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lifetimeoftired · 2 months ago

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How to adopt a dead kid in three weeks or less

It's midnight and I'm hopped up on that ADHD juice. Been thinking on and off about this prompt and how things play out. Might clean this up for ao3 posting later but whatever.

Part 1 || Part 2

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Danny can feel the weight of their stares like it’s physical. A last mournful glance at his pancakes- Actually no, fuck it. He grabs the last one from his plate, flashes the whole Wayne family a peace sign, and turns invisible. The pancake is eaten as he dashes out the door and away from the shouting and chaos he leaves the family in.

“Where the FUCK did he go!?” Jason’s shout somehow made it above the din of the others- and got Bruce and Dick yelling ‘language’ back at him. The pricks.

“I say! Watch your tone Master Jason! As for the rest of you-” The whole family shut the immediate fuck up when Alfred speaks. His displeased expression more than enough to cow them into submission. “I expect you to clean up after yourselves today and a quiet trip to the batcave to find our new ward. Master Jason, you will be taking care of Master Danny’s plates, and I will hear of an apology from you for scaring that poor boy.”

There’s a chorus of ‘yes Alfred’ from the chastised bats, but Bruce- carefully mind you- presses.

“Alfred, how long has he been here? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“The young master has been staying for the past three weeks sir. And despite my best attempts, I have not yet been able to convince him to sleep in his own room.”

Bruce groans and rubs at his face before turning back to his other children, “Nobody thought to tell me!?”

The kids all look at each other, and then back at him with the most judgmental ‘are you serious’ looks they can muster. Except Cassandra, who very excitedly signs; New brother! All Bruce can do is sigh into his hands.

“We’ll discuss this later-”

“Why didn’t you notice then old man?” Jason grins, a little feral at Bruce’s dirty look but sue him.

“Okay okay, let’s hurry up and get this place cleaned up. There’s no telling how far Danny got- and the sooner we go after him the sooner we figure out what’s going on.” Dick said, quickly gathering his own plate.

“And the sooner I can get all of you presents.” The entire family stops. Staring at Jason in shock. “Only the finest ‘World’s best detective’ mugs for all of you!”

The groan he gets from all of them is perfect.

“I cannot believe you didn’t think to tell me either!” Batman scolds Oracle later.

Everyone is out in force. Even Batwoman, Batwing, and Bluebird (after having a good laugh at Batman’s expense) had joined. They had all been searching for Danny the better part of the day. Batman had even agreed to let Red Robin and Robin join the search and skip school. That’s how seriously the kids knew he was taking this. And how important it was for one of them to get to Danny before Batman scared him off for good with his infamous paranoia.

“If you didn’t notice, that one’s on you Batman.” God Jason really loved Barbara sometimes.

“Oracle would not have allowed a dangerous individual into our midst. She is thorough when it comes to such things.” Robin is moving fast, probably swinging right behind Batman. No doubt headed east where the nicer areas were and any sane person was bound to head.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, baby bat.”

“O, you wouldn’t happen to have a new update on Danny’s whereabouts would you? Or anything from his past?” Nightwing cuts in after Robin’s little ‘Tt’. He’s somewhere near the border to Bludhaven, in case Danny’s making it out that way.

“Nothing Nightwing.” They can hear her frustration, and concern, through the voice modulator. “The kid’s practically a ghost. All I can tell you is that he’s not from Gotham. What little I can find of his time here in Gotham is some security feeds of dumpster diving and sleeping on a bench.”

“He’s also definitely a meta.” Signal mutters, somewhere to the west and near the coast..

Jason remains quiet and lets them all talk. As funny as it is- and holy shit Jason will never let any of them live this down ever- it is a little strange this random kid would just... Show up out of nowhere. Meta or not. Alfred said he wouldn’t sleep in a bed of his own, but he also hadn’t left until after Jason questioned his existence. This ‘Danny’ had been around the manor, the bats coming and going, for weeks. He could’ve found out their secrets, and even if he hadn’t sold them out yet, there’s no telling who might pick him up and drag those secrets out of him. Or worse, if he was sent here by someone, then they needed to find out who. And fast…

….

Ugh. He sounded like Batman.

“Hey guys, how well do you even know Danny?” Jason pulls over near an abandoned apartment building. Cutting the engine to his bike to hear them all better. “He was there for a few weeks, pick up anything on him? Might help us figure out where he ran off to.” That last bit was added as an afterthought, not wanting to be too paranoid, but it was also true.

“I know how this is going to sound, but uh, well, he does seem really nice actually.” Signal helpfully offers. “Dick and I ran into Danny I think not long after he got there?”

“O’s camera feed tells us Danny arrived at the manor 28 days ago, Thursday night 11:38 PM. Looking at the records, he was picked up prior to that in front of Wayne Enterprises by one of our drivers- Archer Tenson. He’s reliable and honest, no record of any sort that would make him a suspect of subterfuge.” Nightwing rattles off the information pretty calmly, but they all know him well enough to hear the concern. “According to the records, he was going to pick up the caffeine addict after the cafe got an alert of his fourth Death Latte-” They all ignored Red Robin’s little ‘hey!’, “-and dropped him off safely at home.”

“Red Robin.” Batman’s parental disapproval was palpable through the comms.

“There wasn’t a fourth Death Latte!” Red Robin protested from his place in the batcave. Aiding in the digital search and combing over the camera feeds over the past few weeks for any information about Danny. “The third Death Latte was the last one. An Alert at W.E. was the plan the whole night. Nobody made it back to the manor until sunrise and the cafe kept saying there wasn’t any more coffee and-!” He gasped, horrified! Outraged! And the rest were left to hold their snickers as Red Robin said, “He stole my last coffee!”

“That’s right, Danny said he was a caffeine addict too.” Batwing mused. Probably flying somewhere over the more open suburbia in case Danny was trying to make a break out of the city that way.

“Wait when did you meet Danny?” Spoiler asked- Jason knew she was patrolling nearby with Bluebird. Those two, Orphan and Signal were the only ones who were allowed to come close to Crime Alley. Mainly because they annoyed Jason the least, but also because they understood how bad the streets could get and looked the other way better than the others. Signal surprised him about that one.

“Start from the beginning.” Batman orders. “Nightwing, Signal, you met Danny when?”

“Looking back, it was actually the day after he got there it sounds like.” Signal sighs. “I was headed downstairs for breakfast, and saw Dick in one of the sitting rooms. I thought I saw our caffeine addict passed out on the couch and thought dick was going to wake him, so I went in to help…”

#dc x dp #batman #batfamily #jason todd #danny fenton #writing prompt #the next few bits will be all the bats and their meetings with danny

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sluttysnowangel666 · 3 months ago

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Northern Attitude - cregan stark x reader

Summary: Cregan’s wife feels he is a cold and distant husband, but he finds a way to show her just how much he loves her. he doesn’t mean to be cold it’s just his northern attitude 😏

cw: smutttttyyyyyyy it was almost fluff but i just can’t help myself lol. reader slaps cregan a few times, (not abusively im just a freak😔), size diff, oral (f & m receiving), spanking, porn with little plot

masterlist

Cregan Stark loved and adored his wife. Perhaps he loved her almost too much, as he avoided doing anything that might tarnish her as a lady.

He did not share his chambers with her, even though that was the custom in the North. He rarely touched her, aside from their rather delicate bedding ceremony after their union. And, he rarely spoke to her, as he was too afraid of saying anything that may disrespect her.

His wife found this agonizing.

Their union had, of course, been one out of duty but it didn’t change the fact Cregan had been more interested in her than any other maiden in the North. Her father, Lord Mooton, had offered her hand years ago when Cregan’s father Rickon still ruled the North, but his father felt Cregan should one day make that decision on his own when he became Warden of the North.

Cregan had met her when they were both ten and three, when his father Rickon hosted a feast for all of the Northern lords to come and celebrate the end of a particularly harsh winter.

She was timid and quiet, but they shared a dance and then she had never left Cregan’s mind since.

Now, some odd years later, she was his wife and he was delighted. However, his wife believed to think their union was misery for him.

Their first bedding was ever so gentle, Cregan lightly caressing her hair and cheeks, yet he held his head low into her neck to contain his moans. Her sweet whines and whimpers made him want to go feral, yet he dared not defile his wife.

She was still the quiet girl he fell in love with all those years ago. She sat next to him silently during feasts and trips to other houses, almost like a pet that only acts when called upon. When she did attempt to make conversation with her husband, his words were short and dry. She knew Northern men were often of few words, but she did not expect her union to be that way. If he was so cold, why had he chosen her specifically? The thought frustrated her greatly.

It was not his intention to be this way. It was just how his father was, and he couldn’t help but learn that behavior.

When Cregan learned he would have to make a moon’s trip to the Wall, he wanted to make sure his wife would be in well hands before leaving.

Knock. Knock. Knock

“You may enter.” She said, softly.

She turned as her husband entered her chambers, dressed in his furs and armor. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He closed the door behind him, then stepped a few paces closer inside her chambers.

“Are you leaving?” She asked, trying to hide the frustration in her voice.

“I must go to the Wall; the men there are in dire need of supplies and support. I plan to bring any prisoners of Winterfell to clear up our cells so that they may take the black.” He says, walking to sit across from her in front of the hearth. He admires her soft gray gown. Her hair was in Northern braids, out of her face so that it was revealing her delicate features. Her eyebrows knitted again, something he noticed she did when she was upset.

“Will you be alright to rule in my stead while I am gone?” He asks.

“I will be fine, husband.” She responds, curtly.

“If you feel unsure, I can-“ He asks, wanting to make sure she feels comfortable enough, but she cannot hide her anger anymore.

“I said I will be fine! Just go, and leave me alone as you always do!” She yells, standing and walking away from their seats at the fire place.

“Have I offended?” He asks, following behind her. He rests a hand on her shoulder, but she turns to face him and pushes it away.

“No. You’ve made your point to not offend at all, in fact. We’ve been wed for three moons, you’ve only taken me to your bed once, and you refuse to even acknowledge that I’m here. You avoid me like the plague, Cregan. Have I been the one that has done something to offend?” She asks, her voice thick with anger.

He can’t help but let out a dry laugh, “Apologies, my wife,” He takes her hands in his, and she nearly gasps in shock at his touch. “You must forgive my northern attitude, I was raised on little light.”

“You seem to forget I’m Northern as well, husband.” She says, finally catching his eyes for the first time in their marriage. A small smirk plays on his lips.

“My wife, you are such a beauty, and if I am a distant husband then I apologize for that. It is no fault of your own. I simply do not wish to… treat you any less than a lady deserves, but it seems I have gotten too lost on the way. I apologize for my errors, Lady Stark.” He rubs his fingers gently over her hands. She doesn’t know how to respond, a dry chuckle escaping her lips. All this time, all she wanted was some hint that Cregan Stark had any sort of emotions or feelings, and here was her confirmation. He did, and by the old gods and the new did he have many for her.

“When I return, my dear wife,” His finger traces her jawline. “I promise you that I will treat you with the respect you want and deserve. In the meantime, I do beg for your forgiveness. This is my first union.”

She lets out another dry chuckle. “It’s mine as well.”

He presses a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I will send a raven the moment I reach Castle Black.”

With that he turns to leave…

But she isn’t done with him.

Cregan is almost sure it didn’t happen, he hardly even felt a breeze through his furs, but when he hears the sound of metal on the floor he knows she threw something at him.

He turns to look at the mug on the floor, then to his wife, bewildered. “Did you just throw a chalice at me?”

“Your lady has not given you permission to leave.” She says, “I want the wolf I was promised.” She continues, standing across the room.

“What?” He asks, confused. She throws another mug at him, but he deflects it this time. “Stop, what- What are you doing?!”

He holds his arms up to shield himself as his wife throws more and more objects from him, including her boots, candelabras, books, nearly anything she can get her hands on.

He walks towards her, angry, ready to… he doesn’t even know, perhaps frighten her into stopping.

She places his hand on his chest when he’s finally in her reach. She takes his hand, pressing it to her chest to tear off her gown. He lets his hand go limp, but she makes him do the work anyway. He’s too confused to understand because she was just so angry with him. She lets his hand fall and begins to take off the dress herself. It falls to the floor off her body, and then she is standing naked before him.

“My lady-“ She cuts him off with a harsh slap across his face. He stares back at her, his jaw slack.

She does it again, his head barely even moving at her hand. It wasn’t the pain (there was none), but the act that was pissing him off.

She goes for a third, but he grabs her by the wrist before she can reach him.

“This is your only warning, my dear wife.” He says, holding her small wrist in his hand.

“Or what?” She teases. It was that response; that sultry, lustful, desperate response that makes him realize she was teasing him. She was aching for him, eager for her husband before he left her.

He doesn’t move, staring her down with a fire burning in his gray eyes. Her other hand finds his other cheek again, and his length grows stiff in his leathers.

He lets go of her wrist, only to grab her by the waist and toss her on her bed. She gasps as she lands, giggling shortly after.

He climbs over her, resting his weight on his hands and leaning in to give her a deep and tender kiss. She moans, immediately pulling his head closer and weaving her fingers in his curls. He moans in response, his hand finding its way to her breast.

“I’ll make it up to you, wife.” Cregan says, pressing kisses on her cheek before moving down her body. He kisses every part, before resting between her legs. His hands wrap around her thighs, kissing and licking softly just outside her wetness.

She whines, wiggling around only for him to press a hand on her stomach to keep her still. He pulls her onto his lips, and she lets out a sigh of ecstasy. He’s harsh and unrelenting on her cunt, unlike how she’s ever felt before. Her pleads for him fall upon death ears as Cregan realizes just how hungry he was for her.

He wanted to say fuck the journey, fuck the Wall, fuck the North, fuck everything. He wanted to die here, in this sweet and delightful cunt of his wife’s. Her fingers lace into his brown curls, pulling on them tightly, and he whimpers at the sweet pain.

Her eyes water as she draws closer to her climax, the feeling so foreign and unique that she doesn’t know how to react.

“Husband, oh gods.” She cries. She grinds her hips onto his face, and he lets her lead. He locks his eyes onto hers, but that fiery look in his eyes makes her break first, and she throws her head back as she releases onto his lips.

He kisses her thighs as she comes down, a trembling mess in his strong arms. He kisses his way up her bare body, until he’s face to face with her. Her eyes are closed tight as she attempts to catch her breath.

“Will you stop throwing things at me now until I return, my dear?” He asks, gently.

She opens her eyes to look at him, “Where has my wolf been hiding this whole time?”

“In his den.” He gets off the bed and stands, prepared to take his leave when she grabs his wrist.

“You wish to go before I can return the favor?” She asks.

“You needn’t do such thing.” He says, not wanting to cross too many boundaries.

“You’re too modest.” She says, pulling him back towards her by the band of his leathers. He wants to push her off, but can’t. She unlaces his breeches, then stands from the bed to remove his cloak and furs.

“My men are waiting for me, wife.”

“What’s a few more minutes to the Warden of the North?” She says, lowly. She undresses him, from his armor down to his small clothes.

She kisses down his chest, as he just did to her moments prior. She slowly takes him into her mouth, licking and sucking on his length.

Cregan groans, his hand instinctively finding its grip in her hair. She whimpers at the sudden pull, and he immediately loosens it.

“Don’t stop. I like it.” She whispers against him. He obliges, pushing her head deeper onto him.

“Fuck.” Cregan moans in the air, his voice rising an octave. He’s almost embarrassed at how desperate he sounds. “Please, wife, just like that.”

His hands gently rest on the sides of her head, his fingers woven into her hair as she slobbers onto him.

“My husband is more needy than me.” She whispered, and gods was she right. Cregan had grown to regret being so coy with his wife the past few months.

“The gods have blessed me with you, my wife.” He moans, and she smirks onto him. She finally had him right where she wanted him.

“Then bless me in return.” She says, pulling away and leaning back on the bed, spreading her legs to bare her sweet cunt to him. He moans at the sight alone. He crawls over her, positioning his length along her entrance. She eagerly wiggles her hips, only for him to push her hips down.

“Patience, little wife.” He says.

“I’ve been patient for three months. I fucking want you, Cregan.” She pushes him onto his back beside her. She mounts him, sliding herself down onto him. Cregan moans loudly, and she smirks.

She ignores the aching stretch, immediately grinding her hips against him. His hands grasp her waist, holding them so tightly they’ll bruise by the time he leaves.

She throws her head back in ecstasy as Cregan keeps his attention on her face. She is beautiful, even when she is a whining and sweaty mess. One of his hands cup her cheek, weaving his fingers into her locks. She stares down at him, her mouth agape as she moans.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” He says, rocking his hips below her to meet her thrusts. “But your little tantrum isn’t going to go unpunished.”

He locks her in place with his hands, refusing to let her grind against him any longer.

“Wait, Cre-“

He pushes her off, rising from the bed so that he can push her onto her stomach. He pins her wrist behind her back, her fingers twirling to try to find any support to hold onto.

“Now how many items did you throw at me, lovely wife?” Cregan asks, lost in the lust that he had tried to bury when he married his wife. Now, he had no shame to degrade her.

“I… I can’t remember.” She says, muffled into the furs of the sheets.

“I believe it was 6. Let’s make it fair.” He says, landing a harsh smack to her bottom. She lets out a whine, and he pushes himself back inside her, not giving her a moment to catch her breath. Her breath hitches in her throat, and he lands another smack, intending to leave marks.

“Good luck sitting on that throne while I’m gone, wife.” He says, landing way more than 6 smacks to her red bottom. She moans at the pain and pleasure of the smacks and Cregan’s thrusts. The feelings were overwhelming, yet pure ecstasy. Tears brim her eyes as she screams in pleasure, sure enough so loud that all of Winterfell will hear.

“I hate you.” She moans.

“On the contrary. I think you love me.” He says, pressing his chest to her back and wrapping his hand around her throat, continuing to be in relentless with his thrusts. He drowns in her lascivious moans, feeling her cunt leak all over him and her bed. He reaches his other down to her cunt, gasping at all of the wetness that pools in his hand.

“Gods, wife, I didn’t realize how bad we needed each other. You should have told me sooner. I would have defiled you a long time ago.” He groans into her hair. She whimpers pleads of her need for release, and he grants it to her.

She cries in such pleasure, her hands finally finding a comforting grip against Cregan’s hand around her throat.

She rakes her nails into his hand, and he moans, finally spilling himself into her after three long, aching moons.

He presses a gentle kiss to her temple, then pulls out to lay beside her.

“Are you alright, my wife? Did I hurt you?” He asks, caressing her red bottom and her waist, tinted red from his harsh grasp.

“No, not at all.” She breathes.

“No, I didn’t hurt you or no, you’re not alright?”

She laughs, turning to face him to hold his cheek. “Husband, I am better than ever.”

He kisses the tip of her nose, gently caressing her cheek, not wanting to leave her.

“Must you still go, husband?” She asks, sadness in her voice, “Just when I’ve finally got you?”

“Unfortunately I must go… But, tis’ like you said; They can wait another day for the Warden of the North. I want to be with my wife.”

She smirks, propping herself up to look over him. “Northern attitude indeed, my lord husband.”

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sena-seastar · 3 months ago

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Burning Desire

Aemond x Older!sister Reader

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

Warnings: Angst, Smut, Sibling incest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His words move you to tears.

“Aemond,” you whisper, stepping closer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what,” you whine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me.”

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

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

“Am I so hard to love?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re doing so good,” he praises.

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

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

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

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

“Don’t laugh at me,” you grumble.

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

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

“Take it slow,” he warns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” you reply weakly.

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

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

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

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

“Aemond,” you sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” You gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t know that-”

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

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

“Come with me,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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bluebellhairpin · 3 months ago

Text

Cregan Stark X Wife!Reader

Summary: Preparation to leave to Castle Black for the winter months is well under way, and you're reluctant to be left alone in Winterfell. Cregan, having had the same worry, provides what could be a solution. A solution with a name. And fur. (wc. 2.3k>)

Warnings: Reader has she/her pronouns + fem bodied. Pregnancy. Assassination attempt. Unnamed character death. Blood + gore. Cregan wants to be a girl dad. Unedited (lol).

Listening to: 'Wolf at Your Door' by Chole x Halle - "When you're laying in your bed at night, when the air's just a little too quiet, better hope that you're saying your prayers."

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi || AO3 link

Winterfell was a somber place when the cold rolled down from the north.

Although only ten men were sent to the wall every winter, everyone left behind knew someone who was sent away. No matter how short of a life you lived, you also always knew someone who died there. Indeed, life on the wall was as harsh as the force it existence kept at bay.

For you though, the man you lost always returned. The last three winters had you spend upwards of three months without your husband - and in turn rising to take his place as custodian of Winterfell. No matter how busy the role kept you, it never helped you miss Cregan Stark any less.

With winter approaching once more, each moment with him seemed to not be enough. Yes, the Wall was dangerous, and even Cregan was never guaranteed to return, but this year there was something else that willed you to want him to stay. Something else that made him want to stay too.

“Each day my resolve seems to crack,” he told you one night, fire cracked in its hearth as you both lay under blankets of fur. His hand rested protectively over your belly. “Already now I can see our babe grow, and I know I’ll not only be missing you but her too.”

“‘Her’?” you hummed, head turning to nose his cheek. “Such a confident tone, my lord.”

“I am confident.” he replied, turning to press a soft kiss to your lips as his hand idlily rubbed along your stomach.

“And if you needed an heir at the end of this cold winter, what then?”

“If my lady wife deems me worthy, we might try for one again.” he said, sedating what could’ve been the start of your mood change with words almost too sweet to be coming from the frosty king in the north. “But that is something we can decide once all three of us are safe together when summer rises.”

Cregan’s soft words and warm breath on your cheeks made your mind wandered to a time not so far away where you wouldn’t have his heat so close. A time when his comfort was going to be gone.

“I’m going to miss you.” you said, turning into his hold more, and he let you snuggle into his chest. “This time will feel longer than all the others.”

“I doubt that will be the case for you.” he said, lips moving from their place pressed into your hair. “Winterfell will keep you busy, between that and resting for the babe’s sake, you won’t have time on your hands for much else.”

“I may not want to rest.”

“You will. The Lord of Winterfell commands it.”

“The Lord of Winterfell won’t be here, he cannot have a for sure say in what I do or do not do.” You felt him smile into your hair, and you pulled away with a twitch of your own mouth. “What?”

He pulled away a little too, shyly smiling down at where you still laid. He was acting far too coy to be considered normal.

“I might not be leaving you completely alone.”

“... Cregan.” you started, sitting up on our elbow.

“I was going to show you on the morrow, but since you’ve forced my hand -”

“-I? Forcing your hand?”

“- Since you forced my hand,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he slipped out from the bedcovers, “I will be right back.”

“What…” You tried, but your voice tempered out as he swiftly made his way from your bedchambers.

Sighing, you sat back in your pillows, arms folded, and refraining from pouting. It wasn’t long into your settled position of guessing what in the seven kingdoms your husband was doing before he was back.

Cregan had clearly gone outside, snow settled on the top of his hair and along the shoulders of the fur cloak he snatched before leaving. In his arms was something squirming. You frowned, eyeing the movement under the cloak as he strode over.

“What is that?” you asked.

“A protector for the Lady of Winterfell, as per the orders of her lord husband.” Cregan said, and let the squirming mass break free from his hold onto the bed.

It was a… pup? No not possible, it was too big. From how it acted it was a few months surely, but it was just so big. Then you thought some more. Could it really be?

“A direwolf?”

“Not any direwolf. Yours.” Cregan said, rounding the bed and settling back at your side. “A protector to be at your side when I cannot. I’ve been training him and he follows commands well already. By the time I leave he should be grown to the size of any regular dog - then at least twice that when I return.”

While he spoke, the pup sniffed around your bed covers, curiously wandering on unsteady feet. You had to admit, he looked gorgeous, all black fur, with green eyes, and you didn’t doubt he would grow to be a fierce thing. But sometimes that wasn’t always good.

“Cregan, are you sure about this?” you asked. “It’s… he’s a direwolf, not a dog.”

“I’m sure,” he said, lending his arm out. The pup stepped closer, licking Cregan’s fingers and settling on its belly with its nose on Cregan’s knee. “They’re our house symbol. The direwolf are as Stark as I am, they know who we are, and they can be as loyal as they are fierce. That’s why I wanted to introduce you before I left. He’s going to be yours, loyal to you.”

His arm wrapped around your shoulder, and like second nature you made yourself comfortable by his side. The pup shifted too, now his nose was itching closer to you, wanting to know who this new person was.

“I supposed you ought to tell me what I'm going to be calling him then.”

“You can call him anything you like,” Cregan said, “But I’ve been calling him Striker.”

Five months passed, and Cregan was right. You were never without anything to do.

The babe growing inside you made mornings rough, and you often weren’t seen before noon, especially in the earlier months. The rest of your day was spent catching up on what you’d missed while resting, and then catching up on what you missed while catching up. Then the evenings were spent with Striker.

He had grown on you, just as he had grown physically. Cregan was still able to lift the wolf when he left, but now you doubted it. He was already well on his way to rivalling a regular wolf in size. Despite how intimidating that might’ve been, you couldn’t be more fond of Striker even if you tried.

Your belly swelled, and with it so did the direwolf’s protectiveness. Your handmaids were tolerated, your guards struggled to be in the same room, and when the maesters dared tough you Striker had to be sent out of the room. Walks around Winterfell were soon out of the question, at least if you were to bring the direwolf along, since he took to growling at everyone who stood too close.

Cregan really picked well, Striker surely was serving his purpose, and soon he earned his namesake.

Word came from Castle Black that Cregan was going to return, that the Winter had been fended off once more. That brought joy foremost to you, but really all in Winterfell knew what that meant, even if Westeros didn’t. It was cause for celebration when they returned.

It also gave a false sense of security. Winter was gone, and so was the evil - but evil didn’t just come from the north. It could come from anywhere.

You’d settled into bed for the night, Striker laid beside you, head facing towards the door, and your hand rested on his flank as you looked over one last paper. He growled, and you petted his fur, silently reassuring him that it was just a guard passing outside - but then his head lifted, and turned toward your window. His sudden, still alertness put you on edge.

He’d been hostile before, but this was aggressive.

Candle flames flickered, Striker’s fur stood on end beneath your palm, the latch on your window clicked open, creaked open, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. A cloaked figure slipped into your room, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to cry for help - nor to remember anything Cregan had taught you. But you didn’t have to.

The figure, a man, unsheathed a knife, and with the glint of steel in the candlelight Striker struck. He surged off the bed with a vicious bark and bit into the man’s arm, snarling all the while and all but went to tearing the man to shreds.

The commotion had people coming in through the door, and the sight had you still rendered motionless and speechless.

The man’s cloak was torn away, and by now he was pinned to the floor, blood pooling on the stone as he fruitlessly tried to get Striker off him. You barely registered your guard, Gunther, asking you what was happening.

“He came in the window. He had a knife.” was all you could say. You could guess he was saying things to calm you down as he pried your fingers off your bedsheets that covered your swollen belly - he was probably trying to get you out of the room so you didn’t see the mess. It was too late for that. The man was a whimpering, bloodied mess on the floor by now, and no one had yet been brave enough to pry Striker’s jaw off his shoulder.

Gunther had an arm around you with your hand in his, guiding you away. Others attempted to move closer, either to help the man or take him away - but Striker was still growling.

“Striker, here.” you called, just finding your voice enough for it to carry over the commotion. The direwolf looked up, and seeing you being led away, he relented, fitting into your side with ease.

The three of you walked away. Now you were away from the scene you could think again and guess you were going down the hall to another room, one you decided you’d stay in until Cregan returned.

You looked down at Striker, threading your fingers though the fur at his neck.

“Good boy.” you said, stroking between his ears.

“He sure is, my lady.” Gunther said, “Who knows what could’ve happened if he didn’t act so fast.”

You smiled a little at that, at how right Cregan was in leaving the direwolf for you. He was meant to be company, a protector second - but tonight he proved to be as good, as loyal as any of your guards. He proved to be the real sigil of House Stark - just as Cregan told you he was.

You reached the door of your new room, and as your hand lifted off Striker’s back you noticed it chill with the cold night air. Turning your palm over, you saw red - and Striker’s nose made home in your fingers, licking away every drop as if it wasn’t ever there to begin with.

A week later, Cregan returned.

You had been in a foul mood for the past three days, since the maester had put you on strict bed rest because of the babe. Therefore you had been deemed unfit to greet your husband at the gate as he finally came home. In your defense, it definitely seemed like a good reason to be sour.

So you waited, sat on a chaise, with Striker’s head in your lap pressed to your stomach.

You could hear a commotion outsider, which only made your face scrunch in annoyance - not just at missing out but also at the pity looked you knew your handmaiden would be giving you. She offered to go fetch Cregan, and you nodded her leave with a wave of your hand.

“He will be here soon.” you said, cradling Striker’s muzzle in your palms.

“Indeed he will.” Cregan said.

“Oh, Lord Stark!” your handmaid said, startled. Your head turned, and you saw him standing in the doorway.

“Cregan!” you said, grin covering your face - and even after such a long time away, Striker seemed to recognize him, for he didn’t growl, and his tail started thumping against the rug.

“My love,” he said, shedding his great sword carelessly, and sunk to the floor beside where you sat. You heard your handmaid mumble a goodbye before stepping out and closing the door behind you. “Are you alright?”

“I couldn’t be better now.” you replied, feeling tears welling in your eyes as you took in your husband's face for the first time in months. He looked tired, older, but as you took his face in your hands his cheeks felt exactly the same as they were when he left. “I missed you so much.”

“I heard about what happened the other night. I -” he said, mouth hanging open in what could’ve been shock, in his eyes there could’ve been anger. Vengeance would do nothing now, the man was dead, he bled out before anyone could decide to give him mercy - undeserved or otherwise. But as Cregan leant forward to hold you into his arms, his warmth felt like nothing else except fear. “I can’t believe I could’ve lost you.”

“You didn’t.” you said, taking an arm away from being wrapped around his shoulders to pull his face away from your chest. “You provided the means for me to stay safe long before you left. Striker was better than any guard. He was fearless when I was frozen. I owe him my life, all because of you.”

Cregan’s face turned soft, and he smiled at you. He leant forward and kissed you. For the first time in too long, his lips move against yours. You felt his jaw move beneath your palm as his fingers grazed your neck and held onto your hip. When he pulled away, he kept your head cradled close to his.

“I love you.” he said.

“I love you too.” you replied, and he smiled, pressing another kiss to your lips, then your cheek.

“Now tell me all about how my little girl is growing.”

#cregan stark x female reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x you

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eightmakesonebraincell · 2 months ago

Text

our leaves must fall before our flowers can bloom (teaser)

genre: poly hockey team!ateez x coach fem!reader, enemies/strangers to lovers, athlete!au, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 1.0k (teaser) + approx. 38k (full fic)

c/w: sweaty ateez (warning well deserved), lots of hurt/comfort, one of the slowest slow burns to slow burn, remaining tags to be revealed with full fic

synopsis: you become the new coach of the elite men's ice hockey team, the red devils. but with both yourself and the team carrying burdens of the past, you all find it difficult to see eye to eye. as you lead them to the championships in the korean ice hockey league, you discover that teamwork and trust is not as straightforward as it seems.

a/n: when i started writing this i really thought it wouldn't exceed 25k but here we are :D full fic will be released in about a week and i am so ready

“she’s the new coach?” yunho frowns in confusion. “no offence, but we’re not a bunch of kids for her to practise being a soccer mum to.”

“she was the assistant coach for the grey eagles,” coach cho discloses.

“the grey eagles? the under-21 men’s championship team?” yeosang looks incredulous.

mingi sceptically comments, “the fact that we’ve never seen or heard of her before probably tells us enough.”

hongjoong’s lips purse sourly as he tries his hardest to analyse the situation with the professionalism of the team’s captain. but with the sudden change in coaches and the same critiquing doubts as mingi, hongjoong cannot help but feel his personal judgement webbing over his mind. over the team’s entire career as an elite ice hockey team thus far–five years, now well into their sixth–the red devils have only ever had two coaches. coach cho has been with them for the longest and whilst it took the team a while to eventually warm up to him, he has been with them for almost quadruple the amount of time it took to trust him.

the team’s alternate captain, seonghwa, speaks to you directly, “if you don’t mind me asking, why are you not playing as an athlete yourself? you’re clearly our age–nowhere near retiring.”

you knew from the very start that your age would make your credibility as a coach much lower, and your answer to seonghwa will not help your case either. “i stopped playing.”

“how come?”

the trigger of memories fills your nose with a sharp stinging smell. you blankly reveal, “i chose to stop playing.” you know exactly how it sounds like to somebody else, even more so to professional athletes. coach cho has also told you of the team’s hardheadedness and strong will when it comes to the passions of their career, so you are expecting the cold receptiveness that you are met with.

your response strikes the wrong chord within wooyoung. there was a point in his career not too long ago when the choice of continuing to play or not was at risk of becoming a forced decision. the way you answer so callously with those very words that had threatened to tear his world apart has his jaw grinding and eyes darkening, and he is not the only athlete in the arena who feels similarly.

“i would rather choose to die before i choose to stop playing. ice hockey is my entire life and without it, i am not living either,” hongjoong jabs and you cannot help but clench your fists because you know exactly what he means. still, you stay quiet as he continues, “sorry, but i can’t respect a ‘coach’ who chose to stop playing.”

at the captain’s words and subsequent move to leave for the changerooms, the rest of the team also gather their equipment and follow his steps. san’s feet falter in front of you, expression hesitant until he decides to voice, “our team needs a bit of time. it’s hard for us to warm up to…outsiders, and i know it might not mean much to say this but we have our reasons. don’t expect us to blindly trust you just because you’re a coach.”

the use of the word ‘outsider’ does not go unnoticed as you nod, “of course.”

san jogs off to rejoin the others and coach cho hums, “guess some things haven’t changed. they were just as prickly to me when i first became their coach.”

you raise an eyebrow, “prickly? to you?”

“yes, believe it or not,” he chuckles nostalgically. “we’ve come a long way because i’ve been their coach for years now. but it took me a while before i was able to break down their walls.”

you briefly mull over the information, then ask out of curiosity, “what would you have done if i didn’t sign the contract?”

“begged you to rethink your decision,” he jokes with a pleased chortle. “i would have to start looking for a different coach, i suppose. you were my only pick.”

“but why me, of all people? there are so many other experienced coaches that you can choose from.”

he looks at you, eyes glinting with intuition and confidence as he simply says, “you’re familiar with their playing style. they play just like you used to.” at your silent processing, coach cho probes, “why didn’t you tell them the real reason?”

you smile wistfully, “i didn't tell them because i’m not here to gain their pity.”

some of the boys’ voices grow louder as they emerge from the changerooms, changed into fresh clothes and their kit bags slung over their shoulders. you hear one of them ask, “captain, is she really going to be our new coach?”

they step out from the facility’s corridor and you accidentally make eye contact with hongjoong, yet neither of you look away. maintaining a steady gaze directly at you, he responds with a slight glower, “maybe, but she’s only the coach by title. i’m still the captain of the team, so let’s see who everyone listens to.”

as they exit the rink’s arena, you feel a fire of determination growing inside of you. you have won over your own demons and you have won the championships before–this is nothing in comparison. whether your next words are for coach cho or for yourself to hear, it does not matter.

“i may not play anymore but i was still once an athlete and no athlete has ever, in their career, wanted pity. i’m here to earn the team’s respect and i will win over them, especially their captain.”

you watch the swing of the glass door as it shuts behind the players, catching a brief glimpse of the trees lining the arena’s perimeter. it is the first day of autumn when you meet the red devils for the first time and outside, the leaves are beginning to change their colours.

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divinesolas · 4 months ago

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Hi, could you do an Aemond one shot where he and Reader (Rhaenyra's bastard daughter) are husband and wife and she and Aemond are married, based on the first episode of season 2 where instead of killing Aegon's son, kill the reader's son and aemond

a.n: hi hi ty for the request 🫶 i had a little too much fun writing this, this probably isnt what you wanted this is not a happy fic but i still hope you enjoy regardless 🫶🫶 slightly inspired by the events of ep two

Despite the halls of the keep being pure chaos everyone swiftly moved out of the way for the one eyed prince who rushed through the halls seeking out the one who he knew needed him.

They had been in his room. They wanted him. But they must have left his room when they knew he was not there and stumbled their way into the nursery which was attached to his room where his son had been. His son. his only child. and he was furious.

The door to the council room slams open and otto swiftly turns to look and stand before him, “where have you been-“ otto is shoved out of his way as he goes to kneel next to his sobbing wife on the floor who was clutching a blanket on the floor.

You look at him with red eyes and choke out his name, he grabs your face in his hands and looks upon you for a moment before you throw yourself into his arms. Shoving your head in his neck to breathe in his scent, to feel his pulse, make sure he’s real.

“they killed our son.” your words come out choked in between your sobs and he strokes up and down your back, “i tried to offer them anything, gold, myself, but they only wanted him aemond only him.” he shushes you and pressed a kiss against your temple, speaking into your ear. “Im sorry my love im sorry.”

He will return the pain they have brought to not only himself but worst of all to his wife and he will pay it tenfold. A lone tear streaks down his face as you say nothing more merely continue to sob into him while the other faces in the room can only merely watch with sorrow.

He picks you up, making sure to keep the blanket firmly in your grasp as he turns to leave the room ignoring the voices calling after him. They must want to discuss what they plan to do now but he wants no part in it, only wanting to comfort his wife.

“they were saying they want to blame my mother.” You had calmed down at some point, still delirious with grief but you had stopped crying, merely staring blankly up at the ceiling as aemond kept you firmly next to him. “she would never do a thing like this. my mother loves me, why would she send someone out for my son.”

Aemond is quiet and his hand on your back falters for a moment, “she wishes to punish me.” you say nothing but he notices how you shift ever so slightly.

With the way you two were right now nobody could tell the two of you have not spoken in those fourteen days since his return when he broke the news to the court. When he broke the news to you. Your own brother murdered in cold blood.

You could never forgive him despite his attempts to talk to you after, you swiftly dismissed him and his words would fall on deaf ears. Your baby brother was everything to you, you remember growing up side by aide and he was teary eyed the day you permanently moved to the keep.

despite your hatred for him and your hatred for your mothers usurpation you cannot go home. The people here watch you like a hawk you cannot even send a letter out to her but alicent is free to beg and plead to her like a pathetic dog. you hate them. Yet you allow him to comfort you because you know you will get no comfort from anyone else here.

“they wish to flaunt me around like a prized lamb. ‘gain sympathy from the houses.’ he says.” You ignore his words and continue to speak. “I will not allow it.” you shrug mindlessly and sit up, he stays laying down. His eye patch off and hair down from its usually prime and perfect state, he had thrown his shirt off at some point too.

You can see it, the hurt that laces his eye and his face, his hand finds yours and you want to rip it away but you cant, the warmth on your skin bringing you a small sense of comfort.

“i had thought we would work. That you would finally move on and forgive grievances of the past. But i hate you just as you hate me aemond,” “i do not hate you. i love you.” you shake your head as he says it, sitting up and gripping your arms tightly, trying to hold your gaze as he says it again.

“i will never forgive you. I will hate you for as long as a breathe.”

“i did not mean to i lost my temper that day.”

“you feeling sorry means nothing to me you know that. how would you feel if the men who murdered our son came in here and said they were sorry., that they didn’t mean to.”

He says your name and his grip tightens on your arms but you continue to merely stare off mindlessly.

“i will repent for the rest of my life. our son will be brought justice.”

he will kill every man in the keep if he has to, slay every man in all of westeros if they cannot figure out who had done it. For you. for his son.

“i love you.” the words come out strained as he begs and pleads to anyone who is willing to listen to him for you to say something else anything to him.

you do. you finally look at him. a look devoid of any love you had once had for him. and it kills him.

“you’re pathetic.”

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader smut #house of the dragon #aemond smut #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemondtargaryen #aemond targaryen #hotd #prince aemond #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader

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ozzgin · 9 months ago

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A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)

Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?

[Part 2] | [More original works]

Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere imagines #yandere imagine #yandere scenarios #yandere male #yandere killer #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere serial killer #yandere original character #horror #split personality #tw yandere

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zoramones · 5 months ago

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annwrites · 2 months ago

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⸻ a call to arms. part six.

· pairing: jacaerys velaryon x dragonseed!reader · type: part of a series · summary: jace opens up to you & you come to an agreement, after which you find baela to be in good spirits alongside her new friend. · word count: 2,416

Jacaerys helps you dress once more, slipping your smallclothes back up your thighs—pressing a soft kiss to your silver patch of hair—before standing, caressing your cheek with a soft smile upon his lips.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You shift shyly on your feet. “I should be the one thanking you, I think.”

He grins. “I suppose we are both grateful, then, for the other.”

Your eyes flit back to his.

He leans against the wall behind him—placing a healthy bit of space between the two of you, lest he fall to his knees once again, at your behest.

“So I did…well?”

You smile, nodding happily. “Very much so. Especially for a beginner. Not that I’ve many to compare you to, of course. But, I think that, even if I did, few would be able to compare.”

His lip twitches. “I enjoyed it.”

He pauses before continuing. “What you called me, as well as the rest.”

You blink at him, your cheeks growing warm. “I’ve no idea where it came from, in truth. It just sorted of…slipped out.”

He shrugs slightly. “It encouraged me further.”

You grow quiet then, merely staring at him, he staring at you.

“I would like to…do this again,” he states.

You glance to the narrow cavern that leads back to the entrance of the cave, then to him again.

“In truth, I would very much like…”

He swallows nervously. “For us to begin sharing all our meals together. To walk together, when you choose to on the beach. To ride together. And I will need continue—”

“Do you think that wise, My Prince?”

His mouth tugs into a frown at your sudden formality.

“What is your concern?” He questions.

“My concern is what people might think. Such as Baela.”

He sighs. “Then we shall be discreet.”

“Discreet when you wish for us to spend every waking moment together?” You ask with a raised brow.

“You wish for me to play your whore. You may as well state it plainly,” you say.

He rolls his eyes.

“Another argument ensues,” he grumbles.

You glower, but only for a moment. “I’m not trying to argue. I am merely stating a fact. She is your betrothed. I doubt such an arrangement will continue to hold if we are discovered in a…compromising position.”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you wish to know why we are bound? Because my mother convinced her grandmother into agreeing to such an agreement, so my late brother Luke’s claim to Driftmark would have a more likely chance of remaining in-place. And now…”

Tears sting his eyes as he softly shakes his head. “Now Lucerys is dead. Along with her grandmother, Rhaenys. We do not…”

He takes a step forward. “I care for her. As my family, and a friend. But I do not burn for her. Not as I do you. You fill my every waking fucking thought now. All I wish is to be near to you. To touch you. To hear your voice. You cannot now convince me that you do not feel the same.”

You glance down to your feet, then back to him. “This isn’t fair to her.”

He chuckles without humor. “Was it fair to her when I had my face shoved between your thighs as you finished upon my tongue?”

Your guilt grows impossibly deeper then.

He takes another step forward, taking your face in his hands. “I do not know how this war will end. If you, or I, of any of us may…survive.”

His eyes fill with tears and his voice breaks.

You pull him into your arms and he holds you to his chest while you cradle the back of his head, running your fingers through his curls.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers. “When I’ve only just found you. When I am with you, I don’t feel so afraid anymore. Please…please don’t take yourself from me. Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reply.

“I know that. I mean that I want—”

“For me to play your…concubine.”

He groans, burying his face in your hair. “I would not see it that way.”

“Just this morn I thought you hated me. And now you tell me you would not be parted from me.”

He pulls back, gazing down at you. “I never hated you. Rather…”

He grows silent, thinking, debating internally.

You cup his cheek, brushing your thumb along it, wiping tears away.

“One of the very things which drew me in was the same reason I held such disdain toward you in the first place: your looks.”

Your brows furrow.

“Look at yourself, and then at me. You’ve every feature I am meant to. Do you know why I do not possess silver hair and violet eyes?”

In truth, you do. It is not just courtiers who gossip.

“I heard once…about a Gold Cloak.”

He lets out a silent curse, putting distance between you once more.

“Even the smallfolk…” He trails off.

“His name was Harwin. I, Luke, and Joff are his…”

He pauses.

“Are his,” he says with a tone of resignation.

You shrug. “So what if you are?”

He glances to you with exasperation. “It means I am a bastard. The heir to the Iron Throne is illegitimate. Of dubious origins. It was why you, Hugh, and this other fellow, Addam, claiming dragons, stoked my rage the way it did. It is because I had thought being a rider meant something for me, just like you said—that I felt it made me special. Some…confirmation that I more than just the son of a Gold Cloak—a foot-soldier—as I have often feared it is all I am. Then you come along and prove that…mayhaps it is true.”

He slides down the stone wall, crouching. “It is a dangerous thing for a bastard to claim a throne. To ascend it.”

“Why?”

“Because then it means that anyone may!” He shouts.

You kick a small pebble with the toe of your shoe, shrugging. “Anyone may elsewise.”

He looks up to you.

“By right of conquest, can they not?”

He shrugs, shaking his head. “I suppose. But it is different, and you know it.”

Your lip twitches. “Sounds like a lot of fuss for a big, ugly chair, which stabs people, to me.”

He grins—despite trying to fight against it. “You are no help at all.”

He stands.

“I think I’ve been of much help,” you state. “In terms of distraction.”

You grow serious then, stepping toward him, resting a hand upon his chest, while the other cups his cheek. “So that’s where it all comes from doesn’t it, sweet boy? It is not us you hate, but yourself.”

He glances down, refusing to meet your eyes then.

Your brows knit together in sadness for him.

You gently tuck a curl behind his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“I feel adrift,” he whispers. “A few weeks ago everything was as it had always been. And now… My little brother is dead, and I fear for the safety of those which remain alive. My mother is… I question her judgement. As for Baela… She was chosen for me. And I for her. For another’s benefit who is now gone. We’ve fondness, but a fire does not rage within me when I’m near her as it does for you. A fire I am desperate to keep fanning the flames of. Because if it were to burn out—now—I know not what I would do.”

He presses his lips to yours. “When I am with you, I feel fearless. Not a coddled princeling. Not some royal betrothed where everything must be prim and proper. I feel… I feel alive. I have the attentions of a woman grown, and I would be remiss to shirk them out of the sake of propriety.”

You open your mouth to reply, but he cuts you off short.

“I know Baela’s propriety is what is paramount here. I know that. And I would never wish to publicly humiliate or dishonor her. It is why I ask you—if you can find it within yourself to consent—to let me have you, at least in private. Let us live while there is still time for it. I tire of binding myself into a knot over a future which may never even come to fruition now.”

You chew your lip. “It seems you resent your mother. One of the reasons being her…tryst with this Harwin. Yet you seek for yourself something similar.”

His eyes flit between your own.

Why must you always have him pinned for exactly who he is?

“You think me a hypocrite.”

“I think that, mayhaps, you have a reason to understand her better now, is what I am saying. I do not know why she did not instead have children with her husband, but, perhaps, her situation was similar: being forced into a betrothal—a marriage—with someone not of her choosing, and instead finding passion with another she was not ‘meant’ to have, but took into her heart anyway, because she would not be parted from him. Nor he from her. I do not know. It is just my…assumption.”

He considers for a moment.

“I truly am her son,” he says with a sigh.

You grin in response, and he does the same, shaking his head, curls falling over his shoulders.

“So?” He asks, looking to you in hopefulness.

You rest your hands upon his chest. “I fear I’ve no other choice than to say yes. Because you and I both know what happens even if I don’t.”

He nods slowly, cupping your jaw in his hand, pulling you close.

“Yes, we do,” he mutters, kissing you deeply.

He smirks against your lips. “I mean for us to share more than just meals and walks together, you know?”

You hum in interest.

“Such as my bed, and yours. Perhaps baths. The rug before my hearth. The dining table chairs. The windowsill. My settee…”

He trails off, his erection greeting you once again.

“You are insatiable, My Prince.”

“Only for you, my little dragonseed,” he replies, kissing you tenderly. “You see: I can be quite generous.”

The two of you share a few heated kisses before he speaks again.

“I deign we shall need moontea in large supply,” he says, his lip twitching.

You snort. “Someone is very eager.”

“Very,” he agrees, smiling.

The two of you are trapped within the world that is each other’s eyes as you ascend the steps which lead up to the castle, smiling all the while, only broken from your reveries by the sound of another’s laughter.

You and Jace both turn, and he nearly halts at the sight before the two of you: Baela, on the arm of another whom you are not yet familiar with. He is tall and lean, with long, dark hair, beautiful, dark skin, and lovely, kind eyes.

They look quite content together with her on his arm—the pair of them grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Baela,” Jace greets with a small smile.

And she and her friend stop before the pair of you.

“My Lady,” you say, bowing your head.

She nods to you in return with a smile before glancing to Jace. “It seems we each have our own dragonseed to tend to now.”

His brows furrow.

She looks to you again. “Y/N, this is Addam of Hull. Rider of Seasmoke—my late uncle’s, and Jace’s late father’s dragon. Addam, this is Y/N, new rider of Silverwing.”

He extends his hand, and you slide your palm along it, shaking it gladly.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he says.

You nod. “You as well.”

You clasp your hands softly together in front of you. “I don’t think… You were not in the dragonpit when—”

He shakes his head.

“No. Thank the Gods no, I wasn’t. I…” He shakes his head, shrugging dramatically. “In truth, my dragon claimed me. I know not why, but, nevertheless, here I am. He chased after me upon a beach and now… Now I am his rider. Quite a turn of events.”

“Yours claimed you as well?” You ask, taking a small step forward.

Baela’s brows furrow. “Did Silverwing—”

You nod fervently. “She laid her head at my feet. Pushed her snout against my middle. I always thought—unless of course they hatch in your cradle, as they did for you and Jace—one must claim the dragon for theirself, not the other way around.”

She hums. “That’s very…interesting, I think.”

She glances to Addam with a small smile. “They must know something we do not. But are yet, instead, to discover.”

She wraps her arm back round his once more, and you think with almost certainty…that she fancies him.

You are glad for her.

That she will not be alone now, in terms of company. And neither will he in this strange new world.

Jace finally speaks.

“Did my mother arrange this?” He asks, nodding toward Addam.

“She did,” she replies. “He needs learn how to properly ride a dragon as well. And we have been going over Valyrian terms during our walk today. As well as history.”

Jace smiles to the both of them. “You have a most-excellent teacher, Addam. You shall be in fine hands.”

Addam nods, grinning. “I say I must agree.”

The four of you stare at one another for a moment before Baela finally breaks the awkward silence, stepping past the two of you, tugging Addam along beside her. “Well, we were just on our way out to the beach, so we should—”

Jace nods. “Of course. We were just making our way inside ourselves.”

He pulls you alongside him, into the castle.

“She seems very, um…fond of him already,” you say.

“I am glad for it,” he replies.

He glances to you with a smirk. “I merely hope they find their own cave, if they become as fond of each other as you and I—”

“Jace!” You exclaim. “You should not speak of her in such a manner!”

He chuckles. “Now your guilt may be lessened, my sweet, for she has found her own companion to keep her company, same as I.”

You raise a brow. “My sweet?”

He shrugs. “You can call me a good boy, but I cannot—”

You shoosh him.

He wraps an arm around you then, pressing a kiss to your hair. “If you wish to quiet my tongue, you will need to find other uses for it, then, my sweet.”

You shake your head in response to that.

#fic: hotd (jacaerys velaryon x reader)#jacaerys fanfic #jacaerys velaryon x y/n #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x oc #hotd imagine #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #jacaerys fanfiction

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kingtomura · 10 months ago

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Good Girl

Summary: It’s not your fault that your boyfriend was hard for people to warm up to. God, your parents are so lame. But so were you. So you did what anyone else with strict parents would, and you cut him off.

Bad idea.

Word count: 4k

part two is here!

Content: Tomura Shigaraki x female reader, explicit content, kinda quiet sex, cunnilingus, praise, slight humiliation, unprotected sex, strict parents, toxic relationship with parents, AU - no quirks, no use of y/n, gets a little mushy at the end im sorry

You would rather be anywhere else but here. You would pay to be anywhere else but right here, right now being scolded like some teenager who had been caught sneaking out after curfew. But you were here and you weren’t going anywhere any time soon.

“He’s just not good for you,” your father’s voice stressed. It dragged on, pulling you from your drifting thoughts. “You have so much ahead of you and we even agreed to this gap year so that you could figure out what you wanted to do, not so you could run around with some delinquent boy with no future–”

“He‘s not a delinquent,” You cut off, “you’re judging him without even giving him a chance.”

Your father sighs, knowing he’s fighting a losing battle, but knowing you inherited his stubbornness has never detoured him from taking your objections head on. He’s been on this earth longer than you, butting heads with others longer than you have. “Well, whatever he is, he’s not allowed to see you again. That’s final.” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. False air of nonchalance sending fury through your veins.

There would be no more arguing and you knew it. You desperately look to your mother, who is in her usual stance of resignation and uselessness when it comes to his word. If she saw things your way, she would never say. And even if she agreed with you, there would be no change. It has always been your father’s way or no way.

“I’m an adult, you can't tell me who I can and can’t see.” you try once more, not ready to end things here. It’s suffocating.

He scoffs, bringing a hand up to count his fingers, “You live under our roof, you eat our food, you drive our car, you give me attitude when I agree to give you time to figure out your life when you decided to leave university after two semesters,” his voice is rising and you begin to feel your eyes burn with the threat of tears, your chest tightening as its harder to catch a breath. You can’t cry here, it would only make things worse. “I don’t think it matters how old you are. I am done with this conversation. End things with him now or you won't have a pot to piss in by the end of the day.”

This cannot be happening. You're still sat on the plush sofa of the living room as your father stalks off with your mother in tow. The latter only glancing back with an empty look of pity as you stare at where your father had just been. Words burned into your mind while hot tears finally break and run down your cheeks. This is really happening.

And Tomura was going to be upset.

In a perfect world you could meet up with him tonight, talk it over, or even run away together and leave all this behind, but you know better. You know the two of you haven’t dated long enough to warrant running away together, but it still crosses your mind. You’ve never felt this way about anyone before and it's painful to think you never will again. Tomura just made you feel so.. Alive. There was so much to him and his witty dry humor that keeps pulling you in.

He’s cynical, he’s moody and sometimes he’s mean but god he could be so soft. Touch you in ways that felt like he reached your soul. Quiet nights where you would stay at his house and watch him play video games would turn into late night sessions of making love until the twilight of dawn peeked through the dark curtains of his room. There was no way you could let him go. But you had to. You had to. Your father had given you no other choice. So you take the coward’s way out.

You text him.

You send him a short text that would send you to the bathroom dry heaving, but you didn’t know what else to do. What more could you say other than your father had snapped at you and you both could no longer be together. It would hurt so much more facing him head on. You knew that if you had to speak to him face to face that you would crack, probably throw out your silly idea of running away together and then face the awkward rejection. This was all you could manage. You felt awful for it, finally forcing yourself off of the floor and dragging your feet to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

It had been hours and there was no response from Tomura. You couldn't blame him. What could anyone say to a break up text? You hollowly hoped he would fight for you. Even a little. But the flat Read 14:57 showed you otherwise. This had now become a heartbreak you werent quite expecting. You couldn’t help but second guess every interaction you had with him before. If maybe you read into things a little too deeply. If maybe, some smaller, quieter part of you dreaded your father was right.

There was no use of dwelling on that now. No point in running through what you would never know. So, you sighed, and finished up in the bathroom. Slipping on your silk sleeping gown that stopped above your knees and adjusted the small straps on your shoulder. You had cried for hours after your argument – if you could even call it that– with your father was over and your face ached. The bags under your eyes showing the worse for wear state you had found yourself in. it would be okay, you told yourself. You just have to sleep it off.

And that was your plan and you slid into your welcoming bed, soft comforter embracing you and your worn feelings. You feel more tears begin to sting behind your eyelids before there's a sudden tap at your window.

A trick of the wind, you decide and return to your somber thoughts.

You would have to move on eventually, but tonight? He was the only thing on your mind. His eyes, his hair, the way he would feign annoyance when you were overly touchy, craving closer contact. He always indulged you. Always gave you more, you knew he liked it as much as you did. You were lovesick.

Tap.

There was that noise again. Louder than before as if someone had thrown a rock right at your window. The room was still and quiet so you knew it hadn’t been your imagination.

Jumping to your feet and shuffling towards the window in question you brushed your curtains to the side to see the possible culprit. And when you do, your heart drops and instant regret fills you. Stomach aching as you take in the sight before you.

It’s Tomura Shigaraki and he is pissed.

Tomura, your Tomura leering up at you with another rock resting in his hand, bigger and ready to be tossed at your window if the last attempt didn’t work.

You look around, knowing no one is in your bedroom but yourself and the moonlight, then go to open your window, ducking your head out to get a better look at him. There he was, black hoodie oversized and so soft, red eyes burning in anger but you aren't scared. You’re relieved, it's him. He's here to see you, mouth turned down in a scowl and fists clenched in fury but he was here.

You couldn’t stop your hushed whisper, “what are you doing here?”

“I came to talk.” Was his only reply before he dropped the rock and walked towards your window. It wasn’t terribly high up, but higher than he could reach without a bit of help from you.

Now that he was closer you could see the anger in his posture much more clearly. All tense shoulders and narrowed eyes. It was enough to make your stomach turn. You couldn't help but worry your bottom lip as he pulled out his phone and took a step closer.

“Really? Over a fucking text message?” He hissed, rasp in his voice, uncaring of the time of night or who could hear.

“Tomura, shh, please–” you tried, hands coming up to placate him, if only a little. Your father would have your head if he heard another man in his home, let alone Tomura Shigaraki.

He huffed a sarcastic laugh, disbelief taking over his features, but he obliged, “I don’t care what your father told you. He can’t control who you talk to.”

You shake your head, the all too familiar sting of tears in your eyes threatening to fall, “I know. I told him that, but he threatened to kick me out, to cut me off. I’m sorry Tomura, but I can't.”

“He can't do that.”

You nod, knowing all too well that your father would go through with his threat. “He can. Technically. I'm an adult, so it’s his choice.” The tears fall now, seeing the rage dissipate from Tomura, slight drop of his shoulders showing disbelief and disappointment. It's too much. This is why you didn’t want to see him, couldn’t face him. “I'm so sorry,” you whisper, trying to hold in the sobs threatening to wrack your body and possibly wake your parents up. This could not have ended worse. “I don't want it to be this way.”

“Wow, I didn't know you were such a good girl.”

Your breath hitches, caught off guard, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “I didn't know you did everything daddy says. What a good girl you are.” The tone is one you’re familiar with. Condescending. Challenging. He’s testing you.

Your cheeks flushed. What could you say? That you’re not a good girl, actually. Then what would that make you? A bad girl? You would walk right into his trap. He’s watching, waiting for a response. Something to make you slip up.

You don't have the chance to respond before he’s taking a step forward, lifting your chin with a finger so that you could look him in the eyes. Even in the dim lighting of the room those crimson eyes looked into your own. Like he was delving deeper, looking for the response that you can't seem to give him. Nothing else matters in this moment. It’s just him and you and the pale moonlight dancing between you. The air is tense and unmoving, like the smallest noise, the faintest blow of wind would ruin this moment.

You couldn’t take it, couldn’t wait another minute before your body moved, leaning forwards onto the tips of your toes to give you more leverage as your lips pressed to his. His lips were still cold and dry from the cool air outside but that didn’t matter. Nothing matters more than knowing you needed more of him and you needed it now. Tomura’s hand came to rest at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and the kiss deeper. Taking all of you in as his other hand gripped your waist.

Your hands wasted no time burying into his hoodie – so soft and worn– the faint smell of citrus and cedar being a comfort as the intoxicating kiss deepened. Tomura wasted no time, slick tongue entering your mouth, hungry, like it was the last time you would have him this way. It was too much. It was not enough. You broke the kiss, a string of saliva following the short distance you put in between. Air seemed sparse, like you couldn't get enough and Tomura spoke before you could.

“Get on the bed.”

And you did, newfound vigor in your step as you eagerly did as what you were told. Energy ebbing through your veins as excitement overtook your previous anxiety. Tomura was a mere step behind, discarding his hoodie without care and joining you on the bed, caging you beneath him as he dove back in for another kiss, wet and warm, before trailing lower. Open mouthed kisses to your jaw, then neck, his hands, rough and warm gripping your thighs, taking in all he can. After leaving a particularly hard bite on your neck, Tomura lifted your gown up, smooth silk gliding with ease above your ass and resting below your breast. It was only natural for your legs to spread for him, cool air on your bare cunt making you shiver.

“Oh?” An amused huff from the man above you makes your cheeks heat further than before. He’s seen you like this many times before, but he’s always had a way of making you feel shy. “No panties, huh?”

You push past your embarrassment. “You know i dont wear them to b– ah!” you're cut off by the feeling of his finger sliding between your folds, slick making it glide, and rubbing over your clit. The surprise of the motion makes you press your thighs closer together. Tomura grins above you, before bringing his wet finger to his mouth, a mocking shh following the motion, tongue flicking out and licking the digit as his other hand pushed your legs apart again.

He bends down, bulge in his sweatpants pressing against your bare cunt. He’s so hard and that thought only makes you wetter. Tomura’s nose brushes yours, your eyelids fluttering shut as he dives to kiss you again. All open mouthed and wet. You could taste yourself on his tongue as well as feel the pressure of his clothed erection grind against you, rubbing against your bundle of nerves. You are sure your slick is dampening his sweatpants but Tomura doesn’t care. He’s grinding you into the mattress and you’re so close to begging him to get on with it you want to scream. But almost like he’s read your mind, he pulls away.

The kisses he places along your body set your nerves on fire, anticipation eating away at your patience as he takes his time. Once he’s reached his destination, right between your thighs, he places one wet kiss onto the plush of your inner right thigh. Another teasing move. Another way to make you squirm in excitement. He looks up at you, ruby eyes gleaming in the moonlight of the room.

“Be quiet for me, yeah?”

Tomura huffs a laugh at your eager nod, grin growing wider. So quick to please. Dedicated. “Good girl.”

The praise makes you falter for a second, embarrassment threatening to make its way to the surface once more. There was no time for it now, Tomura enjoyed catching you off guard. Loved surprises. He wastes no more time, tongue licking a wet strip between your lips. The action causing you to moan louder than you intended. Your hand rushes to cover your mouth. If you were to be caught in this predicament by either of your parents it would be horrendous for the both of you.

This doesn’t stop Tomura, though. If anything you were starting to think it encouraged him, because his relentless pace on your cunt was driving you wild. His long stripes simmered into just the tip of his tongue flicking your clit and sending jolts of pleasure roaring through you. You were already close, pleasure and pressure building and building until you were so close to tipping over–

Knock knock.

“Hey sweetie. I know it's late, I just wanted to talk for a second.”

It was your mom. Holy shit it was your mom and there's a boy in your bed with his head buried between your legs and holy shit. If she opened the door, if she barged into your room in the familiar way she always had a bad habit of doing, you would be done for. With wide eyes and accelerated breaths, you clamped down harder over your mouth with both hands. Even Tomura stopped in his tracks, gaze lazily focused on the door with curiosity bleeding into his indifference.

Your mother must have taken the silence as a sign of slumber, yet she continued. Voice muffled by the door between you both.

“Your father... was harsh today. And I’m sorry for that.” She pauses, long enough for you to believe she would be giving up and going back to her bedroom. You aren't so lucky, surely at this point you were very unlucky and you dreaded whatever else she had to say. “I just want you to know that he just wants the best for you.” your heart drops as she carries on, unaware and unconcerned of the other pair of ears listening in to her words. “We don’t know him that well. We can't risk you getting involved in something you're not ready for and throwing your future away.”

At this, Tomura rolls his eyes, interest clearly lost and goes back to his earlier movements. The sloppy kiss to your clit catches you off guard and forces a whine out of you. It was small, but still a noise. Squeezing your eyes shut you prayed this would be written off as an odd sleep noise. Wishing to the sky that it wasn't noticeable and Tomura would stop. He didn’t. It was in that moment he decided pressing a finger against your entrance would bring out more noises. The digit slipping in with minimal effort and adding more pleasure to this mix as he sucked your clit.

If your mother heard anything, she didn't make it known. The floorboards outside of your door creaking with the shifting of her weight. “Well, maybe we can get ice cream or something tomorrow. Have a little girl’s day?” The silence is palpable as she waits for an answer that won't come. “Okay well, goodnight sweetie. See you in the morning.”

You don’t know what you're more grateful for; the sound of her receding steps or that fact that Tomura wasn't cruel and waited until the telltale sound of a door opening and closing rang through the air before adding another finger and curling them. This time you couldn’t bite back the moan that escaped you, hands gripping the cotton of your duvet.

“Aw, how sweet,” Tomura started, sitting up while adding a thumb to your sensitive nub and rubbing slow circles to replace his mouth. “She wants to have a little girls’ day with you.”

His mocking tone would have gotten a reaction out of you any other time, but right now you were so close. On the precipice of an orgasm that’s been drawn out for far too long. You could only look at him with half lidded eyes as his fingers worked like magic sending you closer and closer, your breath hitching as you finally, finally reached the climax. Body shaking pleasure cascades over you like a tidal wave.

“There we go,” Tomura whispers, giving your cunt a playful tap after letting you ride the sensation out. He pulls away completely to take off his sweatpants and underwear, cock already hard and leaking. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips at the sight and you hear his breathless chuckle. “I’ll let you have a taste next time, but right now, I can't wait any longer.”

It was only when he began to line up with your entrance that you absently wondered about the lack of condoms you owned. You look up at him, question burning on your tongue but he only grins at you, and you swore in that moment he was a mind reader. “I didn’t bring any with me, sorry,” his voice was far from apologetic as he stroked his cock, rubbing the head between your folds and against your clit, slick soaking the head. “But don't worry,” he continued, leaning forward and you felt the pressure at your entrance, excitement buzzing through your veins. “I’ll pull out.”

Whether you believed him or not didn’t matter, you had no time to process a thought as he began stretching you to the limit with his size. A gasp escaped your parted lips as the sickeningly sweet feeling of being stretched too far too fast took over. He gave you a minute to adjust, even as his cock twitched in anticipation of movement. The grip he had on your hips was tight enough to bruise and you knew it was taking a lot of his self control to wait for you.

He pressed on, figuring it had been long enough and bottomed out with a sigh. Your walls clenched around him and swore you could cum from the stretch alone. After giving you a second to breathe he pulled back, almost pulling out, only to snap his hips back forward into you. Your head lolled onto the pillow, hand coming up once more to mute the moans dragging from your body. Tomura hoists your legs onto each side of his shoulders,bending them forward and successfully folding you like a lawn chair as he started his aggressive pace, forcing your tight heat to clench around his cock.

“Oh, fuck…” you couldn’t help but mutter as you struggled to hold off your already approaching orgasm.

Tomura saw this as a challenge. “What? You gonna cum on my cock?” he mocked, pace wild and rough, leaving you gasping as you shut your eyes, not ready to admit how right he was. “It's okay,” he continued, leaning closer and allowing his dick to press deeper inside you. The drag hitting the bundle of nerves inside and nearly sending you over the edge. “Come on, cum on my cock like the good girl you are.”

Those words push you over, hips convulsing as your legs shake and it takes Tomura slapping a hand over your mouth this time to quiet you. You couldn’t focus on anything else, let alone keeping quiet. Your body felt light and Tomura fucked you through it. His pace grew more erratic as his grinning face became one of focus, brows furrowing as his eyes shut and he focused on his pleasure. Your pussy squeezing around him making it harder for him to stave off his own nearing climax. You were worried that at this point you were both too far gone. The silence of the home would leave the messy noises between you both loud and clear for the entire house to hear. Tomura was great at keeping his composure but the soft groans coming from your lover only showed how much he was losing his grip.

“Can’t– fuck, sorry–” you didn’t have time to decipher his strange words, your curious eyes meeting his face to gauge his expression before you feel it.

His cock twitches inside you, seed painting your insides white as his thrusts didn't slow. He was hammering away at your insides, only pumping his cum further into you. You feel so full, the warmth spreading over your body like a blanket. He came in you. Even though he said he wouldn’t, he did. The worst part about it? You don’t care. It's invigorating. You feel even more attached to him. Even closer. You want more.

Overstimulated and weak, you whimpered, thoughts swimming as Tomura finally came down from high. Slowing his thrusts and panting heavily. Your heart is drumming against your chest as he removes your sore legs from his shoulders. Shuddering as he slips out of your tight heat, feeling the cum dripping out of you and onto your sheets.

The bed dipped as he took his place next to you. Out of breath and eyes focused on the ceiling. Your ears were ringing with the sudden quietness of it all. Things felt different, heavy.

“You could always just not tell them.” It was Tomura who broke the silence first. “Act sad, mope around, and then come see me at night.”

You glanced over, vaguely registering the sweat cooling on your body. You would need to get up and get cleaned up soon. “Yeah, but if they catch me–”

“They won't. I’ll teach you how.” he turns towards you, bringing a hand to your chin to make you face him. There’s a fuzzy feeling turning in your chest and the familiarity of heat rising to your cheeks is starting to drive you mad. His grin is enamoring, red eyes almost glowing with mischief in the moonlight. “I’ll show you the ropes.”

There's an ache that tugs at your chest as you nod. “Okay.”

You are so fucked.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #my works #tomura shiragaki #tomura x reader #mha tomura #shigaraki smut #fanfic #my hero academia

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ragingbookdragon · 3 months ago

Text

Her hand subconsciously feels to the left side of the bed, reaching out for his hip, but when her hand feels cold sheets, she sits up, eyes bleary with sleep as she looks around. He’s gone, his clothes gone from the floor, and for a moment, she feels a blistering sting in her chest when she looks at her dead husband’s photo sitting on her bedside table. What a fool, she thinks as she throws her legs over the side of the bed and grabs the robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Slipping it on, she walks into her daughter’s room and leans over the crib, ready to pick her up when her eyes widen as she stares at an empty bed. Panic floods her and she tries to calm down, thinks that JJ maybe got his sister out and put her in his bed.

She hurries to his room and opens the door, eyes bulging out of her head at this point. His Spider-Man bed is empty. Her feet carry her downstairs and in a flurry of worry, she runs around, checking the den, the dining room, the kitchen, the shed outside, there’s no sign of him or her children. Tears flood her vision as she grabs her phone inside on the bar and tries to fumble it open, only for the front door to crack open and someone start to yell, “Mummy!” Before a stern voice hushes them.

She runs to the front door and sees Simon cradling Morrigan in one arm, his other on the back of JJ’s shoulders, pushing him in the door with a quiet but firm, “Don’ wake y’er mum up.”

Her phone falls to the floor, and she runs to her children, yanking the baby from him, jostling her into a crying fit, as she wraps the other hand around JJ’s head and pulls them in for a tight grip.

“Mummy?” JJ asks, concern flooding his voice as Morrigan cries harder. “What’s wrong, mummy? Why are you crying?”

“Mummy’s not crying,” she says and shushes Morrigan until the baby is in hiccups and hands her to him. “Take Morrigan upstairs to her crib. I need to have a word with Simon.”

JJ takes the hiccuping child from her and he can’t help but say, “Mummy, Simon took us for ice cream!” She finally notices the brown stain on JJ’s pristine white shirt and the remains of chocolate around his mouth. “But Morrigan didn’t eat any. Uncle Simon gave her a bottle.”

“That’s good, baby,” she responds with a tight smile. “Take Morrigan upstairs, okay? She needs a nap.”

“Yes, mummy.”

He leaves and she stands, whirling on him, and he can tell he just lit a Roman candle the size of a mortar. “Love,” he starts, and she cuts him off with a swift and crisp slap that sends his face snapping to the side.

“You cannot just take my children without telling me!” She all but yells. “Letting you in my home is one thing but my children! Don’t you ever take my children out without waking me ever again!”

“Love,” he calms, not bothering to massage the stinging in his face. “I ‘ad everythin’ under control.”

She feels the storm brew in her throat, the tears in her eyes. “My children. My babies. His—our children.”

Simon reaches up, takes her face in his hands. “Look at me,” he says. “You were asleep. Peacefully. You were tired. You ‘ave been so tired. So exhausted from everything. I didn’ want to wake you.” He looks at her. “I took them out for some ice-cream so you could ‘ave a restful sleep with no one to bother you.”

Tears spill over and she manages to muster, “No one is going to hurt my children.”

He stares at her, copper eyes boring in hers as he promises, “Love, I would never hurt your children. I would never let anyone hurt your children.” He holds her firm in his hands, eyes ever-strong. “I would never let anyone hurt them. Or you.”

“They’re all I have left,” she cries. “My babies.”

“I know,” he says softly, brushing a hand over her cheek. “And I would die a thousand times before I ever let anyone hurt them.” He leans down and presses his forehead to hers. “Love, I would never hurt them.”

She feels the tears drip down her face as the pain in her chest begins to subside. “I woke up and you were gone. They were gone. I…I feared the worst. That he’d gotten them. That they’d taken you all.”

“No one is going to take us,” he murmurs, shutting his eyes. “I swear to you. No one is going to take us.”

Her hands clench in his hoodie. “You were gone.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, I shoulda left a note. I jus’ didn’ think you’d wake up ‘fore we got back.” He pulls away and cups her cheek again. “Love, you’ve been so tired. I jus’ wanted you to rest.”

“I know,” she agrees, even as he wipes her tears with his thumbs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I slapped you, I’m so sorry,” she cries again.

He snorts and kisses her cheek. “Soap teach you to ‘it that ‘ard?” A surprised laugh bubbles out of her, and she can’t help but smile as the tears fall. “There’s tha’ smile,” he cooes and kisses her forehead. “God, I love tha’ smile.”

Her cheeks get hot and she reaches up, wiping her face. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, love,” he shakes off. “Don’t be. I’d react the same if I were you.” He takes her hand and kisses it. “Go check on them, yeah? I’ll make you something to eat.”

She nods and turns, pausing at the staircase and looks at him. “I thought you left me this morning,” her voice is soft, just short of broken.

He looks back at her, takes off the face mask he always wears in public and affirms, “Never.”

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gloomwitchwrites · 5 days ago

Text

Monster (S)mash - Task Force 141 x Female Reader - Porn Star AU

Content & Warnings: Porn Star AU, group sex, oral sex (male & female receiving), unprotected piv, cnc, restraints, anal sex, double penetration, haunted houses, masks, knifeplay, creampie, multiple orgasms, cum swallowing

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: For Kinktober 2024 (Group Sex)

On the set of Monster (S)mash, the monsters come out to play. It's your first themed porn film and it's set in a haunted house. You're eager. Excited. But you've never taken something like this on before. You're filming with four of the greatest names in porn, and you don't want to mess this up.

ao3 // main masterlist // kinktober 2024 masterlist

"Would you like to review the scene? Go over boundaries again?"

Kate Laswell, the Intimacy Coordinator, takes a seat on the opposite couch.

"I'd like a refresh," replies Johnny. "Now that I'm in character." He grins, gesturing at himself, and you almost laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

Johnny MacTavish, known in the industry for his many creampie videos, is dressed as a crazed clown with a red wig and exaggerated makeup. His clothing is nothing more than a black industrial vinyl apron covering up the important bits. Kyle Garrick, a connoisseur of the cam world, sits next to him in a fresh white robe with a Jason Voorhees mask sitting on top of his head, the elastic band digging into his skin behind his ears.

Kyle taps away at his phone. "I should go before you, mate." Kyle glances up and winks at you. "Since I’m up first."

You feel heat rush to your cheeks. Kyle is incredibly handsome—all four of them are—but Kyle has a gentle swagger that flusters you a bit every time he addresses you. The two others, John Price and Simon Riley, are still in the makeup tent transforming into a werewolf and a demon.

While you've been on various porn sets, this one is far more complex than previous films you've been a part of. Monster (S)mash is set in a "haunted house." You'll go room to room, each containing one of the four men before it ends with the five of you partaking in each other. Filming is expected to take all day and possibly into the next.

Kate finds a comfortable spot on the sofa and addresses the two of you. "Your scene takes place in a forest with a cabin. They'll be a fake machete. We're looking at knife play. Some c-n-c. A bit of a chase. What do you think about that?"

Kyle shrugs and then glances at you. "Sounds fun. I'm excited. But it's what you want." He gazes at you expectantly.

You shrug. "What we talked about during our meeting yesterday is good with me."

Kyle nods. "I remember."

"And we know the safe word and the non-verbal signal in case anyone needs to stop?" asks Kate.

"Apple," says Johnny.

"Three fingers with a wrist shake for non-verbal," adds Kyle.

Kate smirks. "And what if someone is restrained and cannot shake their hand?"

"Then three fingers will do," you finish.

She smiles, clearly content with that answer. "Very good." She clasps her hands and then pushes up from the couch. "My assistant and I will be standing off to the side watching and listening for a signal."

Rodolfo, the director’s personal assistant pops his head in. “We’re ready for the first scene.”

Kyle groans as he stands, returning the Jason mask to its proper place. The robe is gone and tossed onto the sofa beside Johnny. Kyle is completely naked underneath it all. You follow him out, robe still on.

"Head that way to mark," Rodolfo says to Kyle and then he gestures at you, beckoning you closer. "Stand here."

You find your mark and then remove your robe, handing it off to Rodolfo who politely keeps his gaze averted. Unlike Kyle who wears nothing, you're in a skimpy black thong that's more string than material.

“Quiet on set!” comes Alejandro Vargas’ voice from the director’s area. He’s standing behind a monitor, watching whatever is coming through on the camera.

There's some minor rustling before all goes silent.

"On three...two...one."

You stand just outside the entrance of the fake haunted house. Taking a deep breath, you count to three. Glancing over your shoulder, you deliberately stare off-camera, and then head inside. The camera moves forward as you walk, focusing in on the makeshift sign.

You will be touched, carried, restrained, played with...

The camera lingers on the sign for a few seconds before following you into the dark.

"Cut!" Alejandro calls out. "Let's hold there. Get her to mark two."

Rodolfo appears, gesturing toward the first "room" of the haunted house.

Each set is separated by curtains. With the lights on, it looks a bit silly, but during filming and post-production editing, no one will know that these scenes weren't filmed in an actual haunted house attraction.

As you step up to your mark, a tingle of excitement swells in your belly. You've always found your job fun and enjoyable, but this is the first themed film you've attempted. While the film crew and intimacy coordinator have solid reputations in the industry, the four men you're working alongside are known for their decency, politeness, and general kindness when working with others. During yesterday's meetings, they were incredibly focused, asking questions, and spent extra time wanting to know and remember your boundaries and limitations.

When you first started out, that was unheard of. You’d show up to set and hope for the best. Discussions about limitations and boundaries were few and far between.

"Going on three...two...one."

You enter the first room.

It's arranged to resemble the front of a cabin in the middle of the woods near a lake. The cabin is just a facade anchored onto a wall while blue lighting creates water-like ripples off the front of the cabin. The path to the "exit" is lined with two folding chairs, a metal picnic table, and a makeshift campfire with fake flame included. Ambient nature sounds play in the background, but it's only loud enough to create an unsettling atmosphere.

Slowly, you step around the two folding chairs and walk past the picnic table, glancing around in feigned nervousness as if danger lurks around every corner. That danger is just Kyle in his Jason mask.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Kyle appears. Standing near the makeshift exit, he is completely naked other than the mask and the machete clenched in his right fist. You freeze, holding up your hands in a placating gesture.

Kyle rolls his shoulders and neck. You hear the audible pop from where you're standing. He saunters forward, turning the machete handle end-over-end in his palm. Though you know the machete is fake, and that Kyle won't harm you, your fight-or-flight response kicks in. It fuses with your excitement and underlying arousal, sending your senses into overdrive. Your vision narrows, focusing on Kyle as he swaggers toward you.

"No," you whisper, backing toward the spot you entered from.

Kyle lunges, and you shriek, turning on your heel to dodge out of the way.

Spreading his arms wide, Kyle blocks your way forward. You step to the left and he matches your movement, the machete blade outstretched. While the two of you discussed this scene with the intimacy coordinator, the chase is entirely improvised. You don't know what Kyle will do or how he'll eventually trap you. The idea is thrilling, warming your body with heightened anticipation.

Stepping around the edge of the picnic table, you aim to dart around him on the right side. Kyle leaps over the fake flames and lands in your path. He swings the machete and you duck. The blade is nothing more than rubber, and his aim is purposefully wide.

As you turn away, Kyle follows, his stride casual and calm. It's infuriatingly sexy how sure of himself he is. And somehow, you're flustered by him, even as you try to make for the exit.

But there is no escape—and it's not like you want to get away from him.

Kyle's muscled arm catches you by the stomach. He hauls you against his chest, even as you wiggle and squirm, lashing out as if that will do anything. His strength is apparent in the way he confidently keeps you close, unafraid that you might accidentally clip his jaw with your knuckles.

The camera moves in as he brings the machete up to your throat, pressing the rubber blade against your jugular.

"Stop moving," he growls, the mask muffling the sound.

You cease your squirming, both hands grasping his forearm. The edge of the mask digs into the side of your face, and his hard cock presses roughly against your back.

"Are you going to be a good girl?" he asks. The low gruffness in his voice sends a bolt of heat straight to your pussy.

You whimper, but say nothing.

Kyle lightly slaps the inside of your upper thigh. "Answer me."

"I'll be good," you gasp, the sting of his strike causing your muscles to clench, ass bucking into his pelvis.

"You'll be what?" This time he squeezes your thigh.

"A good girl."

He makes a pleased sound as the machete falls away and his arm releases you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Kyle uses his grip to turn you around, to force you to look at his face. With the mask, all you can see are his eyes. They're in shadow, but fuck, they're gorgeous.

With a final squeeze, Kyle forces you to your knees. His cock bobs in front of your face. Your lips part, but Kyle keeps a firm grip, allowing nothing. He is in control.

Your gaze is entirely focused on him. You have no idea where the camera is, and there is no point in looking. It's not your concern.

"Wider," he instructs, and you present your mouth to him, tongue out. "That's it."

The head of his cock taps against your tongue and then slides back and forth over its surface, teasing what's to come.

You want it. You want him.

Kyle's hand moves from the back of your neck to the top of your head. He fists your hair there, and then guides your mouth around his cock, forcing you to take every inch of him. The cool rubber of the machete presses against your neck. Your hands rise, anchoring yourself by grasping the front of his bare thighs.

You hold on as he fucks your throat. Keeping your gaze on the mask, you relax your muscles, focusing on not gagging. Kyle is more length than girth, and the head of his cock roughly hits the back of your throat with each stroke.

"That's a good girl," he rasps. "My perfect slut."

The praise is wonderful. Perfect. You hold on to it, humming with contentment around him, the vibrations making him shiver. In your peripheral, you notice the glint of a camera lens but you don't glance over. You focus on Kyle, and how eager you are to get both of you off.

Kyle is rough but not overly slow. He's careful not to go too far. His movements are restrained but controlled, and that only turns you on more. One of your hands slips between your thighs and you find yourself blissfully wet.

You circle your clit and then dive downward to slip one finger, and then two, inside your pussy. Repeating the motions only builds the oncoming orgasm like a viper hidden in a pile of leaves, waiting to strike.

"Are you fucking yourself with your fingers?" Kyle's question isn't meant to be answered. It's rhetorical. He knows you are. He can see it.

With his cock in your mouth, you're unable to answer. One watery tear rolls down your cheek and Kyle lightly taps the machete blade against your throat.

"Not being a good girl. Didn't tell you to do that."

The machete disappears. Using his grip on the top of your head, Kyle guides your mouth off and away with a wet pop. He drags you to your feet, and as you move to run from him, Kyle presses the tip of the machete against your stomach.

"Get on the table," he growls. "Now."

You glance over your shoulder briefly to figure out where it is. The path is clear—just a few steps and you're on it. Kyle prods you with another poke of the machete.

Moving backward, you eventually bump into the edge of the table. Kyle does not help you up but the top is just below hip-level. You get on easily.

"On your back. Legs spread."

The command in his tone is undeniable. You do exactly as Kyle says. The camera is directly behind him, following his forward advance. Kyle wraps his hand around your ankle and tugs, dragging you to the very edge until you're close to falling off.

Without ceremony or elegance, he tears away your thong and tosses it aside. Kyle lines himself up and thrusts.

"Fucking hell," he groans.

You moan loudly, toes curling as your pussy takes all of him. The stretch is just enough to hurt but entirely euphoric.

Kyle slams the machete down onto the table next to you. In seconds, he has one hand over the front of your throat and the other on your inner thigh, keeping you wide as he drives in and out of your body.

This is where he's roughest, and you don't care at all. It's delicious. Glorious. From this angle you can watch every corded muscle shiver as he moves.

And the eye contact.

Kyle won't stop looking at you. His gaze is firm. Heavy. You are trapped by it as much as by his strength. His hand on your inner thigh slides further inward until he's almost on your pelvis. The camera shifts to point directly at where your bodies meet just as Kyle's thumb starts rubbing slow circles around your clit.

The building orgasm shivers outward, stretching into your limbs. A sense of numbness comes with it, as if you're floating above your body. It lingers there at the heightened apex before crashing down around you.

Your body tenses—seizes. Kyle groans, continuing to thrust through it. His thumb keeps stroking, and the intensity continues, wave after wave flooding through your system until you near overstimulation.

Kyle's thrusting increases, a pounding rhythm that signals his coming end.

"Fuck," he groans, hand around your throat tightening slightly.

The fingers on your thigh dig in, and Kyle stills, his sigh a gentle rainfall. You feel your pussy flood with warmth as his release hits him. You see the shudder, watch as his eyelids close behind the mask, and the keen pulse of his veins in his arms.

Kyle thrusts once. Twice. And then with a heavy sigh, grasps the base of his cock, stroking it as he slowly eases out. The camera comes into view, panning inward to catch the sight of his cum. Kyle keeps you still, gaze lingering on you. He's waiting for the camera's retreat.

Just as it backs away, Kyle's grip on you loosens. You're the pretend, helpless victim no longer.

Gripping the machete, you strike out. Kyle avoids your terrible swing, and that gives you your change. Off the table and onto the floor, you rush toward the exit, not looking back though you hear his enraged growl and the swoosh of air as he lunges for you.

You disappear, nearly stumbling into the next room as the director calls for the end of the scene.

"Cut!"

You catch yourself before falling forward, a little breathless. Poking your head out from behind the curtain, the set team comes rushing in, moving objects out.

"Let's set the next scene."

As you step out, Rodolfo and someone from the makeup department rush in. You're offered your robe which you politely decline but accept the water.

"You good, love?" Kyle approaches, removing his mask, gaze expectant and observing.

"Yeah. I'm good," you reply, taking another gulp of water.

His observation isn't one of keen interest but one of concern. He's checking you over. Making sure he didn't harm you.

"I didn't hurt you?"

You're a little sore but it feels good. "No," you answer. "Promise. I'm fine."

He grins, relief clear on his face. "Thought I might have been too much."

You shake your head. "Not at all."

Rodolfo checks his watch. "Ready for the next scene? Or would you like a break?"

You cap the water and hand it to him. "I can handle it."

He nods. "Be ready in five."

After a bathroom break, a brief touch-up, and a gentle cleanse between the thighs, you're herded to the next mark.

"We're going in ten...nine..."

Your robe is removed and water whisked away. The camera is somewhere in the room already, ready for you to step out from behind the curtain.

"...three...two...one."

You emerge, knowing that this might be the scene you need to call a stop to. Not that it'll be Johnny's fault, but the place is absolutely ghastly.

It's set up like a meat processing warehouse. The room is bathed in red light. Fake bodies wrapped up in cloth hang from the ceiling along with a few hooks on chains. There are two "exits" covered in plastic strip curtains. One is a true exit and the other is where Johnny is supposed to emerge from, but you have no idea which.

The camera follows your forward movements as you navigate around the hanging set pieces. Against the wall is a stainless-steel table. On it are bloody body parts all haphazardly stacked on top of each other.

As you make it to the middle of the room, Johnny appears—not that you see him. You don't notice him at all. It isn't until he revs the chainsaw he's holding that you do. It startles you so bad that you stumble backward into a fake body, almost tripping on your own foot.

Johnny charges forward, much faster than Kyle. The hanging bodies, hooks, and chains are in the way. You try to push them aside, to run as you're supposed to, but it hampers your movement.

Johnny catches you quickly.

Cornering you between a trio of hanging bodies, Johnny circles the space, revving the chainsaw as he walks. There is no chain on it, but he doesn't point it at you. He keeps it pointed away from his body and yours.

Transferring the chainsaw to one hand, Johnny snags your upper arm, dragging you against him. You beat at his chest, the vinyl apron slippery when your skin makes contact. Nothing happens. Johnny is solid.

With his grip on your arm, Johnny hauls you toward the body-covered table. He sets the chainsaw down and then both hands are on you. Spinning you around to face him, you attempt to fight him off even as he restrains you, attaching handcuffs to your wrists with ease.

“Let me go!” you shriek, but Johnny only laughs. It’s manic and high—completely deranged. It’s wonderful acting. You’ll give him that.

With a sharp tug on the connecting chain, Johnny sends you stumbling. He steps out of the way, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp slap. You yelp but manage not to fall. The smirk on his face tells you everything. He’s loving this.

You attempt to strike out at him but Johnny is so much stronger.

Using his massive, muscled arms, Johnny wrestles for control, winning easily. You’re herded to the center of the room. At one of the hooks, Johnny lifts your arms over your head, hooking the connecting chain on the nearest one.

Everything stretches, but it’s not painful. It's a good stretch and just enough to keep you on your feet but appear as if you're hanging in the air. It's a great trick. You're on full display for the camera and for Johnny.

You’re facing away from Johnny, and you have no idea where the camera is. All you’re aware of is your breathing, and the swelling tightness in your muscles as the stretch starts to curl forth a gentle ache.

You’re hanging there. Untouched. Waiting.

There’s a gentle brush against the back of your thigh. You jerk against the touch, tilting your head to catch a glimpse of him. Johnny appears before you like a phantom. He steps into your view slowly. The red light bathes him in a blood-tinged glow.

Johnny grins, grasping your chin in his hand.

“Are you going to remain a good girl for us?” His Scottish lilt is sinful. You find yourself leaning forward as if you’ll kiss him. That grin softens, and then becomes a wicked thing.

Johnny drops to his knees before you.

His hands grab the backs of your upper thighs, lifting you off your feet. He guides your legs over his shoulders, hands adjusting to support your ass. Johnny’s mouth is on your pussy immediately, tongue teasing your entrance. The fake plastic nose he wears perfectly presses against your clit. It rubs back and forth against it as he devours your pussy.

The orgasm comes quickly and with sharp intensity. You scream out your pleasure, head falling back, eyes closed as Johnny continues to feast between your thighs. Your toes curl, the muscles in your lower back seizing and relaxing with each wave.

With a final lick, Johnny tilts his head back, smug with himself.

You’re gasping for air, chest heaving as Johnny returns your feet to solid ground. He ascends, hand undoing the ties that keep his black vinyl apron in place. He circles you as he does it, a teasing dance before it falls away.

Your gaze immediately drops, and fuck—Johnny is thick. There’s a decent amount of length but this man is all girth.

He palms his hard cock, gaze enraptured with the sight of you. Circling you like a predator, Johnny takes his opportunity to run his hands over your body, to touch everything. It’s been he comes to a stop behind you that the anticipation builds.

Johnny’s face presses against your neck as his hands grab hold of your hips. His cock rubs against your ass and then slides between your thighs. He rocks back and forth, coating himself in your wetness. The head of his cock pokes at your sensitive clit.

You whimper, and Johnny gives you relief.

With his grip on your hips, Johnny angles himself at your entrance. A quick thrust, and Johnny is home to the hilt. Your thighs are pressed against each other, and the thickness of Johnny’s cock is only intensified by the limited space.

He remains behind you, pumping steadily as you hang from the hook. Johnny’s hands on your hips delve, squeezing your thighs. He brings one palm down in a quick slap against it, your thigh jiggling from the strike.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispers into your ear, and you know that’s only for you to hear.

While Kyle was a bit rough with you, but Johnny is steady, his rhythm hitting all the right beats until you’re numb with lust. You fall into it, heading leaning back against his as Johnny as his way with you.

At his end, Johnny’s groan morphs into a whimper. He comes inside you, his grip tight as he holds you flush against him. A few more thrusts and then Johnny is pulling you, forcing your thighs apart to show the camera the mess there.

You expect a pause as the camera lingers there. What you don’t expect is for Johnny to put his mouth back to your pussy, to suck his cum out of it, to stand and force your head back, slipping his fingers between your lips only to spit his cum down your throat.

He grins at you, licks his lips.

This dirty fucker.

Your thumb finds the small button on the cuffs. Like everything else, it’s a prop. You press the button. The chain breaks as it’s supposed to. The moment your feet are flat, you take off, rushing toward the exit.

You hear pounding footsteps and then—

“Cut!”

Johnny almost knocks you down on the way out. “Shit,” he gasps, grabbing on to you before you topple forward.

“Take ten!”

A robe is thrust at you, and Johnny is pulled away as someone else shoves another water into your face and someone else fusses with your hair and makeup.

It’s the maze that’s next. This one is completely staged compared to the other scenes. At a certain point, you, Johnny, and Kyle will converge on a singular point. Johnny on one side of you. Kyle on the other.

When you’re set, you enter into the makeshift maze. You don’t need to go far. Just a few feet. Johnny is right behind you, every step heavy and loud as he navigates the maze. Only a couple striders further and you’re trapped.

Kyle steps out of the dark and you come to a halt. But as you retreat, Johnny is right there, blocking your exit. Their hands are on you immediately. You have no control. You give in to them, allowing them everything. It’s nice to surrender, to hand control off to someone else.

They move you into position. Johnny’s cock slides home, filling your pussy. Kyle takes the other side, and then you’re full in both holes, groaning loudly with each thrust. Your hands seek, fingers digging into whatever they can find.

Over your shoulder, Kyle pushes up his mask enough to reveal his lips. You go in, tasting Kyle��s sweetness. His hand grasps the front of your throat, dragging you in for a deeper kiss.

Johnny isn’t one to be left out.

As Kyle breaks away from the kiss, Johnny reaches for him, the two men locking lips next to your face as they both move in and out of your body. You drape your arm over the back of your Johnny’s neck, and all you know is the perfect way they fill you, and the feel of their lips against your skin.

And when it’s over, you’re a little disappointed that it couldn’t continue.

There’s another break—this one longer than the others. Kate’s assistant massages your muscles, and she checks in before the graveyard scene with John Price. You’ll truly need some rest before the final scene with Simon Riley and the rest of the men, but you can do one more.

But only one.

And it’s the easiest of the bunch.

There is no chasing. No running.

You play the helpless damsel, pushing at John’s chest as if you don’t want it. All around you is smoke and shadow. The headstones around the two of you create a little circle, almost as if you’re in the center of a ritual.

You’re put on your hands and knees on the ground, the fog from the fog machine swallowing up your hands and legs. Price is behind you, already pumping, already taking from you like the wolf he’s supposed to be.

The makeup department did wonders. They gave him sharp teeth, yellow contacts, and a partially transformed look to him. It’s brilliant, really. He looks very much the monster.

Each stroke is deep. John presses on your lower back, forcing you into a different position, pushing your ass higher into the air. Your legs widen and then John increases his pace, his pelvis smacking loudly against yours. Skin meets skin, and your pussy quivers with excitement as the orgasm builds.

You stroke yourself between your legs, leaning on one side to keep yourself upright enough not to slip. You’re slippery between your thighs, and you can’t help but trace where your bodies meet. Your nail grazes John’s cock, and he emits a low moan.

John grips your ass harder, and then he’s pounding into you, using your body like it belongs to him. You lightly bite your lip, trying to focus on your building orgasm. Each stroke comes with a spank, jerking you against your teasing fingers.

“Oh—fuck,” you mewl as your orgasm comes raging forward, curling outward.

John fucks you through it, growling like a fucking animal behind you. When your orgasm wanes, his hand grasps the back of your throat, holding you in place as he continues. All you have to do is sink into it, to grin with contentment and let him have what he wants.

There’s something primal to the way he holds you down and fucks you. It’s different from the way Kyle kept you in place or the way Johnny fucked you. Even in their roughness they were sweet. John is all business, and you’re perfectly fine with that.

His cock is fucking perfect, his dominating demeanor a soothingly sensual experience. There’s something to be said about giving in—to submitting.

But it’s after the extended break that completely alters your brain chemistry.

Simon is the last. The very last.

There is no chase. No true lead up.

This room is set in hell. There are fake flames, reddish-orange backlighting, and a throne. Simons sits on that throne, lounging casually, legs wide, his cock and heavy balls on full display. He’s dressed like the devil, but there are no plastic horns or dollar store red cape. He is perfectly painted in red and black. From his head are twisting black horns that curl up and back. They’ve given him red contacts and fake canines for a vampiric bite.

You are in his thrall, sitting at the base of his throne when the camera turns on. There is a leather collar around your neck connected to a silver chain that Simon holds in his fist. He lightly tugs on it, urging you forward.

Your hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, coaxing him toward hardness. You tease the head with a swirl of your tongue before taking him into your mouth. Simon fists the chain, twisting another link around his fist. Every time you take him deeper, Simon shortens the chain further and further.

At first, there is no tightness. It grows shorter. Shorter still. The leather begins to bite into your skin. With each twist of Simon’s wrist, the leash shortens. It draws you closer to Simon, leaving no room for you to retreat—to get air.

Your nostrils flare as you breathe through your nose. Relaxing your throat, you suck him down, cupping his testicles gently in tandem with your movements. The only sound he makes is a grunt and you have no idea if that’s good or bad.

But his cock is hard. Solid. You can’t take all of him or you’ll fucking choke on it.

He tugs sharply on the leash. "In my lap, pet."

You do as Simon instructs, standing between his legs before turning around toward the camera. You sink down into his lap, and Simon leans back, gently guiding you to straddle his lap, legs wide and draped over his thick thighs. He rubs his cock against your pussy, and then you’re sinking down on him.

John arrives from the dark, still in costume. He prowls forward, coming up to the left side of the throne. He grabs your wrist as he comes to a stop, guiding it to his cock. You fist John just as Simon thrusts upward.

Kyle arrives soon after. He kneels in front of you and Simon, teasing your clit with his fingers. It starts as a gentle stroke before his tongue replaces them, swirling little circles against your clit. Simon thrusts upward again, and your pussy clenches.

Just before your orgasm crests, Kyle’s tongue descends, stroking against the space where Simon’s cock intrudes. He descends further, lightly sucking one of Simon’s balls into his mouth. It’s brief. Just a blip. And then his tongue is back on your clit.

Your orgasm comes raging forward, but just as your mouth opens to cry out, Johnny appears, grabbing the back of your head, filling your mouth with his cock.

Your body is theirs to use.

Theirs to enjoy.

Simon thrusts upward, and Kyle draws back, his lips glossy with your arousal. He puts the mask back into place, and Simon lifts you off his cock. You’re picked up. Turned around. You sink back down on Simon’s cock, and Kyle is right there, adding his cock to your pussy. It’s an incredibly tight fit. They rock their hips gentle as John and Johnny touch your body, guiding your hand and mouth back to them.

One of them comes inside you—but you have no idea who before you’re full of just one cock. There are two sets of hands on your ass, bouncing you on whoever’s cock is filling you up. You’re simply clinging on, fingers digging into Simon’s shoulders. His head dips, the horns brushing against your cheek as his tongue circles a nipple.

John grabs the bottom half of your face. “Open,” he instructs and you do so, eagerly sticking out your tongue. John jerks himself until his cum explodes on your tongue. He tips your head to the side and Johnny follow suit.

“Swallow,” growls John and you do exactly that.

Someone groans, and whoever is inside you comes. You’re lifted off Simon’s lap, brought to standing, and then promptly bent over the arm of the throne. Simon’s cock returns to your mouth, and someone settles behind you, spreading your legs before sliding inside.

Every time someone comes in your pussy, you’re moved. Switched. Bent over. Spread wide. Forced onto your knees. You take it all. Enjoying every orgasm. Enjoying every touch.

As your energy fades, it is Simon that takes the final fuck, who brings you into his lap. His hands are firm on your ass, bouncing you up and down his shaft as the camera zooms in on it. You are lost in him—lost in the bliss that pulses throughout your body.

You are perfectly fucked.

Perfectly content.

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