivering the children from expectant mothers in the village. You saw yourself come outside the tent to hand over the child of your first delivery to the father, who thanked you with tears in his eyes after being informed that both the child and mother safe and healthy. You watched yourself stare in shock of his praise before seeing the child reach for your finger, and let yourself feel the disbelief that flooded you at the sight of pure innocence staring back at you.

“You call yourself selfish and unkind,” Druig’s voice brought you back to reality- his eyes returned to that familiar blue, “but that couldn’t be more untrue.” He softly pressed his forehead to yours as he continued. “Would a selfish person spend night after night gathering impossible texts to study for an unnamed spirit to finally reach peace? Would someone unkind research every possibility in order to ensure that a mother could hold her child? How could you let someone as pathetic as Ikaris and Sprite taint your own views of yourself so much? Kaetlyn, I was a coward for waiting for so long to tell you my feelings, I was selfish in thinking of my own pride and dignity was more important than your strife. But still you loved me, and I could not be more grateful for your existence for that.”

Tears ran down your cheeks as you felt all your walls crashing down, how could someone so frustratingly wonderful exist? If this was all a dream, you never wanted to wake up. But just to be sure, you took a stone that just fit into the palm of your hand and transmuted it into a silver dagger. Holding it just above his heart, you warned him one final time.

“Druig, no matter what sweet words you whisper, I am selfish. I could kill you now without hesitation. I could cut you and cause you so much pain that you would beg for death. Do you still wish to remain by my side?”

Staring back at you with only ardent love and unfiltered adoration, Druig grasped your hand and dragged the blade’s tip across his chest. Thin trails of dark red life leaked from the wounds, but there was no indication of pain. “If loving you is pain,” he whispered as he wiped the blood from his wound with his finger, only to smear it across your lips, “then let me bleed.” He repeated those same words a year later, when he married you in a private ceremony after the two of you sneaked away from the village’s harvest banquet.

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