#referenced past dubcon

[ashintheairlikesnow]

“What’s wrong with your friend?” For 5 sentence game

CW: Some frank references to dubcon/noncon, also Juliet is fucking calculated and I love her

Beringer's masterlist is here

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"What's wrong with your friend?"

"What?" Juliet looks over her shoulder, blinking a few times, trying to figure out who in the hell Gina could possibly be talking about. There's at least a dozen people eating dinner in here already, and the other two dozen or so will come in on their own, stragglers fighting the wind cutting their cheeks and freezing their lungs.

"Who... who do you mean, Gina?"

She doesn't exactly have a lot of friends. She holds her bowl out while Gina ladles the soup into it.

It's been bubbling on the stove all day in a giant pot and smells like sheer heaven, slow-cooked pork with hominy and tomatillos and a pile of cilantro as big as her head waiting for everyone to decide what they want. Juliet looks down at her steaming bowl and adds cilantro, radishes, cabbage strips, a dollop of sour cream. The others add different things, and she thinks about how when she worked, she mostly just ate shit from the convenience store. Sometimes she was lucky enough to snag a tamale from the tamale cart.

Sometimes, her clients took her out to fancy dinner at restaurants that had four-month waits for reservations, but none of that food ever tasted as good as the tamale straight from a big plastic bucket, wrapped in corn husk, making her fingers damp and slick with lard and condensation, burning her tongue. Sometimes Romeo was with her and would buy her one with money he got washing dishes at restaurants, paid in cash with no question asked. He used to make more selling his mouth and hands, but he's got too many scars for that, now, he said. People want Romantics to look young and flirty and like innocence defiled, and it's hard to look innocent when half your face is a twisted line pulling your mouth to one side.

Still, he made life work.

She hopes, sometimes, that he's still out there, still making it work. But life expectancies for runaway Romantics aren't more than a couple of years, and he'd already outlived his by the time she met him.

She'd love to see him one more time, though. Those tamales, sitting on the curb with Romeo giggling over them with fruity jamaica soda fizzing up her nose, those were the greatest things she ever ate, the best times she had. Those tamales, and Romeo's good-natured cursing, tasted like home, like laughter and Christmas, in ways she isn't allowed to remember.

The posole that Gina makes, though, that brings memories, too. Headaches, sure, but lately she can get through the headaches, more and more.

Gina snorts. "Him," She says, gesturing with her ladle. Broth shimmery with pork fat drips off of it, unnoticed. She has tendrils of dark curls stuck to her forehead and cheeks and the back of her neck, where her heavy hair is swept up in something both like and unlike a bun. "That one. He's with you all the time lately."

Oh. Beringer.

Juliet shrugs. "He's not really my friend. He's the one that came in with the handler out in the shed. I've been helping him figure stuff out here. Might as well be useful before Brock notices I don't do shit around here."

"Brock's a softie, he won't make you do anything you don't want to do." Gina leans around Juliet to look more closely at Beringer. "Huh. Ophie said he was a daycare pet."

"He was, I think."

"Really? But he's..."

"Handsome?"

Gina smiles, slightly shamefaced. "Well... I just. He looks more like one of your kind, is all I'm saying."

Juliet snorts. "My kind. Right. The whores, you mean. The giant fucking sluts."

Gina turns bright red. "I didn't say that!"

"Thought it, though. Anyway, we're all good-looking, remember? It's part of the draw of the whole damn system. Get a pretty person to do whatever degrading shit you dream about with a smile on their face and a song in their heart." Juliet laughs without humor. Outside, the wind whirls snow past the windows. It stopped actually snowing a while back, but it's dry stuff, easily lifted by the breeze that whistles past the corners of every house. It races itself over the salted, plowed roads like horses hellbent on making it to the horizon.

"Well. Not everyone has to... you know." Gina's smile fades, and she won't meet Juliet's eyes as she says it.

Juliet lifts her chin. It's not her fucking fault, she reminds herself, that she only knows one way to get by. It's not her fault, she was made that way, and you can't blame someone for doing what they know. "Trust me. You might not have had to fuck them, but you still had to act like less than a person, and that's a kind of fucking, too."

Gina swallows, hard. Silence draws out, and then Juliet stomps away, over to the table where Beringer sits. The daycare pet watches the window, lost in his own mind, a cup of coffee long since gone cold in front of him.

"When's the last time you ate, huh?" Juliet sits her tray down a little too loudly, watching him jump in surprise. There are scars on him, too - she can see it on his hands, creeping up the side of his neck, just barely visible. He has more under his shirt, like cobwebs of dead skin.

"Wh-... oh, hi." His smile is brief, but gentle. She could see how he worked well with kids. There's no malice, in a smile like that. No aggression like the men at bars she'd pick up, no desire or demand like the more expensive clients who scheduled in advance. It's just a soft smile, easy as an older brother waking up for church on a Sunday morning so your mother won't know you slept in.

The little girl that's usually glued to his side is off in the play area in the big building where everyone eats, giggling through tag with another girl. One of the Domestics had come with a child in tow, too, unable to bear the thought of losing her. No one has asked if the child is hers.

Juliet wonders if she was a happy kid, when she was that age.

She'll never know.

"Hi doesn't answer my question, Beringer."

"Oh... uh. I don't know." He goes back to watching the window, and she sighs.

"He's not coming out of that shack any faster because of you making goo-goo eyes, you know."

"I know." Beringer leans forward, resting on his elbow, hand in his hair and palm against his forehead. "Rye says he's got a cough starting up. If helping me escape is what gets him killed-"

"Then it's exactly what he fucking deserves."

Beringer looks up, startled, at the flat, sharp edge of her voice. She watches his adam's apple bob as he swallows, sees the slight flare of whites around his eyes. "... Juliet. I told you, he didn't want to do it anymore-"

"Yeah, I hate to let you in on this, but that doesn't matter. Not even a little bit." She smiles to cut the sting in her words, but it doesn't work. His own eyes narrow in response. "Look. Just. You're still in it, I can tell, and it makes sense since you're so new at being out. But he's a handler, Ber. He was a handler, he's still a handler. You don't stop being a handler once you sign their fucking contract. We all know that."

Beringer's jaw works, but he only looks away, back to the window. "He's..."

"What? Nice?" Juliet laughs, bitter as raw chocolate. "Oh, sure, no doubt. Nice to you, you were taking care of his precious baby girl. But I bet he beat the shit out of someone else as soon as he got downstairs to the training rooms, or had one with a mouth on his cock and told the poor trainee it's breakfast. Handlers aren't nice."

"... he isn't like that-"

"They're all like that. You think it was just Romantic handlers who came to my training room to have their fun?" She smiles, and it's a grimace. A snarl. "God, no. I had to spread my legs for every kind of handler you can imagine. At least the Romantic handlers were fucking honest about it."

Beringer stares at her. He has beautiful dark eyes. The kind you could fall into. She can see why the handler out in the shed followed him here, brought him. She'd have done anything for those eyes, too, once upon a time.

"Stop," he whispers. "He was never like that."

"Guarantee he fuckin' was."

"You don't know him."

"Neither do you. Handlers go through fucking months of training, Beringer. They only keep the ones they know will do the dirty work, the worst sons of bitches, the worst bastards, the worst people on earth. I probably sucked fifty handler cocks in training, or more, and you know what?"

He looks like he'll be sick, and some part of her feels good at seeing one of the lucky ones realize what it takes to keep existing when you've been what Juliet had to be to survive. "What?"

"The only ones I saw wearing wedding rings weren't wearing them anymore a few months later. They can't stay married because they don't give a fuck about anyone but themselves."

"His wife-... Marc's wife hated what he did for work, she left-"

"She left? Lucky woman. You should be that smart. Take the kid, go to Canada, and let the handler out there rot. He deserves it. He let plenty of us rot, didn't he? That great good man out there? Looked the other way, probably did plenty of shit he isn't telling you about. While his little girl learned her ABCs upstairs, he taught one of us how to clean grout knowing they'd get shocked half to death if they ever paused for a single. damn. second."

Beringer's eyes go back to the little girl. She's stopped playing. She's watching a show about a cartoon dog, now, standing with a stuffed tiger crooked in her arm. "I-I don't-... know. I haven't really asked him... if he..."

"I know." She sighs, trying to soften her voice, and reaches out to lay a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I'm being really rude about this, but I swear, it's because I'm worried. If you let him take you to Canada, he'll just want to keep you, to use you. They just have people they want to use. He's using you, Ber."

"He's not." Beringer shakes his head, running his hand over his mouth. He's pale, haunted around the eyes. "He's not. He wouldn't have thought of it on his own. I... I talked to him for months, let him think I'd kiss him, made friends... flirted... did the things I saw them do on TV. I used him."

"Now you don't need him any longer." Juliet nudges his foot under the table with his own, until he looks back at her and she can give him her best wry smile. It's as much a performance as the flirty little grins she'd been so good at once upon a time. "So let him go. Thanks for all the fish, thanks for your baby girl, now go to hell."

"... Rye, he was Rye's handler. Rye said he was always so nice-"

"Right, sure. Bet he was. Then, once Rye knew how to count pills and give baths to old ladies and smile his face off, he sent him on to a house where he got the shit beat out of him by his owner's daughter over and over and over again until he ended up in the clinic four times in a year. Even when he's nice, he's not nice."

Beringer is silent for a long, long time. "What do I tell Mallie when she asks where her daddy is, then, huh? What do I tell her?"

"Tell her he died." Juliet shrugs. "He will anyway, if you're not here to vouch for him any longer. Tell her whatever the hell you want. She's not even old enough to remember you lied. She'll never know. She'll call you daddy after a few months, dad in a few years. You'll be the only father she ever knows. You can watch her grow up, knowing that he can't. Erase him from everyone who mattered to him. Just like they do to us. Take his life and make it serve your needs, what you want, leave him for dead when you're done, and once he's gone through all of it and died after, he'll have paid for everything he ever did to the rest of us who weren't you."

Beringer's breath catches. She thrills, just a little, whenever she lets a man see inside her mind and he looks that frightened afterward. She's never hurt a man in her life - but she's frightened a few, and it's always felt so good.

Romeo was never scared of her, though. He would just find some way to twist her idea and make it even more terrifying. They laughed all the time about the things they could come up with to have their revenge.

"Christ Almighty," He whispers. She's not even sure he knows he said it.

She eats her soup, delighting in the heat and lime and salt and spice, in silence until she's done. She stands to take her dishes back over to the pile of them next to sink, deciding she'll make sure she washes for a half an hour or so to help earn her keep, and pauses.

He's staring out the window again.

"You don't owe him anything." She makes her voice as calm and as gentle as she can. "Understand?"

He doesn't look at her, or answer, but she knows he's thinking about what she said.

Outside, the snow blown by the wind makes sure you can't even see the shack where that handler is being held. Only the fence, and the darkness beyond.

Right where every handler belongs.

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP DAY 6 - "You lied to me"

CW: parental Whumper, hypnosis, emotional manipulation, interrogation, conditioning

Previous | [Masterlist] | Next

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"There are still plenty of thoughts inside your head, so let's get them in order."

Shepard was intently focused on his son. Above now dried tear tracks, his unblinking attention denied Ben to be unguarded for even one second, whilst his assertive but nevertheless mellow tone carried him along a carved-out path.

Possessive strokes down his back dragged him further: "Down, just down, always deeper down. We can't choose our sorrows, but you can choose to let them go for a moment, to let me help forget them. Follow my lead."

In and out, it was impossible to resist the pace he was taught so well.

"I would count you down, but you know all my old tricks."

Shepard was not naive, he had to be extremely lucky that his charade still worked after all these months Reuben spent on his own, poisoning his mind and spirit out in the world. That he still responded obediently to the suggestions of the past was a goddamn miracle. One he would gladly use to its full potential.

"Remember all the times we did this before," Shepard repeated for good measure. So many, many times, half of which Ben couldn't even recall. Today was far from the first instance he helped to quiet his ward's nettled thoughts.

It was about time to rectify old lies.

"You always knew where Lukas was, though we both know you claimed otherwise," Shepard sighed low, "Will you tell me now?"

The soft face on his shoulder began to stir back to wakefulness, his bottom lip scrunched up in painful guilt. Rough start.

"Shh, forget that, it was a stupid question. You did nothing wrong." Comforting reassurance and soft circles drawn onto his temples helped to smooth out any risen qualm. "I know it's difficult for you to stay alert during this state, so I'm keeping this easy for us. Just Yes or No from now on, you don't even have to say a word."

Reuben showed himself more agreeable and leaned back against him.

"Is Lukas doing well?"

A small nod. Good.

"Is he eating enough? You know how he always skips breakfast."

Again, Ben nodded against the rough wool of Shepard's sweater while the same tediously tried to keep this interview on track: he could embrace his success later, when both of his sons were near him again. However, the abandoned father was ready to reap the fruits of his endeavor.

"Do you want to tell me where he is?"

Ben quickly shook his head. No, not yet.

"Mhh, I understand."

It felt horrible how easy it was to make him tell the truth, but Shepard had no interest nor intention to question his parenting methods at the moment. He knew exactly what limits confined them: he couldn't make Reuben do or forget anything he didn't want to, at least if he failed to be persuasive enough.

Shepard's boy was easy to read and just as simple as he was loyal to both his brother and father. But not in equal parts, Shepard was at a certain disadvantage he ought to correct. 

Children like them were too inept for the world outside the settlement, so it was no wonder Reuben merely crumpled under the first selfless act of affection in a long time. If his forgiveness was not given freely, Shepherd could just rip it from his fragile heart. For both their peace of mind, nothing else.

"You know how much I love you, both of you."

The shake of Ben's head said it all. It hadn't even been a question, but the blunt answer pricked nonetheless.

"Oh, well, I love you more than the world. I did everything to get you back!" Shepard mused softly, "If not me, what about the rest of our family?"

Kind memories of the people who waited for him outside rinsed Ben of any stray thoughts and drifted with him into the depths. He never wanted to hurt any of them with his decisions. 

"Did you miss us?"

Ben affirmed this shyly, grabbing a corner of Shepard's sweater.

"You are safe here, right?"

A nod.

"You are safe with me."

At the claim, Ben's head rolled around aimlessly, as if he was trying to stir awake again. Shepard tutted; this was a tricky one.

"You are here with me and the others, all together. We watch out for each other, we keep each other secure."

Yes, this made sense. Through the pleasant, thick fog that filled his head, Ben knew it to be sincere.

"Here, you are safe. With us, you are safe."

Safe...together. He couldn't possibly disagree with these smooth words.

"You are safe and loved by us all, we were awaiting your return. Always putting an extra plate on the dinner table for when you decide to come back." 

Shepard had to endure countless days of waiting before accepting that his youngest would stay gone. He had searched for him for so long it made him sick with fear, not knowing if his sons were hurt or fraternizing with God knows what kind of people. Yet, he didn't want for Reuben to realize the damage he had caused, not when he was so calm and open for the right input. 

"And today our wishes were granted!"

Warmth, safety, love. Encased by these sensations, Ben's mind caught itself slipping into easy relaxation once again.

"Can you say it for me, can you tell me that you're safe and loved?"

"'m safe and loved," he slurred quietly against the wool. It felt good to be here in his dad's arms, it felt right.

"That's my boy, I knew we could stand above the past." 

Shepard's sweet promises hugged his exhausted soul, he was too tired of running, adapting, changing. They tried to teach Ben what to say and what to hide out there, but the only thing he understood was to never be himself; another truth nobody could ever tell his brother. He remembered exactly how angry and disappointed Luke loved to get with him.

Cupping his face carefully, Shepard pushed him to sit straight up: "Open your eyes."

With a wide, empty stare but not awake in the slightest, Ben continued to sway back and forth. He was unsure what Dad wanted from him and too dizzy to care, silently begging to be allowed back into the stream of soft, dark dreaminess. Tears collected at the corners of his eyes, but Shepard was far from done with him: "Ben, tell me what you are when you're with us."

"I'm safe and I'm loved," tumbled from his lips without thinking twice about it.

"Yes, you are." Relief washed over Ben like a tsunami: he didn't do anything wrong after all, nobody hated him here.

"Now close these heavy eyes and relax."

As he sagged back down, the inward pull doubled its force. He felt that the soap bubble his brain had become threatened to pop. Too much to focus on, nothing to think about, clutching onto the inner peace Dad had so kindly given him. 

"We all love you so much. Missing is too weak a word to explain how desperately we wanted you back. You are always wanted here." 

Every word was law.

Shepard should feel dirty at using Reuben's obvious weaknesses so bluntly against him, but not today. Today they would celebrate his return and plan the one they enjoyed as soon as the other prodigal son decided to come home. A selfish sting inside Shepard's heart forced the next question out: "Did you miss me?"

A final nod made tears run down Ben's face. Shepard hugged him tighter, as if he never intended to let go again:

"I missed you too, starshine, it's going to be alright. Everything falls into place when we are together."

Numb with joy, Ben felt too tired to hold on to the present any longer, a problem his father gladly helped him with: "Sleep now, sleep and let my words manifest as truth in your mind."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[venusbyline]

Aemond Targaryen — The Beloved Son

— summary: If Aemond could not seek love from the only woman who would take him in her arms and caress his hair, then he needed to find a replacement. An older woman who could make him feel safe and loved again.

— pairing: Aemond Targaryen x brothel worker!reader

— type: smut, dark

— word count: 4.9k

— tags/warnings: female!reader, DEAD DOVE: DO NO EAT, rough sex, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, mommy kink, breeding kink, breast worship, nipple licking, nipple play, overstimulation, pregnancy kink, dacryphilia, rough kissing, disturbed themes, age gap (older woman/younger man), Aemond is 19 and Reader is 29, biting, crying, pre-relationship, unhealthy relationships, referenced character death, Lucerys Velaryon mentioned, past underage sex, past child abuse, religious guilt and conflict, crisis of faith, blood licking, implied forced pregnancy, mommy issues, labor mentioned, implied Targtower Incest (mother/son) BUT NOT REALLY, implied Aemond Targaryen/Alicent Hightower BUT NOT REALLY, past Targcest (older sister/younger brother), past Aemond Targaryen/Helaena Targaryen, referenced non-consensual somnophilia, referenced rape/non-con, referenced breastfeeding, referenced lactation kink, minor Helaegon, Aegon Targaryen mentioned, past Aemond Targaryen/Madam Sylvi, underage dubcon, minor Alicent Hightower/Criston Cole, curse words, mild angst, ambiguous/open ending, switch!Aemond, sub!reader, canon divergence (Pre-The Dance of the Dragons), porn with plot. no use of y/n, english is not my first language.

— author's notes¹: I decided to explore Aemond's "mommy issues" side. There's no real incest between Aemond and Alicent, but I put it as a trigger warning because there are scenes about them that can be uncomfortable to read. And also because I see their mother and son relationship too complex and intense. In my opinion, Aemond had an adoration and love for his mother in the season one that the writers left aside during the season two.

— author's notes²: Furthermore, I believe that Aemond's loss of virginity with Madam Sylvi may also influenced a part of his weird behaviour. So this time I wrote about the consequences of this in Aemond's mind, even a few years later. I see what happened with him in the books/show as a real child abuse, so don't read this fic if you've triggers with these themes. I do not support any form of abuse, this is just fiction.

— crossposting: AO3

❥ about me • Aemond masterlist • HOTD masterlist • main masterlist

Aemond needed to vent. He needed some time away from all the chaos that must have been in the Red Keep since he confessed to killing Lucerys. Some time away from all the chaos he caused.

He remembered everything quite accurately. How he arrived at the castle with wide eyes and his body drenched, entering his mother's chambers without even knocking on the door. Alicent had let out a loud scream at the sudden appearance and covered her slim body with the white bedsheets. Despite there being no one there with her, his mother's body was sweaty and her cheeks were flushed, as if she had cum just a few minutes ago. At first he ignored the strange sight and muttered, with his voice trembling and weak, that he had become a kinslayer.

He remembered explaining confusingly how he was trying to scare Lucerys and ended up losing control of Vhagar, causing the old dragon to chew every bit of his nephew, only some remains of his tiny dragon falling from the sky.

He remembered Alicent widening her eyes, still covering her small breasts and telling Aemond to wait for her outside the room.

As much as he wanted to leave the place and wait for her in the hallway like the good son he had always been, Aemond nodded and left. Not just her chambers, but also the castle. He looked for any clothing that did not look so expensive as to give away his noble origins, and wore it along with a dark suit. He passed by Ser Criston Cole on the way out of the Red Keep, ignoring the fact that the guard's armor was not orderly as usual, and said something about needing to get some air away from there. Aemond did not wait for a response from the older man, knowing that it was only a matter of a few minutes for Alicent to look for Criston and tell him what her beloved boy had done.

Aemond was lost. He knew that.

As soon as Aemond entered the brothel, he looked everywhere for Madam Sylvi, his sweaty and trembling hands searching for the only woman who could perhaps help him.

When he was chasing Aegon together with Ser Criston to take him by force to his own coronation, he did not expect to be reunited with the prostitute who had taken his virginity. Aemond had an excellent memory and remembered that night very well, every second of that embarrassing moment. If he tried harder, Aemond could even feel Madam Sylvi's full lips around his still developing cock, or the way she lifted his wine-flushed face to her large breasts. Aegon demanded that she not be too soft with his younger brother, saying that a thirteen years old should already be brave enough to handle a little sexual intensity. However, the woman respected Aemond's nervousness and guided him calmly.

That night had not been so bad at all, even if he had not wanted it. He never returned to any brothel, his mother's disgusted reaction to Aegon's impulsive and selfish decision and her plea to Aemond not indulge in such promiscuity made him give up on going there again. He should do as she asked, marry a pretty noble lady and be a loyal husband, be Aegon's opposite.

He did not want to hurt his mother's feelings, he did not want her to look at him with the same look of disgust she gave her eldest son. He wanted to keep making Alicent proud, being her beloved son.

But Aemond had already failed with her the moment he decided to act like a spiteful boy and chase Lucerys through the skies. Now that he was a Kinslayer, his mother would fear him. She would be ashamed of him. I would see him as a murderer, cursing their whole family forever.

And if Aemond could not seek love from the only woman who would take him in her arms and caress his hair, then he needed to find a replacement. An older woman who could make him feel safe and loved again.

Perhaps Madam Sylvi could do that. When she spoke to Aemond when he and Ser Criston were looking for Aegon, she made it clear that he had grown up so well. She looked surprised, perhaps even horny.

Now, after six years without visiting the place, Aemond was there again. The place where he had promised his dear mother in the name of the Seven that he would never set foot again.

He needed to seek affection from Sylvi or another whore who would make him feel as loved as Alicent made him feel before he grew up. He needed to feel worthy and loved by a mother again.

That was a busy night at the brothel for you, too many clients for too few prostitutes to deal with them. Madam Sylvi warned the women that she would take a day off to rest, a privilege that only the oldest and most renowned courtesans were entitled to. Most of her favorite clients seemed angry about this fact, and even though you and the other girls explained the reasons as calmly as possible, no one cared about what you had to say.

Some people just rolled their eyes and walked away, others snorted and threw coins at you so you could do her job then, and some were even excited about fucking a different cunt.

It was not unknown to you why Sylvi had so many customers who frequented the place in search of her. She was very experienced, a beautiful older woman, with large hips and big breasts. She understood how to please men and even women, both sexually and emotionally.

"Where is Madam Sylvi?" A deep voice caught your attention from behind your shoulder, making you jump and widen your eyes, sighing embarrassed when you saw that it was just a customer.

"She is not here today, sir." You forced a smile, trying not to look too much at the eye patch the boy wore. It was strangely familiar and he had facial features that seemed more handsome than most of the men you served, even if he wore a hood that shadowed his details.

With a frown, the man clenched his jaw and muttered one more time. "I need her tonight. Right now."

You recognized almost all of Sylvi's frequent men, and that one was completely unknown to you. You bit your tongue to try not to question him about why he was so desperate to see the woman if he had never been there recently. However, you took a deep breath and forced another smile, your voice sweet and hiding your curiosity. "My apologies, sir, she is not here tonight. But you can look for another courtesan if you want to, we have many options." You reassured and tried to walk past him to go find another man or some woman who could pay you a few coins, before being stopped by the man's hand on your arm, keeping you close to him.

"Well, you are free to please me." It was not a question. He already knew you did not have any customers waiting. You stared at that violet eye for a few seconds, before swallowing hard, your throat hurting while you nodded, having no choice whatsoever. "Then get an empty, private room for us immediately."

You opened your mouth to explain that the isolated places required a greater amount of gold than the common services, but the man interrupted you, handing you a heavy bag full of coins that were almost slipping out of the opening. "I assume you will make it worth the price, woman."

The moment you and Aemond entered the isolated room, he watched you pulling the curtains until they closed, keeping the events that would follow there a secret from other people. Although you still did not realize who he really was, there was an expression on your face indicating that you were suspicious about something. Perhaps it was the money he was willing to spend without complaining during just one night with someone who was not even the courtesan he was looking for, perhaps it was the eye patch that left a little part of his scar exposed, perhaps it was the extremely pale skin...

It could be many things that were making you suspect there was something unusual happening.

When the other prostitutes finished pouring some wine into two glasses and warming the place with candles, Aemond finally cleared his throat, almost as if he were embarrassed or did not know what to do.

"How old are you?" He asked in a more vulnerable voice than he intended, cursing himself for it.

Your brow furrowed at the rude question. There were men who sought out younger and less experienced whores to satisfy some dark desires, but you doubted that was the case. "Twenty-nine, sir."

Aemond sighed and nodded, satisfied with the answer. You might not be as old as Madam Sylvi or Alicent herself, but you were a maturer age than his. It made him less tense. "Good... That is good." He muttered, his single eye directed to the ground when some thoughts shuffled through his mind. A part of Aemond hated himself for having listened to his mother's advice to never set foot in a brothel again. Now, he was ten and nine and barely knew how to talk to a whore, while Aegon must have already fucked even the one he was about to try something on. "Has King Aegon II already enjoyed your services?"

His words caught you off guard, making you fidget with some discomfort, sitting on the mattresses around the floor, your robe tied and expecting anything other than that. "I cannot expose any of my clients' secrets, much less our King."

Aemond hummed without surprise, already expecting an empty answer like that. He took off the hood that shadowed the most part of his face, revealing his long silver hair tied with a not very effective ponytail and the violet eye that shone much brighter now without the dark fabric that made you unable to noticed the true color.

You did not have to be so smart to know the man in front of you was a Targaryen. A Targaryen prince. Perhaps...

"Aemond." His name dripped from your lips like the sweetest honey. "Aemond Targaryen."

The prince maintained his look of neutrality and almost disdain, nodding and then shrugging. "Or Aemond One-Eye, like some people call me. Your King Aegon is my older brother." Due to your lack of response and your wide eyes, Aemond sighed. "And I asked you a question about my brother. Are you going to answer it or not, woman?"

"He... He never fucked me, Your Grace. During the few times I saw him around here, he was either too much drunk or already busy with another courtesan."

That was good. Someone untouchable by Aegon. Not like his mother, who had given birth to Aegon three years before him, contaminating her precious womb with that bitter soul she one day carried, swearing that her firstborn would become an ambitious and noble-hearted boy, worthy to sit in the Iron Throne.

You also would not be like Madam Sylvi, who had already slept with Aegon several times even before his brother forced him to wet his cock inside her during his thirteenth name day.

You were... Pure. Not for the eyes of the world, which saw you as a mere whore, a hole for fun. You were pure for Aemond's eyes. You were untouchable by Aegon's filthy hands. You could be like a mother to Aemond. Hold him like Alicent had held him when he was a child, you could let him fuck you like Madam Sylvi had done when he was just a little boy...

You could be whatever Aemond asked you to be. His whore for some minutes but his mother afterwards. It will be a way to distract himself from what he had done to his nephew. A way to justify his impulsive actions that were about to declare war.

Aemond thought to himself if he should let it all out and just leave later on. That was what he planned to do with Madam Sylvi, even though she was attractive and hot.

Gods, he should not even be there, with the curtains closed and an older but kind woman waiting for him sitting on the mattress, your robe tied carelessly so you could seduce the customers who saw the smooth and transparent silk cloth covering just a little of your beautiful body. He should be with his mother, asking for forgiveness due the war he would cause, begging for the kisses on the forehead that she used to give him when he was younger.

Aemond should just turn around and leave. Leave and wait for Sylvi the next night.

Or rather, he should leave that dirty place forever and go to the Sept to seek forgiveness for his terrible behavior and quick promiscuous solutions.

Of course Aemond should do anything like this. And yet he did not. There was something interesting about being there, analyzing you as if you were fresh meat. Analyzing every detail like he did when he was buying some wooden toys for his nephews Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.

He was analyzing everything with precision, and was enjoying every bit of that vision. "Tell me your name." He crossed his arms, none of his clothes other than his hood were off his body.

You bit the lip before whispering your name and repeating it later, along with your last name. The prince nodded, humming the name on his mouth to test the sound. Enjoying the result, Aemond gestured to your robe and you immediately obeyed his nonverbal demand, untying the knot and letting the thin fabric fall around the mattress, your bright eyes lifting so you could see how the Targaryen prince was reacting.

With flushed cheeks and arms crossed again, Aemond walked a little closer to you, steady and slow steps until he was face to face with you. His index finger lifted your chin with a calm that was the opposite of everything you were used to in the brothel. You even believed that he could treat you really well, unlike other rude customers. But your hope disappeared the moment he grabbed your cheeks, his short nails digging into your skin and forming tears in the corners of your eyes.

"I need... I guess I need to take my emotions out on something. On Someone."

You did not dare blink, muttering an agreement and not resisting when the prince pushed you to lie down. His body was warm, unlike his hands that was cold from sweat. You remained in the position Aemond had placed you in, lying beneath him with your legs spread to let him take control if he wished.

Aemond's heart beat fast, knowing this would be the second time he was about to fuck a woman. The second time he was going against the Faith of the Seven, against his mother's requests. Hurting the feelings of the woman he loved most and probably amusing his older brother, who should have been laughing and drinking, finding it funny that Aemond had not only killed his own nephew due some petty revenge, but was also now enjoying the pleasures he had always despised.

"Do you need help, Your Grace?" You worked up the courage to ask the prince as you noticed how his fingers were a pathetic mess, unable to undo the ties on his own pants after he freed himself from the tunic.

Aemond wanted to tell you to fuck off. To tell you to be quiet and let him fuck your cunt until it is dripping with his seed. Until you are pregnant with a silver-haired bastard. He wanted to humiliate you like Aegon did to all whores.

But for the Seven Gods' sakes... He did not want to be like Aegon anymore.

"I do not know!" Aemond shouted, breaking the silence of the private room. He stopped trying to get rid of his clothes and turned his body to the other side. His heart felt like it was about to explode, his hands were trembling again and his legs were weak. Aemond's head ached like the Seven Hells and he had not drunk any drop of wine that the other courtesans had left there for the two of you. "Gods! I thought this would help me, but I can barely get my fucking cock out!"

Your body moved closer to his, pressing your face against Aemond's warm and bare back. His breathing became more erratic when you remained quiet, but brushed the tip of your nose against his skin as if you were a kitten.

Aemond opened his mouth to scold you for your childish action, and then closed it. There was something different about your silent actions. You did not judge him for being there, you did not mock him when he failed to drop his pants and fuck you fast like any man in their right minds would do. Aemond was far from a sane man and it did not take long for you to notice that.

Even though he was fully aware that you might change your mind about him when you learned the truth of what he had done to his own half-sister's son, Aemond let out a sigh of relief. Neither of you moved the bodies, feeling something good from that whole complex situation.

Then Aemond turned to you, his eye filled with tears that he cursed himself for letting escape. His palm went to your chin, holding it softer than he had done before. It was gentle and almost delicate now. Everything he liked to be for his mother. A good boy. A good son.

The prince looked down at your naked body, your breasts so inviting to him that he did not think twice and immediately touched them, squeezing the soft flesh with an inexperience that was cute to you. Aemond only felt the smoothness of a female chest three times during his entire life.

One of them was when he was just four years old and he was jealous of his mother breastfeeding his youngest brother Daeron after his birth. So he touched Alicent and asked for her milk too, which was denied and he spent hours crying until he got distracted by some wooden toy that which the maids brought at Alicent's request, to entertain the greedy little boy as quickly as they could. After that, Daeron began to be fed by a wet nurse and Aemond never noticed his mother's breast milk again.

The second time was when Helaena was pregnant with the twins Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. Aemond was still an innocent twelve years old boy and was very curious seeing how the girl's breasts were suddenly bigger due to the breast milk. His youthful curiosity got the better of him and he took advantage of the fact that his older sister always let him sleep next to her when Aegon was busy fucking whores in the brothels. He snuggled into a hug with Helaena as she slept and pulled the neckline of her nightgown aside, playing with his thumbs on her nipples until they were leaking white and sweet drops.

Unfortunately for Aemond, Aegon arrived drunk just as he was sucking Helaena's nipples, being breastfed like a baby. Aegon laughed loud at the scene. Aemond's cute lips were so wet with his sister's milk and his face was reddish like a strawberry, body shaking as he explained himself in the least convincing way possible. But fortunately for Aemond, Helaena did not wake up and probably never found out about his immoral act. Or at least he preferred to believe that she never found out about that.

Despite having begged for forgiveness at the Sept so many times, Aemond was dragged against his own will by his older brother to a brothel to celebrate his thirteenth name day. He did not want none of that and he was angry with Aegon, but also scared of the whole situation that would develop, even if a part of him wondered if this was some divine punishment he deserved for taking advantage of his dear sister's innocence during her sleep.

The night of the loss of his virginity had been the third and until then the last time that Aemond touched any intimate part of a female body, his young and plump face buried in the middle of Madam Sylvi's large chest.

He had promised to the Gods that he would only do something like that again with his future wife. But here he was, thumbs rolling your hard beaks and making you gasp. Aemond may not have been sexually experienced like his brother Aegon, and not like his uncle Daemon or his sluttly half-sister Rhaenyra, but he was a quick learner with a good memory.

He remembered Madam Sylvi encouraging him to pay a special attention to her nipples using his mouth, and Aemond was eager to follow that old lesson. Wrapping one of your beaks with his lips, Aemond licked you like a hungry man, his tongue swirling around it and then nibbling.

Every muffled moan that left your lips was like music to the Prince's ears.

Once your breasts were completely soaked with Aemond's spit and red marks from the bites he gave you, Aemond smirked satisfied, the desperation that was taking over his mind disappearing and giving space to the lust building up inside his veins.

He spread your legs like he watched Aegon do with the maids when they were both younger, smirking at the view of your wet cunt, the pubic hair glistening with your own juices. "Fuck, you are really dripping. I thought you whores got paid to pretend, not to actually enjoy it."

You moaned at his mockery. In fact, you did not usually feel pleasure with your customers, even the most frequent ones who were not rough to you. They always focused on themselves, not really caring if what you were feeling was pleasurable or not.

But Aemond Targaryen was different. He was appreciating your body, hands on your breasts as if you were an anchor keeping him safe, face in front of your legs, excited to devour you and satisfy all his hunger.

Aemond Targaryen barely seemed to see you as a whore. He seemed to be seeing you as a woman he wanted to worship more than anything. Almost like a...

"Do you have children?"

The prince was full of random questions, and it was another one of the moments when he crossed an unusual line. Why the hells was this important? Was he some boring man who wanted to have sex just with not so experienced whores? Was he disgusted by pregnancies?

"I do. I have... two kids."

The words was almost impossible to hear. Anyone would tell you to repeat what you said. Anyone could be angry due the answer. Anyone but Aemond Targaryen. The prince's keen hearing caught your words perfectly, a smirk of relief and excitement pulling at his lips.

It was perfect. Almost too perfect to be true.

It did not matter where your children were now. It did not matter if they might be suffering from having a mother working in a brothel to be able to feed them with the bare minimum. All that mattered to Aemond at that moment was that you had two children. Just like Alicent had Aegon and Helaena before he was born.

He could pictured himself coming out of his mother's womb. She always said that Aemond was the most painful birth of all, as the boy came out of her womb with such eagerness that the midwives swore it almost caused a hemorrhage inside Alicent's cunt. While Aegon's birth had been traumatizing due to the fact that it was Alicent's first time going through that labor experience, Helaena's birth was soft. The little girl was born so silent that for a few seconds the Queen feared she had been born dead, but Helaena cried when Alicent began to sob, as if she was feeling her mother's emotional pain.

Aemond remembered how his mother described the birth of each of them, even Daeron, who was the fastest of all to be born. And one thing Aemond would never forget was how his mother described his birth.

Alicent said it was like giving birth to a dragon. She felt like she was being ripped from the inside out and for a moment she could swear that little Aemond enjoyed hearing her screams of pain while the midwives were desperate to help stop the bleeding. She said he stopped crying immediately, the sounds of her suffering calmed him.

If he came out of Alicent's body like a dragon whelp, then he would come into yours with all the Targaryen fire inside his veins too. The true perfect replacement for her mother could handle anything. Perhaps he could really trust you to vent and look for affection if you also saw him as your and Alicent's third children. The most devout and the most feared. He could be that for both of you.

Six years ago, Aemond had no awareness about how to please a woman. He was sure that Sylvi had pretended to cum so that he would not feel so humiliated, not that it mattered anyway, since Aemond had not lost his virginity by choice and Madam was already used to faking pleasure reactions for the vast majority of men who visited her brothel. However, there with you, after not knowing how to deal with the chaos tormenting his own mind, Aemond allowed himself to lower his head and get between your legs, rubbing his tongue on the swollen bud that he knew what it was based on what it was written in the forbidden books of the library in the castle.

At first, the movements of his tongue were disorganized and uncomfortable, and you tried to guide his head, but Aemond bit your thigh, drawing some blood from you and hearing you cry out. Aemond did not care about any of that, licking up the red drops that dripped down and going back to licking your clit, taking a little more care than before, understanding that he had done something wrong. He made his tongue less pointy and flattened it better, rubbing it against your cunt and giving gentle licks, eating out the juices that dripped from your wet hole and then moving it up to focus on your clit, trembling moans escaping you while you rolled the eyes at the sensation.

Your thighs trembled and your back arched upward, forcing Aemond to grip your legs to keep your body down, the wet sucking noises buzzing in his ear when you had the first release.

Aemond did not wait you to recover yourself from your high. He kept your legs open with one of his large hands, the other undoing the ties of his pants more quickly than during the first attempt, throwing them to the side and caressing his hard cock. You looked at his muscular torso and looked down at his long legs and the dark hair on his groin.

You did not even need to entertain him with false praises or get him drunk with the wine the other prostitutes prepared for the two of you. Aemond was ready for it and ignoring his own nervousness.

He spat into his palm, pressing his arousal one last time and finally slamming into you, the abrupt stretch hurting your cunt, lips parted and eyes widening when Aemond ignored your brief pain and started moving his hips, letting out low guttural growls at the feeling of your tight warm walls crushing him.

"Your Grace..." You moaned in a mix of pleasure and discomfort, the thrusts hitting the soft part of your cervix and making you see stars.

Aemond smirked at your incoherent moans, lowering himself until his face was close to yours, capturing your mouth in an aggressive kiss, uncoordinated tongues together, teeth practically devouring each other's lower lip. The exchange of saliva tasted like blood and your own cum.

He had not felt the sensation of being inside a woman in so many years that the pleasure was almost like losing his virginity for a second time. It was intense, strange and desperate. He needed more. He needed to fuck you deep inside, until you were like Alicent, carrying a part of him in your womb.

The faster he got closer to his orgasm, the more Aemond's low growls became whispers begging the Gods for forgiveness and also tearful moans calling you his mother. Prayers and cries coming from a filthy sinner in search of redemption, or from an innocent little boy who needed the love of the woman who gave birth to him.

With each violent thrust inside your tight and sore cunt, Aemond pictured a little silver-haired boy coming out of you after nine moons and destroying you just like he had done to Alicent during his own childbirth.

Now that the only woman who ever loved him with her entire body and soul saw him as a monster, Aemond wished that future routine nights with you in the brothel could fill the void inside his heart. However, deep down Aemond knew that no one could ever love him more than the woman who brought him into the world. For Aemond, failing Alicent was worse than failing the Gods. And there was no divine or maternal forgiveness for a murderer.

[witchywithwhiskey]

say yes + andy barber

(for your fantastic sweethearts game!)

🩷♥️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

the demon of your dreams

pairing: soft!dark incubus!andy barber x female reader

summary: you catch the attention of an incubus on the day before valentine's day—and it turns out your fates are more intertwined than either of you expected.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), true mates, dubcon/noncon (in this fic an incubus requires consent for certain things but it technically starts off as noncon), somnophilia, teratophilia/monsterfucking, smut, masturbation (m), fingering (f receiving), finger sucking, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, come play, cock warming, choking, breath play, biting/marking, thigh fucking, some overstimulation, dirty talk, praise kink, very brief degradation, pet names (sweet thing/sweet girl), aftercare, referenced marathon sex, happy ending

word count: 5.5k

a/n: thank you, Aspen, for letting me flail at you because i had SO many ideas for this particular character + prompt combination. what i love about Andy is that he can fit into a super fluffy or soft dark or super dark story very easily. (i mean, that's true of a lot of characters, but i feel like i usually lean one way or the other with most characters and with Andy, i'm never quite sure where i want to go.) anyway, this one might require a bit more suspension of disbelief than normal and sorry if the ending is a bit rushed, work was BRUTAL today 🫠 thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy this filthy little fic!! ♡♡

For an incubus like Andy Barber, Valentine’s Day was his favorite day of the year.

There was something particularly decadent about the yearning he sensed among lonely, single women on Valentine’s Day, and he always fed well in the days leading up to the actual holiday. Though the demon had to be careful not to feed too much on any one woman, he never failed to gorge himself on the offerings in the city.

But then he came across you in a coffee shop on the morning before Valentine’s Day, and he hadn’t sensed yearning quite so exquisite as yours in all his many years walking the earth. Watching you from across the shop, he knew you would make an especially delectable meal, his eyes following you closely as he sipped on his Americano. 

You hid your emotions well, Andy noticed, keeping them masked beneath a friendly exterior, a welcoming smile on your pretty face while you chatted with the barista making your drink. To all the world, you looked like anyone else with a charming—if tired—disposition, but to the incubus, you were churning with all the emotions that made you a meal. 

The demon could sense the sadness lurking beneath your smile from the moment you’d stepped into the establishment, and he could practically taste the desperate longing clinging to your soul like a drop of hot chocolate caught on the corner of your lip. 

You wanted, more than anything, to be the object of someone’s lust, to find someone you felt safe enough with that you could be turned into the lustful creature you yearned to be. You wanted someone to lick the chocolate from your lips and sate your desire.

And Andy Barber knew he was the demon for the job. 

In generations past, Andy might’ve used his magic to slip into your dreams, seducing you with images of lust until he received the acquiescence he required to join with you and feed on your soul. But, as the incubus’s years had worn on, he’d found he enjoyed a more physical approach.

There was something so much more satisfying about touching a woman with his fingers, feeling the warmth of her body and breathing in the scent of her skin. He enjoyed the feeling of a woman’s soft curves beneath his palms, groping her and learning what made her gasp gently in her sleep. 

Then, the demon would use her slumberous, disoriented mind and her aching, needy body against her to get what he needed—that permission that allowed him to sink into her body and feed on her soul. 

It was so much more satisfying, and so much more fun, too. 

Of course, that didn’t mean Andy didn’t use his magic to get into your apartment. He unlocked your door with a wave of his fingers, closing and locking it behind him before he masked the footfalls of his shoes as he made his way to your bedroom. 

There, he paused in the doorway and took a moment to look at you, appreciate you while you slept, completely unaware that there was a demon in your room.

A smile curled Andy’s mouth when he discovered that you were far from an elegant sleeper, your body sprawled across your bed beneath the blankets, one leg hiked up while the other curled around a pillow clutched close to your chest. Your face was buried in another pillow, your indelicate snores muffled by its softness. 

And yet…you were cute. Precious even.

Andy felt something fluttery deep in his chest, somewhere in the vicinity of his black heart. Instead of looking too closely at the feeling, he ignored the sensation, chalking it up to the excitement he felt knowing you were going to make for a particularly delicious meal.  

The demon slunk into your room, clinging to the shadows as he moved around to the side of the bed where you lay and tried to gauge whether you were a light sleeper. You didn’t stir when he deliberately stepped on a squeaky floorboard, so he decided to ease closer, his fingertips trailing up your body over the blankets piled on top of you. 

When he pulled them carefully from your slumbering body, a little whimper slipped from your lips, a shiver wracking your shoulders as the cold licked against your skin. Andy quickly used his magic to warm up your room, making it a much more comfortable temperature for your nearly naked form. 

He watched you settle, his eyes roving over the curves of your body. Hungrily, he took in the dip of your waist and the flare of your hips, the way your thin nightshirt had ridden up to tease a glimpse of your perfectly rounded ass. Your thighs were parted, and Andy could just glimpse a hint of your panties, hiding your pretty pussy from sight.

His cock hardened behind his zipper and he nearly groaned at the sinful way your body called to his. Even if the yearning in your soul hadn’t been so enticing, Andy knew he would’ve been drawn to you by the desire you inspired just by existing. 

Once he was sure you were comfortable and had fallen back into a deep slumber, Andy finally allowed himself to touch you. 

His fingers trailed gently over your arms, skimming along your skin before smoothing down your side to your hips and thighs. There, he resisted the urge to dip between your legs just yet, instead learning the curves of your calves and the delicate contours of your ankles. 

All the while, Andy watched your face, monitoring your breathing to make sure you didn’t stir again. 

As he observed you, he noticed you relaxing even further, as if his touch soothed you. He felt another flutter in the proximity of his black heart, and, that time, he couldn’t ignore the way it started beating slightly faster. 

The organ often felt cold and dull in his chest, especially when he was in need of feeding, but it felt like it was coming to life in a way he’d never experienced before, not even after a satisfying meal. And it was all because of the way your body was instinctively relaxing into his touch. 

The demon could almost pretend it was him specifically you were melting for, that even though you hadn’t woken and hadn’t seen his face, he was the only one whose touch could have that effect on your body. 

Andy deliberately ignored the fact that, in all likelihood, you would’ve been soothed by a gentle touch from any man who might share your bed, because that thought inspired a concerning level of rage in him. No, he refused to think of anyone else in your bed but him. You were his.

For the night, at least, he reminded himself, pushing his possessive thoughts to the back of his mind to analyze later. He had much more important things to attend to with your warm body, which would soon be willing, splayed out in front of him like the most tempting meal. 

Finally, Andy allowed his fingers to slip beneath your nightshirt, tugging off your panties and nearly groaning when your hips raised instinctively to allow him to ease them down your thighs. He pulled them off and slipped them into his pocket, thinking nothing of the fact that he’d never taken a souvenir before. 

He was too busy focusing on the feel of your body beneath his fingertips. His hand slipped eagerly between your thighs, and he was surprised to find your soft pussy was already drenched. It felt fated that your body would have such a reaction to him since Andy’s cock was straining painfully against his zipper, aching to sink inside your perfect cunt.

The demon cupped your pussy in his palm, a ferocious possessiveness tearing through his chest as he felt you drip into his hand. You were his. His. His. 

His heart beat harder in his chest, the feeling of yearning in his own black soul so all-consuming, he didn’t have the wherewithal to notice it was completely out of character. 

After all, an incubus like Andy Barber didn’t get attached to his meals. He didn’t feel possessive or territorial over the women he fed on, like a wolf who might tear into anything that threatened to take his most precious lifeline away. 

But the demon could feel himself falling willingly into an obsession with you that wouldn’t be sated from just one night. He just didn’t know it yet.

Acting on instinct more than his typical intention of easing a woman into what he had planned, Andy freed his cock from the confines of his pants, taking himself in his palm while the fingers of his other hand explored your wet, warm pussy.

You were so soft, so hot, and so responsive when Andy sank a finger into your tight hole, a breathy moan slipping from your mouth. The demon felt the newly-familiar beating of his heart in his chest, and he suddenly craved even more of your sounds of pleasure, he wanted them to fill his ears for all eternity. 

Andy stroked his cock dispassionately, needing to take some of the edge off his arousal, but he made sure to squeeze the base tightly to ensure he didn’t cum too soon. All the while, he teased your body open with his deft fingers, preparing you to take his thick length.

When he slipped a second finger into your pussy and saw how easily you took him, he had to bite back a groan. His cock was leaking precum all over his fingers, as if it knew there was a warm hole to push inside and was begging Andy to finally put himself out of his misery by sinking into your sweet, pliant body.

The demon had to force himself to make sure you were ready, Andy carefully pushing a third finger into your pussy, and letting out a restrained growl at the sight of you taking three of his fingers. 

His mouth filled with drool as he watched you take him, the sudden desire to feast on your pussy nearly overwhelming him. He wanted to make you cum on his tongue and mouth for being such a good girl and taking everything he gave you. 

But he told himself that could come later—after he got the answer he needed to give you everything you deserved.

To tide himself over, Andy eased his fingers from your pussy and licked your juices from where they dripped down his hand, savoring the sweet taste of your arousal. You tasted so fucking good, better than anything Andy had ever tasted in his long, long life. 

His groan was so loud in the quiet room that he nearly missed the little whimper of need you let out, your hips shifting like your body was seeking the intrusion that had been filling your tight hole. The sound reached Andy’s ears and his cock jumped in his hand, the amount of blood rushing to his dick nearly making him light-headed.

Finally—finally—Andy joined you in your bed, gently shifting your body into the center of the mattress so he could fit behind you. Your nightshirt was rucked up around our waist, and his cock slipped between your thighs like it was sliding home. The stiff length rubbed against your dripping slit while he pressed flush to your back, his arms gently curling around your body and pulling you into his chest.

A soft, sleepy moan spilled from your mouth and Andy wanted so badly to kiss the sound from your lips, to drink it down and feel it fill his lungs. 

Soon, he told himself. Soon he could kiss the moans from your lips and devour your mouth and ravage every inch of your body until you were well and truly his. But first he needed to get your acquiescence, and he needed to be careful with you until he got it. 

You’d already been laying mostly on your belly, and Andy shifted, covering your body with his own, rocking his hips gently to fuck your soft thighs. His cock dragged against your leaking slit with every smooth thrust, coating himself in your desire and making his heart beat furiously in his chest with the need to push inside your cunt, to claim you, to feed on you until he was more sated than he’d ever felt in his life.

Andy could sense the yearning in your soul deepening as your desire ratcheted up, even while you slept. Your swirling emotions thickened in the air around the bed until the demon felt nearly drunk on you. 

Your yearning, your soul—you yourself—were headier than anything Andy had ever experienced and it took all his self-control not to lose himself and rut you like the beast he was. 

First, he needed your permission. An incubus could only fuck and feed on a willing woman, and Andy needed you to be willing more than he’d needed anything else in his entire life. 

“Give yourself to me, sweet thing,” Andy murmured in your ear, the words coming easily after so many eons as an incubus—though the pet name was new. “Let me sink inside your divine cunt and let me drink on the longing in your heart. Let me feed on the lust in your soul and I’ll reward you with pleasure beyond your imagination.”

The demon could feel you stir beneath him, and his heart thudded painfully in his chest with a desperation he couldn’t remember ever feeling before. But it only pushed him to rock his hips faster, to grip your hip possessively while he fucked between your thighs, dragging the fat length of his cock against every inch of your dripping pussy.

Because of the rules of his kind, Andy needed your permission before he could push inside your body, but he could use every trick at his disposal to tempt you into giving him your acquiescence. An incubus wasn’t above using magic or trickery and though Andy preferred to seduce you with just his touch and his words, he would resort to magic if he needed to. 

But something told him he wouldn’t need to with you. Something told Andy that you were his, and he just needed to ask you sweet enough and you’d grant him the privilege of owning your body and soul for the rest of your natural life.

“Please, my sweet girl,” he rumbled in your ear, letting you hear how badly he wanted you, needed you. “Say yes.”

Thankfully for the demon, you hadn’t roused enough for your mind to wonder why there was a strange man in your bed begging to fuck you. It was clear from your soft, sleepy whimpers that you were still asleep enough to think it was simply a very real-feeling dream. 

Your hand reached back clumsily, your fingers curling around the back of Andy’s neck, using your hold to arch your spine and push your ass deeper into the demon’s lap. A keening sound spilled from your lips, your pussy gushing around the thick cock wedged between your thighs, and you finally gave your answer on a drowsy moan.

“Yes.” 

The word falling from your lips tipped you over the line from sleeping to waking, and you finally realized that what you were feeling wasn’t a dream. It was really happening. There was a man in your bed and, for some reason, you’d given him permission to be there. 

Andy could feel the change in your body, the way your body tensed in fear and confusion. It was natural, of course, and the demon had expected it. But what surprised him were the intricacies of your reaction—the way you still instinctively pulled him closer, your nails digging into the back of his neck, your legs squeezing together and trapping his cock against your pussy with your plush thighs. 

You wanted him, Andy was sure of it, even if your mind was struggling to come to the same conclusion your body had already reached. Oddly, Andy found himself wanting to soothe you, his hand skimming down your side like he was attempting to calm a wild animal.

“Shh, sweet thing, it’s alright, you’re alright,” Andy purred, feeling your muscles slowly relax beneath his hands. 

Every caress of his palm and sweet stroke of his fingers had you softening further, your body surrendering to his soothing touch. Soon, you were even letting your thighs fall open again and Andy rewarded you with a pleased rumbling sound and a kiss brushed to your cheek. 

He shifted his hips back, moving until the tip of his cock was pressed against your tight little hole. That made the muscles of your thighs go taut again, but the demon also heard the way your breath hitched in your throat, like you’d sucked in a gasp of anticipation, not fear. 

Andy gently kneaded your hip, his mouth grazing against the shell of your ear and tickling your skin with his beard. “Let me in, my sweet girl,” he cooed, prodding at your dripping cunt with his leaking tip. “I’ll make you feel so good, pretty thing.”

The soft, whispered pleas and praise from Andy’s lips had you relaxing again, your thighs spreading and your hips lifting in wordless offering. It was too perfect—you were too perfect. The demon couldn’t wait any longer. 

Andy pushed inside your wet heat, letting out a grunt of pleasure when he felt your tightness wrapping around his stiff length. You felt so good, your pussy clinging to his cock and sucking him deeper into the warm depths of your body. He slid home until he was buried to the hilt.

As soon as he was inside you, the world tipped violently on its axis, spinning around the demon in a vicious dizzying swirl that he knew was all in his head. 

It lasted only a second and by the time your bedroom came back into focus, Andy instinctively recognized that his entire universe had realigned, with you—your delicate human body and your fragile beating heart and your precious glowing soul—at the center of it.  

“You’re mine—mine,” Andy growled, his voice preternaturally deep and dark, his arms closing so tightly around your body that he heard the breathe exhale from your lungs and felt your heart beating against your ribcage.

A startled squeak fell from your lips and Andy suddenly realized he was holding you much too tightly, and that he was no doubt scaring you. His grip loosened, his hands moving to comfort you, kneading your soft flesh and groping your curves until you let out a soft, happy sigh. 

“I’ll take such good care of you, sweet thing,” the demon vowed in a husky voice filled with warmth. He nuzzled his face into your cheek, pressing sweet kisses to your jaw and neck, listening to your breathy little giggles at the rasp of his beard. “I only want to make you feel good, I won’t ever hurt you.”

“You…” Your voice was raspy with sleep, giving out on you before you could say what you wanted to say. Andy waited patiently while you swallowed and tried again. “You promise?” 

Andy could feel your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his lips and he smiled into your skin. You were human, so you hadn’t felt what Andy had when your bodies had joined, the fusing of your spirits, and if you needed reassurance with words that he would cherish you and protect you for the rest of your days, then he would happily give it to you.

“Of course, my sweet girl, I swear it.”

The last of the tension that had been lingering in your muscles finally drained out of you, and Andy’s cock pushed another inch deeper, the tip brushing against a spot inside you that had your walls clenching down hard on his length. 

The demon groaned in pleasure, pulling his hips back and sliding into you again, muffling a groan into the crook of your neck when you squeezed him so exquisitely. 

“You feel so good, sweet girl, so perfect,” he murmured into your skin, fucking you in short, rocking thrusts that had you gasping and whimpering softly. “You’re taking me so fucking well, such a good fucking girl.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Andy caught the pleased smile that curled the edges of your mouth at his praise. But then you were turning your face into your pillow and muffling your moans into its softness. 

Andy didn’t like that one bit. He wanted to hear all of your sounds of pleasure—they were his, just like the rest of you—so he wrapped his hand around the front of your throat. Gently enough so he he didn’t hurt you, he lifted your head from the pillow, rumbling a pleased sound in his chest when he could hear every whimper and moan that fell from your lips.

“Good girl, let me hear you—let me hear how good I’m making you feel,” Andy urged, rocking his hips harder into you, his cock spearing deep into your tight cunt with every thrust. 

The tips of his fingers dug a little deeper into the sides of your neck and you moaned even louder, your cunt clutching at the demon’s cock like a vise while the rest of your body melted further into his hold. It was like you’d been waiting for him to come along and take control of you, of your very breathing, and it sent Andy reeling once again.

You were perfect. Perfect. So perfect that even that word didn’t feel like enough. It felt like you’d been made for Andy, and he’d been made for you. A perfect match. A true mate.

“Oh god, wh-who are you?” you asked, your breathy, pleasure-soaked voice pulling Andy back into the moment. 

The demon nearly chuckled at the question. It was a little late for you to be asking such a thing when his cock was buried to the hilt in your cunt and every thrust of his hips pushed you closer and closer to the edge of your release. But he didn’t want you to take offense, so he wracked his lust-drunk brain for an answer, finally settling on something close enough to the truth.

“I’m the demon of your dreams, sweet thing,” he rumbled in your ear, picking up the pace of his thrusts. “The one you conjured with the desperate longing in your soul—the yearning to be fucked, to be taken, to be owned, thoroughly and fully.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t conjure anything—I swear,” you babbled, but Andy’s fingers tightened around the sides of your throat, cutting off your protests. The way he choked you only made your cunt gush and flutter between your thighs, and Andy reveled in the feeling of your slick channel gripping his hard cock.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, sweetheart, I know exactly what your soul yearns for, and I’m more than happy to oblige,” Andy purred, raking his teeth down your cheek before nipping at your jaw. 

He was holding onto your neck too tightly for you to make a sound, but he felt your throat work against his palm and your pussy spasm around his cock at his filthy words. He choked you a little harder and sank his teeth into your shoulder through your nightshirt, going crosseyed and nearly cumming when you clenched down hard around him.

“What your soul yearns for is a good hard fucking,” Andy rasped when he pulled his teeth away from your shoulder, moving back to murmur in your ear. “Now, take it like a good slut and I’ll let you thank me later.”

Andy picked up the pace of his hips, pounding harder into you. The demon fucked you into the mattress while he choked the breath from your lungs, giving you only enough air to remain conscious while he savaged your soft, warm cunt with his brutal cock.

It wasn’t long before he felt you reaching the edge of your release, and he dug his other hand beneath your body, pinning you to the bed with his hips while he fucked you ferociously and rubbed your clit. You were helpless when the demon demanded you give him your pleasure.

“Cum for me, my sweet thing, cum for your demon,” Andy urged.

You shattered apart on a silent scream, your mouth wide open and eyes rolling back into your head while your pleasure consumed you. Your body shook beneath Andy’s larger form, your tight pussy strangling his cock and dragging him over the edge right after you.

Andy buried his face in the curve of your neck, groaning his release loudly into your skin while his hips stuttered and finally pressed flush to your ass. He buried his cock in your pussy and spilled his cum into the depths of your womb, flooding your body with his seed while he fed on your soul. 

Out of habit, he was careful not to take too much, but he could sense that there was no such thing when it came to you. That realization made him groan all over again, another spurt of cum spilling into your cunt while he gorged himself on you until he was sated, your pussy still fluttering with the aftershocks of your release.

For a long moment, the two of you caught your breath together, Andy’s hand having loosened around your neck, though he still held you with your back pinned against his chest. He almost tightened his hold again when he felt your head moving, but you only turned your head to nuzzle your face into his beard and he rumbled a pleased sound in his chest, a smile curving his mouth. 

With a gentleness he’d never known himself to possess, Andy eased his softening cock from your pussy, enjoying the way your combined releases spilled across your thighs. 

He paused, scooping up his cum with his fingers and pushing it back into your hole, making you shudder and whine at the overstimulation. The demon shushed you softly, pressing kisses to your cheek and the edge of your jaw until he was done. 

Then, he rolled onto his back and tugged you with him, tucking you under his arm and propping his head up with the other hand. You still wore your nightshirt, and he was still clad in most of his clothes, his pants only opened enough for his cock, but he wanted to hold you a little bit longer before he forced himself to move from the bed.

You lifted your head and looked at the demon, the two of you hanging in a suspended silence while you regarded each other. 

For the first time since he’d slunk into your bedroom, Andy got a good look at your face, and his heart thumped heavily in his chest at the beauty of you. The slope of your nose, the curve of your mouth, and the intelligence in your eyes—it was all gorgeous to the demon.

As he stared at you, you looked at him in return, your eyes darting over his face while you took in his features—his crystal blue eyes and straight nose and the dark beard framing his soft mouth. Your expression was unreadable, but then a small smile curved the edges of your soft mouth, and your eyes warmed. You didn’t seem to hate what you saw, at least. 

“I’ll answer all your questions,” Andy promised, his gaze falling to your lips, the desire to kiss you gripping him and refusing to let go. “But first…” He trailed off, dragging you up his body while his hand cradled your head, moving you so he could slant his mouth to yours. 

The incubus kissed you gently at first, with just a brush of his lips, as if he was asking for your permission all over again. When you sighed happily and melted into him, your fingers curling in the short hair at the nape of his neck, he knew you were giving yourself to him willingly, gladly, wholly. 

Andy kissed you harder then, tracing his tongue along the seam of your lips and seeking entrance that you eagerly gave him. He slid into your mouth, groaning at your sweet taste, and explored you thoroughly while you clung to him and kissed him back.

When your hips began to rock greedily against Andy’s thigh, your slick pussy leaving a wet spot on his pants, he finally pulled away and gave you a wolfish grin.

“Does my sweet girl need her demon’s cock again?” he teased playfully before nipping at your lip and drinking down your moan while he soothed it with his tongue. 

“Yes, please,” you murmured sweetly, making Andy chuckle. 

But the demon wasn’t about to let your plea go unanswered. He rolled you onto your back and took the opportunity to kick his pants off his legs before sliding home with one thrust. The slick of your combined releases made it easy and you both groaned as he filled you up.

“Good,” he growled, clutching you tight beneath his body and encouraging your arms and legs to wrap around his broad, muscular form. “Because I need to be buried in your cunt for the rest of my fucking life.” His voice was a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine and made you clutch him tighter, meeting every thrust with your hips while he fucked you into the mattress.

It wasn’t until the sky began to lighten from a midnight blue to a softer shade of sapphire, the sun dawning on the morning of Valentine’s Day, that the two of you were finally sated enough for you to ask all the questions that had been rattling around in your head since you woke up to the demon in your bed.

Andy answered you with the truth—every bit of it��not even questioning that he didn’t have it in him to lie to you. He told you about what he was and how he’d been drawn to you from the moment he’d sensed you. 

You were skeptical at first, of course, but when he flashed you a look at his true eyes—dark pools of inky blackness like the pits of hell—and showed you a glimpse of his tail, he could tell that you started to believe him. It surprised him how much he wanted you to believe him, so it was a relief when you finally did.

Then, Andy told you about the stories of an incubus’s true mate. He hadn’t believed them until he’d met you, he explained, but a true mate was the one person in all the world that an incubus could feed on and never harm. They were literally made to be together.

Gently, as if worrying that it would be the part you couldn’t accept, he told you that he believed you were his—his true mate, the one person meant for him.

It took you a long moment to process that information, but once you did, you laughed wildly, happily, and pulled him in for a kiss. You were smiling too much to deepen it, so you settled for brushing butterfly kisses all over Andy’s face, making him smile, then grin, then laugh along with you. 

“Y’know, I would find out my soulmate is a demon on Valentine’s Day,” you said, giggling and falling back down against Andy’s chest. You curled into his side, pressing your face into his sternum and brushing another kiss over where his heart was beating in his chest.

Your comment reminded Andy of what day it was and he squeezed you in his arms. “Be my valentine?” he asked playfully, pressing a smile into the crown of your head. But he couldn’t wait for your answer, urging you, “Say yes, sweet girl, say yes.” 

“Yes, of course, my sweet demon,” you purred, throwing a leg over Andy’s body and sliding on top of him. 

Andy’s cock, which he’d thought for sure needed at least a few more hours of rest after the long night of fucking, valiantly stirred to life between your thighs. You reached between your bodies, slipping his half-hard length into your warm pussy and settling down on his chest, breathing a soft sigh of contentment. 

The two of you fell asleep like that, your soft, perfect body keeping Andy’s cock warm while you held each other close. As he drifted off, the demon felt a sense of peace and satisfaction that he’d never even dreamed he could achieve in his long, long life of walking the earth.

From that day on, Andy’s life was never the same. It was happier and more fulfilling and he never wanted for anything, not while you were in his life—and in his arms and in his bed. Together, you celebrated holidays and birthdays and life achievements as you grew together, but one day was still the most special.

For an incubus like Andy Barber, Valentine’s Day was his favorite day of the year. Not because of all the lonely, single women in the world, but because it was the day he’d found his true mate, the love of his life—it was the day he’d found you.

[hom3landr]

Little Miss Why So

18+

Homelander X GN!Reader

(While the song title referenced is gendered, the reader in the fic is written as gender neutral)

Very loosely inspired by the song of the same name by The Amazing Devil

“Why won’t you believe I love you if I’m not hurting you?” He says.

Written for Cozy Corner Kinktober 2024 for the prompts Crying, Biting, and possibly Magical Healing Cock?

CW: Dubcon, Toxic Coping Mechanisms, Toxic Relationship Dynamics

When he finds you, you’re sobbing. Fat tears stream down your face and drop onto the pavement below. Your eyes are swollen and sticky with sorrow and the force with which you wail stirs up bile in your gut. Rain drenches you and the cloying stench of rot from the wet trash in the alley mimics the disgust you feel for yourself in that moment.

This isn’t about him but you know he’ll take it that way. He seems to take any emotion that isn’t pure adoration of him as some personal slight, as though he’s not good enough to keep you distracted from your pathetic life and its struggles. He sees it as a competition between your world and his. You see it as your reality. You’d wanted to find a quiet place to lick your wounds alone. That’s why you escaped to this filthy alley in the first place. But he found you anyway, vulnerable and ill-prepared to handle his ego.

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands in the alleyway entrance with his hands on his hips and a cock of his head. His face is blank as he looks you over, his lip curling slightly in distaste. You know you look a mess with your nose leaking snot and your cheeks hot and swollen. You don’t say anything. You don’t have the energy. You just sniffle and wait for the inevitable blast wave.

He stays silent, the only noise is the soft patter of rain and the squelch of his boots on the wet ground as he walks toward you. He crowds you against the brick and grips your hips to spin you to face the wall. You brace yourself with your hands and he pushes in close behind you. The soft bulge of his cup hides his erection but you can tell by the eagerness with which he presses against you that he's hard. You rest your head on the wall and sigh. You don’t have the energy to reciprocate but it doesn’t seem like he expects you too.

“You look so good like this,” He purrs in your ear. It surprises you. You know you look like shit. “So pure and perfect.”

He grinds against your ass and peppers your neck with greedy kisses. His hands quickly fumble with the button of your jeans and he slides the zipper down with a hiss. His hand dives into your underwear, testing your readiness. You aren’t at all really but it doesn’t seem to deter him too much. He strokes you exactly the way he knows that you like and your body responds accordingly. You arch into his touch even though your crying hasn’t ceased. He hushes you softly.

You hear the hiss of his own zipper and he uses his knee to coax your legs further apart as he tugs your jeans down past your ass. You offer no resistance. He spits on his palm for some lubrication and strokes himself before pressing in. He goes slow but it still stings a bit without the usual extended preparation. You hiccup and whimper at the stretch but despite all his flaws, you trust him not to cause you any damage. He’s careful and strangely you find that you don’t mind the pain. It’s cathartic.

“Just let it out. That’s it. You’re doing so good.” He coos in your ear as he bottoms out. You grunt, uncomfortably full but satisfied by the distraction from your own thoughts. He doesn’t move except to resume stroking you, humming in pleasure at the way you clench tightly around him.

“I want you to cry for me until you can’t anymore. Don’t fucking stop.” He growls. You nod weakly as you allow the tears to fall freely without shame. There’s nowhere for you to hide with the way you’re pinned between the wall and his hard cock.

The first thrust hurts. You haven’t fully relaxed around him yet although you’re slick enough to take him by now. He grunts, rubbing you faster while his other hand reaches up to grab your jaw, turning your gaze to meet his. He searches your eyes for something and he seems to find it. The cold appraisal in his expression warms slightly as he leans down to lick the salt from your cheeks.

“Give it to me. Don’t hide it.” He moans against your skin as he begins to increase the speed of his thrusts. Your discomfort is quickly evolving into pleasure now at the intensity of the sensations he’s filling you with. You moan and his grips tightens bruisingly, purple inevitably beginning to bloom under his fingers. You cry out and he throbs inside you.

“This belongs to me.” He growls and his pace is brutal as he uses you.

You’re beginning to understand his fervor now. You begin to understand why he feels so entitled to your pain. How many times have you seen him at his weakest? How many times have you held him while he cried and comforted him as his shoulders shook with sorrow and self-pity? He doesn’t like uneven scales. He’s gloating, gleeful that he’s not the only weak one in the relationship.

It’s fucked up��but that’s him. How can you begrudge him when this is all he’s ever known? After all, it is helping. The overwhelm of sensation is the only thing that could have pulled you out of that headspace. You need this wake-up call as a reboot of your brain. Your mournful cries have evolved into needy moans and your hips press eagerly back into his. A kinder response wouldn’t have reached the root of your hurt. Like lancing a boil, you need him to drain the poison out of you.

He continues to whisper sweet nothings in your ear despite the way he’s fucking you as though he doesn’t give a damn whether you live or die. It’s cold and emotionless, using you as merely a sleeve for his cock. But his breath against your ear is warm and he nuzzles sweetly against your temple. You try to speak but the wind is knocked out of you every time his cock pounds against that soft spot inside you.

“I don’t want to hear anything come out of your mouth unless it’s your pathetic sobbing. That’s what you came all this way for, so fucking do it.” He pants breathlessly against your ear as he nears his release.

You do, although the tears that prick at your eyes are those of pleasure now. You’re loose and quivering around him and every nerve ending tingles with electricity. Your nail tears as you claw at the brick to brace yourself for the edge he’s quickly driving you towards.

You cry out his name and he bites your shoulder harshly, the bloody reprimand staining his teeth.

“What did I just fucking say?” He hisses before lapping hungrily at the wound and groaning darkly at the iron tang that fills his mouth. He can taste the endorphins in it and it drives him crazy.

The sudden sharp pain hurls you into a world ending orgasm and your legs give out. You almost collapse until he presses you bodily against his wall. His pace shifts into a deep filthy grind right into your spasming hole as he holds you up with his body. You wail and clench around him and it doesn’t take much longer at all until he’s spilling into you, his release leaking out of you and dripping down his balls onto the slick pavement below. He moans and whines in your ear, his demeanor shifting from cruel to needy in the span of a heartbeat.

You struggle to catch your breath, agony and delight filling your veins in equal measure. It’s perfect. It’s just what you needed. He’s just what you needed, every cruel beautiful inch of him. You don’t merely endure him. You need the sharp edges of him to keep you grounded. You need that pain.

His arms wrap around you. He peppers your sore shoulder with sweet kisses as a silent apology. You’ll need to bandage it up when you return but you aren’t going to worry about it right now. You’re content in his embrace. The two of you wait there in silence as the silver rain continues to fall all around you, causing the dirty alley to glint prettily in the moonlight. Your chest still aches but you can survive it.

“Let’s get you back home. I’ll run you a bath and have the kitchen bring you up your favorite. How does that sound?” His tone is so kind and warm, a far cry from his earlier demeanor. You still aren’t quite capable of speech but you nod.

“There you are.” He coos, and as he scoops you up into his arms and off into the sky, you slip away into a comfortable doze.

You know it’s not healthy but it’s all you have. It’s all he can give you. If it gets you results then you can learn to be content with that. So you lean into him and let the rain wash away the remnants of what ails you.

[carnal-lnstinct]

I’m always so excited for your Halloween event! (And anything you write too 💚)

Can I request my boi Gohan. I love our dorky nerd having a mean dark side. 🥰 If I could get anything either dubcon or cnc with him? Any type of setting is good with me; walking home in the dark, meeting at a bar, or a good old meet up with the Ox Prince 😂

(Off question, which I might have asked you before but memory is terrible, but do you think you’ll write Granolah at any point? 🤔)

〖 OX PRINCE GOHAN X READER 〗 ✦✦Content: M/18+. MINORS DNI. au. established relationship. public sex. rough sex. breeding. overstimulation. referenced squirting.    ✦✦Warning: implied dubcon/cnc. light impact play. ✦✦A/N: I still haven't read the other arcs in the manga to fully absorb and muse over Granolah's character, so it depends on how soon I do that and if he strikes interest to me. I swear I only go through the manga to look at Broly 😭 but we'll see!

It seemed like nothing could break through to Gohan in the heat of this moment, his blood pumping and the sound of his own pulse in his ears smothering out any remaining wariness for your surroundings. He’s past the point of indulging a distraction like a creeping up voice or the floor creaking under approaching footsteps. You’re right here, sobbing under the growing intensity of his body pounding against yours and lacking all the flash and fight you started with. You’re perfectly broken down, now malleable for whatever he wanted you to be. He pulled you flush against his hips, allowing you to keep his cock warm for the moment as he removed the fogged glasses from his eyes to get a better look at you. The Ox Prince admires his handiwork with a tasteful lick of his lips and a languid drag of your body along his length, taking in the mess of his cum and yours glossing up your connection.

You trembled inconsolably from the aftershocks of orgasms and squirts you couldn’t control, let alone recover from. A pitiful whine leaves your lips and your knees buckle a little when he pulls you back to fully sheath himself again making him snicker proudly.

Regardless of how much you shake and sob, you aren’t fixing your mouth to say that word. The only thing to make it all stop. Or, perhaps, you can’t. Nothing but hoarse, shaky croaks on your breath, and a fog in your mind holding you back from the relief you desperately need. Even so, he gave it to you to use as a mercy.

Gohan inviting himself to slap your ass in quick succession just to feel you clamp around his cock reminds you of your shared addiction to the high, which really keeps your safe word sitting in the back of your throat. It doesn’t matter where you are, he’s going to fuck you. You protest and he does it harder, longer. Drawing it out and goading you with those deep strokes against your spot to draw attention knowing you’ll try your best to keep from embarrassing yourself. With that shame stirring back into your mind you find your words again, miraculously letting out pleas for him to end it already, for your sake. You can’t take another build-up anymore than you can keep yourself quiet enough to avoid attention. 

But your begging is all hollow bullshit if you’re not going to say it. Admitting you’re afraid to be caught like this or what Gohan would do in the situation should his temper get the best of him doesn’t stop him. You’re his woman, he’ll have you whenever and wherever he wants and he’s never led you to believe otherwise since you’ve gotten this far in your relationship. Filling you up and watching you shamble around afterward to keep it all in is the mark of a fulfilling fuck.

Gohan takes your leg and turns you onto your back from your position on your knees, your cunt wet and stretched to his size enough that he could do it without pulling out of you. He’s not even giving your pathetic words the time of day. 

He doesn’t waste any of his attention on keeping your hands restrained when you start to push against the roll of his hips, growing into a desperate fuss when his pace finds the angle to make you squeal. It’s downright cathartic to feel the way you claw at his skin, the impact of your palm nudging at his unwavering form raising an uncanny smile on his face. His ki surged with excitement in the form of electricity around his body. Heating him more than before as red flashes in his irises.

[glimmeringtwilight]

Daffodils p2 | Yandere Diluc x Reader x Dottore

this might be incoherent. i still dislike the ending but atp if i keep chipping away i'm going to abandon it lol

CW: referenced reader death (from p1), angst, captivity, yandere themes, body horror (mild for. y'know. my usual), minor character death, NSFW (not super explicit, and no specific wordage for uuu parts), cuckholding, blood, non-consensual voyeurism (diluc), dubcon, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms (do not imitate)

Word Count: 2.6k

It’s a dreary autumn day when the master of the winery returns with you in tow.

The manor is quiet, still as the Snezhnayan winter that he trekked through for the past several sleepless days and nights to get you. More quiet, however, is you, who hasn’t spoken a word since Diluc dragged you out of that dimly lit, dilapidated lab stinking of chemicals that he found you in. 

He’s tried everything he knows on the journey back. You didn’t struggle once as he carried you back home– didn’t try to run when he’d rest with you in his arms– but you didn’t say a single thing to him no matter how hard he tried to get you to speak.

That’s fine. It’s shock, he supposes. He doesn’t know what that madman did to you, and if he didn’t have such precious cargo he would have gone back there and burned that place to the ground; charring the snowy, lifeless landscape surrounding it. 

But he has you. He has you now, and that’s all that matters. Even if your skin has lost some of its color now, dull and cold. Even if there’s a quiet ticking in your chest in place of a heartbeat. Even if you only ever look through him, now. It’s enough. 

This is what Diluc tells himself as he returns you to the room that had been your prison for months, as he dusts off the bars of your gilded cage before locking you back inside. 

You don’t say anything. But it’s enough, just having you. It’s enough, he thinks.

Adelinde keeps checking in on him now that he’s returned. Her face is always pinched with a quiet concern when she speaks to him, and the servants in the manor part like the sea against jagged stone when he walks past them in the halls. 

The estate seems to hold its breath around him; no longer a ghost, but perhaps something worse. As though the light he’d held against the darkness was snuffed out, and the shadow cast in its wake was long. But he’s fine. He swears it. He’s fine, now that you’re back. He’ll be perfect for you, the perfect gentleman; the man he swore he was but could never seem to be, before.

It’s enough to just have you. To hold you every night as he lays next to you, still in your bed like a corpse, listening to the ticking in your chest like a clock counting down to nowhere. Diluc finds himself dreading the ticking and seeking it out all the same.

Weeks pass like this, with Diluc unraveling slowly as he tries to cling to the crumbling memory of you, bastardized by his selfishness and immortalized in the husk of you he keeps locked in your room. 

None of the servants are allowed to see you. He hears them at night, whispering to each other when they think he’s gone to sleep. 

“He’s lost his mind.”

“Are they even alive, in there? I haven’t seen them at all. Adelinde said they–”

“Keep your voice down– are you trying to wake him?”

He hasn’t lost his mind. He has you here now, to ground him, to make him whole. Even if your body seems to be crumbling, tearing apart with every passing day.

You don’t say anything anymore. You don’t eat, but you choke down whatever food he forces down your throat, teeth clacking against silverware as you stare off into nothing. Most of his days are spent taking care of you, keeping you together, stoking the fireplace in your room to keep you warm.

You don’t seem to mind the cold, but he still forces you to sit by the fire, warming you up in a facsimile of living flesh. He tries everything– cleaning you carefully every morning before dressing you, tending to the sutures that never seem to heal.

But he can’t seem to bring you back fully. Can’t seem to warm the skin that cools quickly when you’re not kept by the fire, can’t seem to wipe that glassy look from your eyes, can’t seem to drown out the ticking in your chest.

Adelinde comes home one day from running errands to find all of the clocks in the estate smashed and left out on the front steps, some of the servants already tending to the mess as the master of the estate slips back inside the manor like a shadow of the setting sun. 

He can’t figure it out. You won’t talk to him, won’t hardly look at him unless he takes you by the jaw and forces you. He can barely stand to hold you.

It’s enough. It’s enough. It’s enough. 

But he knows it isn’t. He can’t bear living with the ghost of you, settling for the corpse he keeps in his bed. He wants you to smile at him like you used to. Needs to hear your voice again. Holding you close while you’re still so far from him is driving him mad. 

It’s another dreary day when he finally breaks. Rain pours against the roof of the estate, blazing trails down the window panes. You’re sat by the fire again as you always are, most days. 

Diluc kneels at your feet, his head buried against your knees as he begs you to speak.

“I love you,” He says. He reaches up, pressing a trembling hand against your cold cheek. He can’t seem to chase the snow out of you. You don’t respond. He tries again. “I love you.”

Your eyes flick to his, the barest indication of life in them– but you look through him all the same, as you have been for weeks, now. He sits up, eyes wild, and leans over you, grasping your face desperately. He can’t bear to look at it anymore.

Diluc pulls you close, burying his face against your nape and gritting his teeth at the smell of chemicals clinging to you. You still smell like that place. Like chemicals. Like the Doctor. No matter how many times he bathes you, no matter how hard he scrubs. It’s there. Always there. Faint, but still there. 

“Please come back to me,” He whispers, clutching you against his chest like you’ll slip through his fingers at any moment. …Like you haven’t already. “Please. I’ll do anything.”

For the first time in weeks, you speak. Your voice is hoarse, quiet and wispy from disuse. It’s like the sun peeking through the clouds after a long storm, a refreshing wind–

“Take me back.” You rasp, and his blood runs cold. When he doesn’t respond, you repeat yourself. “Take me back.”

Diluc stays there a minute, gasping through clenched teeth as grief and anger rattle through him. You don’t mean it. You can’t. You let out a quiet, pained sound from how tight his grip on you has gotten, and he pulls away like he’s been burned. 

He can’t look at you. There’s a ticking behind your chest, behind his ears– whatever it is the Doctor replaced your heart with– he can’t unhear it. Without a word, he leaves swiftly, locking the door behind him as he goes. 

When he returns, the fire in the hearth has dimmed to embers, and you’re still perched exactly how he left you. Like a doll. He breathes a shuddering sigh and moves you to the bed, laying you down and tucking you in with all the tenderness and care his trembling hands can manage. 

Instead of begging you to speak, he slips out of the room again, instructing Adelinde to look after you while he’s gone. 

He knows how to fix this: it must be your heart. Must be that facsimile of a beating heart stuffed into your chest that’s causing you to act so hollow and lifeless. If he can just find it, he can bring you back. He’s sure of it. 

Diluc journeys for another several days and nights, returning to the lab he’d found you in and tearing the place apart until he finds what he was looking for– your heart, preserved in formaldehyde and kept in a jar like some sort of sickening keepsake. 

There’s no sign of the Doctor anywhere, but Diluc doesn’t have enough mercy left in his heart to spare for the Fatui grunts unfortunate enough to get caught in his path. Blood stains his jacket an even deeper shade of red, sinking into the stitching deep enough that he’s certain even Adelinde wouldn’t be able to remove the stains. 

He burns the place down once he’s finished, true to his word, leaving the smoldering building behind as he makes the journey back with bloodstained boots and clothes, carrying the final piece of you; the missing puzzle piece in his hands.

Biting winds at his back keep his pace hurried as he rushes home; he has barely slept by the time he finally returns, the sun rising over the peaceful estate of the winery like a promise of hope. 

He’s delirious and exhausted from hardly pausing to rest throughout the entire journey home, but he has it– he has what he knows will fix you, bring the light back into your glassy eyes. 

The manor is quiet when he steps inside, and Diluc freezes when he sees Adelinde’s body laying at the bottom of the stairs, neck twisted at an unnatural angle and her expression frozen in horror. 

No-

His first instinct is to find you, stepping over Adelinde’s body despite the pang of grief that lances through his chest. Every step only turns his blood cooler in his veins, cutting through exhaustion and delirium like a blade.

The door to your bedroom is cracked and he throws it open, freezing as he sees what’s there.

You’re smiling. For the first time since he lost you, you’re smiling, eyes crinkled with warmth as the number two of the Fatui Harbingers looms over you like a malaise.

Floorboards singe underfoot, but Diluc isn’t given time to act before hands snatch his arms, ripping his Vision from him and tossing it aside. Whatever angered curse he was going to say is cut off by another pair of hands shoving a gag into his mouth, and it takes several agents to drag him into the room and force him into the chair set up by the bed.

There’s the sound of breaking glass as the struggle knocks the precious cargo he’d carried all this way from his hands, shattering against the floor. Whatever grief he may have felt at the sound  is drowned out by the sight of you as the Fatui grunts forcibly sit him down in the chair and start to tie him down. 

Rope cuts into his wrists and his legs as he’s tied to the chair; two of the pyro agents stay behind to keep him from thrashing or knocking the chair over as the rest slink back into the hallway. 

It isn’t until the last of the rope is secured, leaving the frazzled wine tycoon seething from behind the gag but unable to do much else, that Dottore finally speaks up. 

“I’m glad you could finally join us, Master Diluc,” The Doctor drawls, words dripping with condescension and cyanide. “I was beginning to worry.”

A knowing smile tugs at Dottore’s lips when he turns to see Diluc’s expression, distress creased in the lines of his brow as his attention remains fixated solely on you. 

Diluc sees now. That bastard is sitting in your bed, the bed you’re meant to share with him, as gloved fingers lazily toy with your nipples. The clothes you were wearing are haphazardly strewn about the floor. 

Dottore readjusts. Takes hold of your legs and wraps them loosely around his hips as he situates himself more comfortably on the bed. Diluc feels nausea roiling in his gut.

He can’t tear his eyes away when Dottore’s fingers drift downward, tracing over your stomach before dipping between your thighs. The soft sound you make burns him. 

It’s torture, listening to you. He’d wanted so desperately for any sound from you– anything at all– these past few weeks, but not like this. Not while you’re looking up at that monster like he’s the moon– the most life Diluc’s seen in your eyes in weeks– as he defiles you. 

Every noise seems to chip a piece of him away, cutting deeper than any blade could hope to manage.

As much as it rends him to watch, he can’t tear his eyes away, taking in the sight of you shuddering and moaning softly in response to another man’s touch. 

Something acrid and bitter swells in his chest– he can’t help but think that if it weren’t for him, you’d never be here. If he hadn’t stolen you, held on too tight so that you’d run away the first chance you’d gotten, you never would have died… Never would have wound up under the Doctor, on his operating table or in this bed.

Worse, still, is the selfish insistence he still feels. If he hadn’t taken you, he fears the worst may have happened to you– as though the worst hadn’t already come true. He did all of this to protect you– yet he’d failed to do even that. 

You eventually shudder in a way Diluc recognizes and he sags against the chair, feeling something crack inside him. This is killing him. As much as pain rips through his chest, he can’t help but cling to that rending heartache, tolerate it if it means he gets to see you smile again. You’re still in there– not a doll, not a ghost.

He loves you; he always will. Even this will never make him hate you– it’s not your fault that you’ve been caught up in the jaws of a monster. It’s not your fault that he’d failed you. 

Dottore adjusts, and whatever self-loathing Diluc had felt starts to wither at the sound of rustling fabric. No. No- 

He tries to thrash in his chair, held down by the two agents standing behind him with a firm grip on his shoulders. He tries to turn away, to close his eyes and shut out the world as the whimper from you that follows sears him like a brand. Hands dig into his jaw, prod at his eyelids with a force that threatens to blind him until he unwillingly opens them again. 

Months ago, when Diluc thought you’d finally settled, finally adjusted to your new life here, there was the barest beginnings of warmth in your eyes. Acceptance. Love, his heart hoped. He’s reminded of that again; you have the same embers of warmth in your gaze as you once did before the sky fell. 

That same look you’d once given him, but now it’s directed at the monster grinning down at you. He never thought that warmth could ruin him, but the grief that settles into his bones is a worse pain than one he’s ever known. 

The hope that he’d journeyed home with withers and dies at his feet like the heart the Doctor had stolen from you– to know it wasn’t merely literal is agony. His greed had been the undoing of you both. 

In the garden, the daffodils had died months ago; it was the end of their season. They’d planted sunflowers near where your grave once was instead, but those are dying too, afflicted by some disease or pest. 

Diluc had once hoped you’d go out into the garden to see them, but ever since he’d brought the ghost of you home you’ve only ever haunted this one room; days spent staring at the hearth instead of out the window like you’d used to. 

Jealousy is ugly and loud in his head, clinging to his throat like tar.

Perhaps he’s damned; he wishes that you hadn’t found the light that he’d stolen from you in another man.

[bucketsofmonsters]

Where the Light Enters - Part 1

cw: unreliable narrator, hurt/comfort, slow burn, eventual sex, enemies to lovers, past childhood sexual assault, past sex trafficking, referenced noncon, offscreen dubcon, happy ending, the tags look scary but this is mainly a story about recovery

Cole/Female Inquisitor

word count: 4k

ao3 link

Masterlist

She’d chosen the templars.

It seemed the better option. Or at least the less vulnerable one. 

Frankly, she'd barely understood what a templar was a few weeks ago. The mages seemed upset about them, but surely there were more important things than that in a war. Besides, she'd rather hide herself behind a trained militant force than these rogue witches. 

She still didn’t really understand them if she was being honest. She knew enough to see that people were afraid. No matter how evil the templars may be, at least they were stable. Maybe that was enough. 

She had hoped, assumed even, that Cullen would be doing this part. That she’d point at the templars on the map and he’d set off with his less than stellar army to collect them. That the man who’d been advocating to bring his old comrades into the fold would do the legwork and return with the mage killers and she’d be just that much safer. 

But no. She’d pointed at the map and then been sent off. They hadn’t even given her time to complain. 

Not that she would’ve. It would have ruined her perfectly crafted image of the sweet doe-eyed girl that ensured they wouldn’t throw her to the wolves. The one that changed her from a tool to a manipulable, scared girl. 

She was fine with being manipulated. So long as they thought she was weak-willed, there was no reason to hurt her. She just had to ensure that whatever was best for her was the path of least resistance for them. 

Besides, it wasn’t like she wasn’t returning the favor. The little notebook buried deep under her floorboards ran through the easiest way to get to all of them. Not to endear her to them, just to make her safe. She’d foster pity, camaraderie, desire, whatever would keep her in their good graces for the longest. 

She was always harmless. That was the one thing she had to be. Harmless above all else. Any sign of competency turned to threat under anything but the softest light. 

And yet they’d sent her fragile, bumbling self off to the templars to secure themselves some allies. Josephine had insisted she wouldn’t have to do anything, that she just had to show up while the actual soldiers being sent alongside her would do the heavy lifting. 

Iron Bull had promised much the same, posturing as he normally did. She almost always took him with her these days. He was a beast of a man who threw his weight around like it was nothing, more than happy to take blows for her. And even more importantly, he was growing incredibly fond of her, the kind of ally she needed. 

Their actual leader, the one who made the real decisions, was Cassandra. Cassandra was disinterested in coddling her, more focused on gathering troops than on the strange girl who’d inexplicably been shoved towards leadership because of an ability she’d been given by some higher power. 

Solas, the mage she’d been forced to take with her, was too busy huffing and puffing about prioritizing templars over mages. She thought about snapping at the elf, at insisting that maybe the mages should have been an organized militaristic force if they wanted to be prioritized in this fight. 

Instead, she rolled over like she always did, playing afraid until he stormed off, clearly uncomfortable with the tremor in her voice as she swore she was just trying to get the strongest possible troops so no one else would get hurt. 

Good. Let him be uncomfortable. She had never liked him much anyways. 

But even so, when they arrived at the templar camp she kept herself wedged firmly between Solas and Iron Bull, as far away from the leader of the templars, the Lord Seeker she was pretty sure he was called, as she could. 

She still didn’t fully understand who he was, couldn’t make sense of what he was doing here or why she was meant to care about him. In her defense, she hadn’t expected to be forced to come along. 

Despite her disinterest in him, despite her safe position, despite the way Bull attempted to lead the conflict, when something snapped in the Lord Seeker and he lunged forwards, he lunged at her. 

The world lurched under her feet and it felt like it had the last time, when she'd been pulled through the fade to this awful place and given the strange power that stuck her heading an army. It made her reel in her skin, her muscles and sinews feeling like they were being tugged along faster than she could keep up with, her mind stretching impossibly thin as it did.

And then she was alone. Her warriors and mages were gone, no Bull or Cassandra or Solas to keep her safe. 

Then this Lord Seeker appeared once more, and she suspected that even if she had listened when they’d told her all about the templars and their plight, she would have no better of an idea who this Lord Seeker was. 

This idea was only reinforced when the Lord Seeker began to morph, turning into eerie, hollow puppets of her now absent companions, cycling through her advisors as well. 

She allowed herself the freedom to not perform innocence for these poor mockeries of her cohorts. It seemed probable that this ‘Lord Seeker’ was a demon and as such, unlikely to respond to her usual fawning. 

So instead she got on with things, turning away from the creature that had just decided to morph itself into the face that she tried to avoid seeing in the mirror, and began moving forwards in this strange new space. 

The exploration was slow, the terrain littered with traps. The demon seemed frustrated with her persistent refusal to listen to it menace her. 

The rooms revealed little. Some had puppetted versions of the members of the Inquisition, acting out some situation or another. She decided not to devote her attention to it. It seemed to be intended to display what might happen should she die here and to be frank, she couldn’t care less. She would be dead after all. If Cullen ended up in a jail cell after she died, so be it. It would serve him right for forcing her to come here anyway. 

She explored another room, empty and strange, not sure what she was looking for. It wasn’t like she could just find a way out, she knew she was somewhere incorporeal and beyond things like exit doors. Maybe it was the fade, maybe she was in her own mind, maybe it was this demon’s territory. She didn’t much care, unless figuring it out led her to an exit any faster. 

And then, as she drowned herself in hopelessness and melancholy, a voice sounded from behind her. 

“You.”

The voice didn’t sound harsh nor antagonistic, a far cry from what she’d heard from the demon’s many faces. It was soft, almost curious in its tone. 

She turned around with wide eyes, forcing her face back into the soft façade she’d been free of whilst only under the scrutiny of the demon. 

“Thank god I found someone,” she gasped out, hoping she wasn’t laying it on too thick. “I thought I was all alone in here.”

A young man stood before her. She tried to take him in but it was difficult to due to the frankly absurd hat he was wearing. It covered most of his face, obscuring him from her, the shaggy ends of blonde hair and a stern looking mouth barely peeking out from under it. 

He also, fairly notably, was hanging from the ceiling, which did not help with the matter of the oversized brim of his well-worn hat blocking her view. 

He spoke once more, in that same gentle, inquisitive tone. It was off putting in a way it shouldn’t have been, its softness not quite managing to shield it from that. “It's not the same. Soft words, hard thoughts. You hate me. People do that but you think I’m human and you hate me anyway. Besides it, because of it. It’s hard to see, hard to understand, covered more and more, shying away from the light. The light brings eyes and the eyes bring hurt.”

“Are you inside my head?” Her tone was laced with a spite she rarely allowed to see the light of day.

He looked around. “We’re both inside your head. You’ve guessed that already.”

She shook her head. “Not here, not this place. You, what you’re saying, those are my thoughts. You’re stealing them from me.”

“Not stealing. Just seeing. Hearing.” He paused for a moment, and then said with a decisiveness she’d yet to hear from him. “You’re a bad person.”

“What are you doing in here?” she asked, brushing right past his statements, desperately searching for a way out of this. As much as she hated it, this weird creature that she’d found lingering in her mind was probably her best chance of escape. At least he didn’t seem intent on killing her.

“I grabbed onto you, when you were pulled through the fade. I wanted to go help, but getting out is hard. You made it easy but part of me is stuck up here now. You could help. If you go back I can follow you then too.”

Great, so she’d picked up some sort of mind-reading monster in the fade. She was tempted for a second to take her chances with the demon but she wasn’t stupid. She couldn’t get out on her own, and he clearly knew something. 

“What are you?” she asked, at least wanting to know what she was dealing with before she threw her life into his hands. 

“I’m Cole. What are you?”

That earned a ghost of a laugh from her, the short huff of air barely noticeable. Not that it mattered, Cole could probably feel it as she did. “I’m Rosemary.”

“You’re wrong,” he said, suddenly behind her, standing on the same floor she was on.

“About what? My name?”

“Wandering, alone, unnamed, searching for something soft on the tongue. Rosemary made people see the ghost, not the person. Rosemary earned gentle hands. What are you?” 

This was spiraling out of control faster than she could figure out how to manage it. “Can we focus on getting out of here?” she asked. “Can’t you interrogate me when there’s no imminent threat on our lives?”

Then he breathed a word out like he couldn’t decide if it was a prayer or a curse, like it was a horrible truth that had just occurred to him. “Britches.”

Her head snapped towards him, a tension she’d long since trained out of herself rearing its ugly head. “Where did you hear that?”

“You told me. It echoes in your head, the closest thing to you that there is. It’s so far, fleeting, fading. But it’s almost you.”

“We need to leave,” she practically pleaded with him. “Can we please just get out of here?”

“I’ve never heard someone who wasn’t a who before. Where did it go?”

“I promise I’ll answer all your questions when we get out. Please, we need to go.” She wasn’t above begging. There was very little she was above, in all honesty. 

His head tilted once more, as if considering asking about that thought, before deciding the promise of honesty in the future was worth more. 

“It wants your face,” he declared. “It would hurt more than you ever could, claw the people apart instead of just holding. You want to leave. I can help.”

“You can get me out of here?”

He didn’t even bother to nod, just continued speaking in his strange little riddles. “You need to make it more. Right now it’s just a few. The further you go, the further it stretches.”

“Why would I want to make it bigger?”

“The smaller it is, the closer together the power. You have to stretch it thin.”

Right, so she just needed to keep moving and eventually something in this seemingly endless demon would snap. 

She didn’t need him for that, she could travel on her own. 

His head tilted as the thought passed through her head. “We’re in you already. If you leave me behind, I stay. You want me to go so you can’t leave me.”

He was right. As much as she didn’t want to travel with this weird creature, leaving him festering inside her head seemed infinitely worse. 

“Alright then Cole, we’d better start walking.”

He nodded but did not move. “We will need to fight.”

“You will need to fight. There’s not much I can do.”

“No. You don’t fight, you move softer. Sneaking, slipping, stealing. You only have to roll over if you get caught.”

“I wish you’d stop doing that,” she said, and her voice was instinctually softer. He paid her no regard. 

“I can be quiet. We can move softly together.”

She hoped the creature actually understood what it was saying, that it could be as stealthy as it promised. Or at least hoped that it could fight. 

He still didn’t move and she wondered if he was waiting for her to go first. 

She turned and took a few steps out the door, hearing no footsteps sound behind her. 

When she turned, Cole was nowhere to be found.

A voice came from right behind her, outside of the doorway. “Should we not leave?”

She whipped around and glared at him. He didn’t seem to react to the look at all. 

To be fair, she wasn’t very intimidating. She had little practice at being menacing and she most certainly was not a natural. 

Emboldened by the fact that he did not seem to need to move to follow her, she set out, walking out the door, blowing right past him.

A scream sounded from her left and Cole said, “Keep going straight. It wants you to wind around and around and around so it doesn’t have to stretch.”

His voice echoed and she wasn’t sure if it was an audible noise or not. She turned to where it felt like it had come from and there he was, walking alongside her. 

The sound of her footsteps remained the only ones in the hall as the two of them walked. 

“We should move quietly,” she said. 

He looked around as he moved. “Envy can’t hear me. It doesn't know I’m here. You wouldn’t have either.”

“If not for safety then maybe you should be quiet for my own sanity.”

“You’re not going insane,” he declared. “You are frustrated.”

“You don’t seem to mind.”

“No,” he said. “You can be frustrated if you’d like.”

“No,” she informed him, although she imagined he knew already. “I would not like.”

She turned to look at him and saw a glimpse of his eyes under his hat, a little wrinkle formed between them. “Then you should stop.”

“You first,” she huffed. 

“The Iron Bull is out there,” he said, undeterred by her clear irritation. “He isn’t bad but he brings hurt anyway.”

She decided to try a more direct approach. “Can you shut up?”

“If you let them bite, then it doesn’t count. It only hurts if they take it, if you allow it it's still yours.”

She stopped with a jolt, whipping around to scold him. “If you can see everything in my head, why do you keep talking? You know what’s up there and I know what's up there so what exactly are we achieving?”

“I have thoughts too,” he said, almost wistfully.

“Really? I have yet to hear them. You instead seem intent on airing every thought I’ve ever had as obtusely as you can.”

“It’s hard. Your thoughts are so loud. You’re very angry.”

She huffed as she stormed onwards. “Wouldn’t you be?”

“I don’t know. I think the hurt would make me help. It just makes you want to dig your claws in and hold.”

“Fucking irritating little creature, that’s what you are. I’ll be glad when I get out of this and I never have to see you again. Then you can stew on my rotten thoughts as long as you’d like.”

His head cocked to the side. “You’re not convinced we’re inside you. You still hope this could be the fade. You think I may belong here, that I might stay.”

“Frankly, I don’t care where you go. I know you’re not staying with me though.”

“We’re tethered.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You can see in my head, right? Do you really think they’re going to believe a demon over me? You’ll be killed in a heartbeat. Which is fine by me, no skin off my back.”

“A bad person,” he muttered to himself, hands flexing and unflexing slowly, rhythmically as he spoke. She wasn’t sure if he even knew he was doing it. 

He went silent as they heard the shouting of troops. Cole faded away and she took to the shadows. 

If this really was her mind, which she was not ready to wholeheartedly believe on the word of some creature, then she had no idea how stealth worked here. Was it really as simple as being quiet and hiding away? Surely in this space that the demon allegedly created, it could sense where she was. 

And yet she watched soldiers run in front of her, looking desperately for someone to fight as she slunk further into the artificial landscape. 

Cole made himself scarce from there on out, occasionally warning her with that strange, disembodied voice to turn now or to avoid the room ahead, although never in such clear terms. 

Eventually, she realized where she’d ended up. She was where she’d begun, where the Lord Seeker, or perhaps the envy demon, had lunged at her past her several bodyguards, most of which were standing protectively in front of her.

It wanted her. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe because of her perceived position of power. Maybe because of whatever this ability was that the fade had given her seemingly at random when she’d been pulled here.

It didn’t really matter, at the end of the day. She just needed to get out. 

And at the top of all those staircases was a dead end where she had been attacked. 

She looked around as the sound of battle-ready troops got louder. 

“Cole,” she hissed. “Where do I go?”

His voice sounded from above and she looked up to find him in the palm of a massive statue. 

“You remember it wrong. The statues don’t have faces here. You didn’t care to look.”

“I still don’t. We have more important things to be worrying about than what some weird statues look like.”

“It should end where it began. You must escape in the center.”

She made the mistake of turning her head, of looking nervously towards the false templars that resided down the stairs. 

When she looked back up, she was alone again. 

Or at least she hoped she was, looking around nervously, checking for any signs of an aggressor. 

But demons didn’t play fair. 

Before she could so much as catch sight of it, the faux Lord Seeker was slamming her back into the wall, hands tight around her throat. 

The face looking back at hers was the half-familiar one from the mirror once more, one she tried to avoid looking at at all costs. 

It was typically unfair, she supposed. To be forced to look at an imitation of herself as she died. 

She kicked and flailed, trying to break from his grasp, to get away by any means possible, but she knew it was a losing fight. She could feel the strength in its hands that far exceeded hers. 

Cole’s voice sounded from right beside her. “He is afraid of you.”

She could see no sign of him out of the corner of her eye as she thrashed in the demon's hold, but she could hear him perfectly. 

The fight began to drain out of her, sinking into herself as her kicks lost all their power. 

And then the hands around her throat went stiff and the world folded in on itself. 

She collapsed to the ground the second she saw Iron Bull in front of her, pulling the Lord Seeker away from her. She heaved in air where she sat, clutching her chest as she did, eyes beginning to water. 

It wasn’t her best performance, a bit overdone. She honestly could have just reacted as she would naturally but the sudden appearance of her companions had thrown her. In her defense, it was a sudden shift and she’d been preoccupied with other things. 

The strange creature with the stupid hat was nowhere to be seen. She wasn’t sure if she hoped he was still trapped back wherever they had been or not. She certainly didn’t want him lingering in her head but having a mind-reading creature roaming around would prove an ever greater problem. 

Bull carried her inside as the other two talked about a demon and some transformation she hadn’t been privy to, instead caught up in her own dramatics. 

He tucked her away on a chair in the corner as Solas said something, probably whining about her. Cassandra gave her a firm order to stay put and they left her inside, amidst the templars.

She stayed tucked in her corner, choking down any panic that might want to arise. 

She didn’t like being alone with groups of men, let alone groups of men that she didn’t know and hadn’t built any repertoire with.  

The fight was over fast. She stayed dutifully in her corner, not one to disobey orders. When it was over, Cassandra and Bull returned for her, Solas presumably off worrying about more important things than her. 

Cassandra did not let Bull carry her any longer, insisting she was fine without giving her the chance to speak. She rose to her feet, despite her plan to feign weakness a little longer. She didn’t want to upset Cassandra.

Cassandra dragged her back to their control room to debrief about the mission, where she would inevitably try to pull something approximating leadership out of her once more. 

It wouldn’t work. She knew any attempt to lead would upset more people than it would please.

It was safer to be weak. 

Cullen was upset about something, which didn’t make sense to her considering she’d helped his precious templars first. Josephine was upset too, not that she’d ever admit it. But a liar recognizes a liar and that calm voice was as put on as it could be. Leliana was endlessly practical, so presumably she was telling her something important. She barely listened to any of it, instead focusing on clutching her uninjured stomach in faux pain, hoping that the hands that had been around her neck left bruises, despite having been in that world between worlds. 

And then their typical, predictable chatter turned to something more panicked and she looked up to find Cole sitting on their table.

Her eyes shifted from an impression of someone trying to be brave about their pain to a very real panic, lurching away from him before she could think. 

Swords were being drawn in the blink of an eye and she did her best to position herself behind Cullen. He was already the fastest to the draw and Cole was too dangerous to her. Hopefully, if he felt he had something to protect he would be even more likely to end this creature now, before Cole could become a problem. 

“You left,” Cole said, looking straight at her, the weapons pointing at him not seeming to concern him at all.

All heads turned to her. “Rosemary?” asked Josephine hesitantly, waiting for an explanation. 

“He helped me against the demon,” she said reluctantly. “But I don’t think we can trust him.”

Cole’s head cocked to the side. “Fleeting, fearful, frantic. You need me to be gone, they can’t see what I know. We both will stay.”

She prayed the others didn’t understand that as the threat it was. 

Leliana glanced between the two of them and asked, “A spirit helped you?”

A spirit. It made sense, she’d apparently picked him up in the fade and he hadn’t done anything truly menacing so it was unlikely he was a demon. At least not yet. She wasn’t sure how Leliana had deduced this but she stored the information away. 

She nodded. “He did. And maybe I was unfair. He was nothing but kind to me, and he saved my life. We could give him a chance.”

Cullen scoffed. “Trust him? He’s a demon and you just said we shouldn’t trust him! Now you want to set him free in the camp?”

“Wasn’t it you who said I could stand to be a little braver, Commander Cullen?” she said, sitting up a little straighter. She needed to do this, if Cole was inside her head he could get her killed. “He saved me, and I say we give him a chance.”

Cole was gone before she finished defending him, disappearing with hints of fade green in the air where he’d sat. 

Josephine looked nervous but she seemed the most content with their situation, saying, “He could be a useful resource-” 

Before she could so much as finish her sentence, Rosemary bolted out the door to go find the ticking bomb that had invited itself into her army.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

All of my fics written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles 2024, days 11-20.

[Days 1-10] A pirate's life for me Prompt: Cabin | Rated: M | Tags: Pirate AU; Implied child abuse; Flirting; Sexual tension; Dubcon if you squint, Steve is very into it, promise; Fade to black sex | Notes: Probably not the kind of cabin @steddieas-shegoes had in mind, but I wanted to write more Pirate AU Constellations of crimson

Prompt: Stargazing | Rated: E | Tags: Mafia AU; Mob boss Eddie; Dark Eddie; Blood and violence; Corpses; Nudity; Outdoor sex; Top Eddie; Bottom Steve; Bloodplay; Murder boyfriends | Notes: So I knew I wanted to do starlit outdoor sex for this prompt, but I couldn't decide on a universe to set it in, so I let @steddieas-shegoes pick one. She picked Kiss That Ring, which was a choice for sure. These two truly bring out the worst in each other. Meet the parents Prompt: Family Dinner | Rated: T | Tags: Modern AU; No UD AU; Meet ugly; Fake dating; Fake identity; Past Stommy Wherever you wanna go Prompt: Together | Rated: T | Tags: Omegaverse; Alpha!Steve; Omega!Eddie; Steddie dads; mpreg (referenced); Domestic fluff | Notes: Set in the same universe as Whatever you want it to be Everything you do is perfect

Prompt: Ornament Rated: T | Tags: Established relationship; Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Christmas; Steve Harrington has bad parents; Eddie Munson is a sweetheart; Making out A purrfect Christmas

Prompt: Tree (for both) Rated: G | Tags: Established relationship; Domestic fluff; Cat dads Steddie; Christmas | Notes: Set in the same universe as this one Sound, color, touch

Prompt: Lights | Rated: E | Tags: Magic AU; Established relationship; Married Steddie; Explicit sexual content | Notes: Once more for the Phantom Thief boys! I published the first part of this exactly 363 days ago, for last year's holiday drabble challenge. I'm not crying, you're crying!! Neverland Prompt: Vacation | Rated: T | Tags: No UD AU; Cruise ship; Musician Eddie; Kids' entertainer Steve; Steve in a dress; Homophobic language; Sexual tension; Eddie being a horny disaster | Notes: Based on this brainworm. Artwork of Steve and Robin in their costumes, done by the incredible @arelliann this way. Of toppings and fillings

Prompt: Dessert | Rated: M | Tags: Established relationship; Idiots in love; Competitive idiots, to be more specific; Sexually explicit language; Sexual innuendo; Eddie is a little shit

Home for Christmas

Prompt: Alone | Rated: G | Tags: Post-Vecna; Future fic; Everybody lives; Exes Steddie; Rock star Eddie; Single dad Steve; Reunions; Second chances | Notes: Continued from this one

[Days 21-31]

[scratchandplaster]

FEBUWHUMP DAY 4 - Obedience

CW: recapture, Carewhumper, touchstarved Whumpee, dubcon touching, love bombing, parental Whumper, hypnosis, emotional manipulation

Previous | [Masterlist] | Next

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Even before opening his eyes, Ben knew exactly where he was.

Through the throbbing ache behind his forehead, he smelled the fresh morning air of the valley, without any trace of petrol or tangy smog to be found. His lungs thanked him as he took the first big breath to wake up further. Underneath, the unending softness of countless blankets and pillows greeted his heavy body.

This was horrible, this was the one thing he was afraid to go back to. Luke would kill him.

Weight all over his body pushed him deeper into the drowsiness he wanted to embrace, but Ben realized what he was entangled in: a cuddle pile. How lovely, if the booming against his ears didn't disrupt this idyllic reunion.

"Lemme go." Ben started to weakly shove the arms and heads that rested on his chest aside, confused mumbling set in and made the Gordian knot made from concerned family slowly untangle. Oh, they were already upset at him, it was clear as day. And if Luke ever found out how much Ben had missed them, he would kill him double for it.

"Look who's awake," the same gentle voice that greeted him the night before announced. Shepard was close, somewhere above him, but Ben didn't dare to open his eyes yet; there still was a chance of this being just a terrifyingly pleasant pipe dream.

But no resistance withstood the warm pressure that began to fight the headache with careful strokes along Ben's scalp, finding sore muscle spots to dedicate its attention to and for a second, being back home felt like he truly caught on. The room gradually came into focus.

"There you are, sweetheart."

Snug in his arms, Ben couldn't look at Shepard, too ashamed by the happy faces that greeted him in this intimate circle: Birdie, Otis and their triplets, naturally, and even Shawn had managed to push himself to the front row of his reception committee: the family he left behind. What was to come next made Ben shudder.

It wouldn't stay a warm welcome for long, and why should it? He betrayed them for everything they had left behind.

If his flustered expression didn't give it away, his clothes alone made him feel like the outsider Ben had made of himself. Among the rush of people, Sam was nowhere to be seen. A rough pull in his stomach just proved to Ben that it was better this way, he could feel embarrassed when it was appropriate.

"Thank you all for welcoming Ben back," Shepard suddenly announced and clapped his hand together, "but I think we need some time alone so he can adjust."

The children started to pout, Shawn above all: "He just got here!"

Shepard tried to soothe them with a smile: "I know, I know. But afterward we can tell you all about his sabbatical and what he brought back for you."

"Gifts?!" now their excitement was stuck to Ben like a limpet, "Chocolate?"

"I- uhm, I don't-"

He was softly cut off: "Maybe we find out at dinner, does that sound good?"

At dinner, if he would still be here. Ben left before, he could just stand up and go, right? Right?

Dismissing every attendee with thankful words from the community tent, Shepard returned to his son wearing the tired face of disappointment. He looked much older than when they had last seen each other, harsh lines carved with worry graced his face.

How angry Shepard was right now felt like the most important question. The faded proof on Ben's forearms reminded him of it daily.

"Well then, how are we feeling?"

"Hurts," Ben admitted lowly. He had broken clear rules and now paid for it. Nevertheless, it was his decision…

Shepard sighed and dropped into a kneeling position before him, meeting him at eye level: "Your head? You have a hangover, it's going to pass."

"Hanging over what?"

"No, it's an expression. You just need to hydrate." He handed Ben a full glass of water that he emptied greedily.

"You drank a lot yesterday," Shepard shook his head blankly. He seemed more afraid than upset.

"The only thing he fears is losing control over you."

"I was just having fun, Shepard."

Out of his pocket, a handful of shimmering umbrellas, plastic neon monkeys and other souvenirs was pulled. Undisputable evidence at which the older man only furrowed a brow: "A lot of fun, and now the alcohol has its fun gnawing your brain away."

Ben's hands shot up to firmly hold his head in place, as if it would make a difference. Words could not express how much his little quirks were missed.

"When did you stop calling me Dad?" Shepard's concerned frown came to match the look, "It makes me feel sad."

"It makes me feel fucking stupid."

"Reuben!"

"Shepard!" he sassed back, "You can't just bring me here! I-I was doing fine. L- my friends will get worried if I just disappear without a word!"

"You made friends, that's great. I didn't see anyone with you, unfortunately, but they have nothing to be concerned about."

This, for once, was the truth. The settlement was the safest place on earth, in the center of it stood the oversized tent Ben received this tirade in. The glow of the midday sun penetrated the canvas to let the tent's inside radiate with warmth. Yet trivial how much they talked around it, both had good reasons to taint the peaceful atmosphere.

"Of course they weren't there! They-They give me space when I'm trying to hook up-"

"When you're trying to do what, young man?"

"Forget it," Ben muttered, "at least they care about me!"

Putting the glass aside, Shepard let his heavy hands rest on Ben's shoulders. His hoarse voice gave away the woe that plagued him for a good six months now: "And you doubt that I do?"

A wordless shrug was all Ben was willing to give. The topic that hung in the air was obvious to both of them.

"This conversation is long overdue, but after that night you never gave me a chance to explain-"

"I gave you a lot of chances." If no one else would, it was for Ben to hug himself tightly.

"You're right, starting over isn't as easy as it seems," Shepard exhaled and held him close while clearing his throat a few times: „I am so sorry for what happened in the past, especially the night you decided to leave. I thought of many apologies, but none of them are good enough. I can't offer you anything, but my deepest, most sincere regrets. I'm sorry and understand if this is also not enough for you to believe me. Somewhere in the future, if you allow me to, I hope to earn your trust back again."

"Shepard Cohen is a filthy liar," Luke warned him, "and nothing in the world is going to change this fact."

Hands in rough hands, forgiveness was left to the son. Ben had nothing to say.

"The only thing he cares about is himself and how he can people make dance to his tune!"  Ben held on to the reasons he left, there was no space for nostalgia, even if his heart leaped for joy at being back in the only sensible place on earth. "We are allowed to live how we see fit."

The silence spoke for itself.

"Alright. I understand you, Ben," he whispered dejected, "I finally understand."

Too petrified of the man he knew, Ben didn't look up until it was too late: quiet, thick tears dropped from his father's face down onto their folded hands. Shepard couldn't hold back his sobs anymore.

"Oh no," Ben gasped, "I didn't mean it like that. Of course, I believe you, but I…uhm."

The heart-wrenching realization hit him like a brick to the head: this hurt Shepard just as bad, it simply had to. Otherwise, he would never show himself so openly vulnerable.

"Please don't cry. I just don't know what to say!"

"I can understand every decision you made, even if it was to our detriment. You had very right to do so."

Indeed, Ben had every right and it felt nice to hear Shepard admit it. But the right to make someone feel this lousy… If he had this too, he didn't want it.

His hand carefully slipped up to wipe stray tears away: "Hey. Hey, Dad, please! I just had to go that night." A tired smile was coaxed out from the wrinkled skin.

"Are you mad?"

"No, of course not," Shepard reassured, loosening the tension in the air.

"Disappointed, then."

"Yes, but only in myself."

There they were again, the gentle hands that massaged away the sting inside his skull. It didn't pass Ben how confusing last night had been.

"Sam isn't really interested in me, are they?" It wasn't the bitter reality that made Ben curl up in awkwardness, but more so their intent for putting up with him.

"Nonsense, they are thrilled to meet you again. I'm sorry that we had to trick you a bit. You're just too young to engage in whatever hooking up entails."

"'m old enough." His hair was brushed back at a consoling pace, nearly lulling Ben back to sleep again.

"Maybe you are, maybe I just didn't realize how much you changed."

To simply lean into the quiet tranquility was heaven, like in the good old days when Ben felt secure and more like himself. By now, the water and careful touches helped minimize the ache to a dim pressure and gave them a moment to rest, until a familiar suggestion brought Ben back to the present: "Breathe with me."

Behind the peaceful quiet, somewhere pushed down by gentle words and sweet affection, distant alarm bells went off: "Never, and I'm serious this time, never let him into your head again!"

"Uhm, I think-" Ben mumbled as he got a grasp on the situation: he sat dutiful in Shepard's lap, exactly how he was supposed to. He could just get up and leave, right? If he wanted to…couldn't he?

"That wasn't a question, starshine," Shepard decided and let his words echo through the tent, "We are both hurt and I think we need to process all our feelings." The hand that just had cared through Ben's hair now snaked down to the base of his neck. 

"Breathe in," Shepard ordered and his body followed the command like a reflex, a distant sensation quickly caught up to him: mindlessness.

Shepard steered the flow of their thoughts and breath while keeping a soothing pace, in and out, so Ben could focus on the relaxation, on connecting with his inner self…on this dizzy, fuzzy feeling that crept into his limbs. Like a heavy blanket, the unwinding started at his feet and soon enveloped his body up to the head, feeling just as pleasant as Ben remembered. 

This wasn't bad, with Lukas' voice finally turned down to just a distant hum, it felt so good to stay adrift for a short second. Shepard was here with him, real and the only focus of his attention. In and out.

In. Bliss entered through his lungs and flowed along his bloodstream to his chest. Out. Troubles of the past were pushed out by the collected ease inside him. There simply was no space for them anymore.

In.

Out.

In.

Out. 

His head spun with the warped confusion, Ben was not the only one surprised how quickly he let himself drop into this state.

"W-wait-" A weak mumble rolled from his lips but left Shepard unfazed.

"Hold," the man shushed and marveled at how his lungs obeyed instantly, without questioning it for even a second. Mind light and empty, Ben looked into Shepard's golden-brown eyes and lost himself.

"Breathe out." The last sliver of resistance left his blank mind.

"Relax." Ben's head tipped over, leaning into the hands that held him upright.

"Sleep."

Loose eyelids slipped shut and his body fell into his father's waiting arms, so deep and so convinced that Shepard would catch him, like he always did, as he always will. 

Only supported by his self-appointed dad, yet weightlessly floating further down, Ben was too far gone to comprehend that his last chance to leave was long taken away.

"Remember how easy it is to fall, and all the many times you did before."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Febuwhump 2024 Masterlist]

@febuwhump

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Total $hit$how: Thorns Around His Throat

in which Hunter makes a choice

cw: referenced violence, manipulation, crude language, vaguely alluded past dubcon, brief emeto mention. Further warnings will be in the tags for spoiler purposes.

previous // masterlist // next

×~×~×

“Where was he taken?”

“I don't know, I—I saw a van, I remember part of the plate.”

“They can't be too far. We need to find him.”

Jericho and makeup guy were spouting back and forth, nervous colors buzzing around their heads like tv static. Hunter probably should've left as soon as makeup guy (Benny or whatever) came in. Gone back to his room, gone back to Vic, something. Should've left before Jericho could start digging into him, looking for answers he didn't really want.

What was he gonna do about it? Hunter hurt Sahota and Vic told him to, so the fuck what? They were all stuck here until the mission was done, whether they liked Vic’s methods or not. Hunter would find a way to stay, earn it however he had to, whether Jericho approved of it or not. 

He didn't need his approval. He didn't need to listen to him. Jericho had a family. Kids or something. Parents who still wanted to know where he was even as a grown ass adult. He didn't get it, couldn't get it.

And anyway, Vic hadn't meant it. He was just testing Hunter, just making sure he really wanted it, making sure he could listen. And even if he did mean it, who cared? Hunter had done worse things for worse people, taken beatings for bosses who didn't give a shit about him. At least Vic cared. At least Vic would tell him he did good when it was all over.

He wondered if Sahota was in the same boat. What had got him to stay? It wasn't something Hunter'd thought about before now, even though it had always been obvious that this was more than just a job to Sahota. Did Vic bandage his cuts after the interrogation? Tell him good job while he bled? The mental image made him want to cringe away. Wounds he'd caused, twinging jealousy in his stomach.

Sahota was scared of Vic, but Hunter was a little bit scared of him too. He had no doubt Vic could break him apart if he wanted. Put him in his place just like he had with Sahota.

“Is Joy back?”

“She should be by now.”

“We'll need her help. I don't think—” Benny glanced at Hunter, the yellow haze around him darkening a shade. He lowered his voice, but Hunter still heard him.

“Do we tell Vic?”

“Yeah,” Hunter said. Because he looked away. Because he was trying to keep it from him. “I'll get him.”

“I'll get him,” Jericho said, and the purple in his core swirled with a darker shade. Because of Vic? Because of Hunter? Or was he just afraid for Manak, who was stupid enough to get nabbed?

Vic wouldn't be happy. Maybe he'd order them to leave it, let Manak stay kidnapped, wipe the arrogant look off his face. The thought was supposed to be vindicating, but then he pictured Manak, tied up, bleeding like Sahota—

Fuck. Fuck this. 

Jericho left him alone with makeup guy, who stayed standing, arms twisted around himself, silent. Hunter looked away from his nervous, shifting yellow, looking for something else, anything else, even as his head pounded along with his heart.

The headaches were basically background noise now, a constant dull pain that could be ignored. At least for a little while, at least when he wasn't trying to find something specific. His eyesockets still throbbed from trying to find a path through the computer earlier, but it was fine. It was fine.

Jericho came back before long, the dark spot in his chest bigger than it was before. Vic was a few steps behind him, followed by muscle girl, and… Sahota. His face was swollen, mottled with purple and red. Same cold eyes, not even looking Hunter's way. Same slate gray.

Hunter turned his attention to his hands, nails digging at the scabbed-over part of his knuckles, focusing on the blooming rosepetals there as his stomach tried to twist itself loose.

“Tell me what happened,” Vic said above him, and Hunter glanced up in time to see Benny tear his eyes off Sahota's busted face, a dark ribbon coiling around his throat.

“Shit,” he whispered, his voice shaking, and Hunter dropped his head, pinching the inside of his wrist until daisies began to bloom there.

“Mr. Ruebin.”

“Fuck. Yeah. We, we found the drop site, but it was rigged with some kind of alarm. Some guys showed up in a van, and just… grabbed Kaius. Drove away. I— I don't even know what direction, I just ran.”

“Was it Finley?” Muscle girl spoke up.

“I don't know who else it would be.”

“Did you find anything at the site?” Vic said.

“Wh— no. Kaius is gone, isn't that more important?��

“The mission is more important.”

He could hear Jericho exhale. “Can't we do both? If we find Kaius, we'll find Finley. Won't that help?”

“We don't have the time.”

“Don't we need him for the mission?”

Even though what he was saying made sense, every word of pushback wound Hunter tighter. If Vic said no, it was for a reason, right? Vic knew better, right?

“We can accomplish what we need to with only four of you.”

“But—”

“Or maybe three.”

Hunter could read the threat there without even looking up, and Jericho didn't say anything else.

“What happens to him then?” Muscle girl cut in, and Hunter's nails dug in deeper at her words.

“He's smart, isn't he? I'm sure he'll find a way out.”

“Just let two of us go after him. It doesn't need to be the whole team.”

“We have other things to get done. Can't spare anyone.”

“Not even for a night? I won't sleep. Sahota…”

Hunter looked up again when she said his name, but the handler's gray was as cold as ever. His brows tipped down as she looked up at him, something darkening in his chest.

Was it fear again? He knew what Hunter knew, what everyone else refused to accept; Vic was in charge here. You couldn't push against him. This had only happened because of their defiance in the first place. If they'd just listened, they could've picked a different target.

“Even if we let you go, the chance of you finding him is slim at best," Sahota said in an empty voice. "Better to not waste any more time.”

Muscle girl's color deflated like an old balloon, dimming as it crumpled in on itself.

“Glad we're all on the same page,” Vic said. “It's unfortunate the drop site yielded so little, but we're capable of moving forward. Mr. Davis, we'll check your traps first thing in the morning and you can work on gathering data from there. Everyone else, start working on an entry plan. Mission's set for the end of the week. Are we clear?”

Hunter nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground. It didn't matter if Benny and the others knew he'd hurt Sahota. It didn't matter if Jericho was mad at him, or thought he was an idiot. All he had to do was make it to the end of the week without fucking up, and then everything would be okay. He glanced up in time to see Vic leave, Sahota tailing behind him. The other three stayed in place, settled in a stubborn kind of quiet.

He could tell they wanted to talk to each other, held back by his presence. Even Jericho knew he'd side with Vic now, just as much as he knew they wanted to oppose him. Would they be dumb enough to actually act on it though? An uneven trail of stars was swirling around muscle girl, a few of them breaking loose to pass Jericho. When she left the room in silence, he followed a few steps behind. Benny gave it a few minutes, arms still wrapped around himself, and then left the library after them.

They had to be going to the same place. To talk where Hunter wouldn't hear, to cook up another plot against Vic, as if that wouldn't get them in even more trouble. He knew they wanted to go after Manak, that Jericho’s "we're a team" extended more to him than it ever would to Hunter. Could he stop them? He knew they wouldn't listen---why the fuck would they?---but he could threaten to tell Vic. 

He could tell Vic. Show the others once and for all that he cared more about his place here than any of them, that he'd rather chase Vic's approval than Manak’s life, and that was the truth, wasn't it? It was Manak's own fault that this happened, not Hunter's, so why should he have to suffer for it? Why should Manak get to drag everyone else down with him?

With gritted teeth, Hunter left the library, trying to ignore the throbbing in his eye sockets as he looked for the stars muscle girl was dropping. They went back to Jericho's room, it looked like. Door closed, voices muffled inside. 

Should he just knock? Make the threat and hope it was enough to scare them into reason? His fist clenched, but his arm wouldn't budge. Instead he held his breath, trying to listen.

“...after dark is our best chance, right? Vic's gotta sleep at some point.”

“There's a truck up top. I can drive us.”

"How far was it?"

"About an hour."

"I can cut that down."

That was enough to confirm what Hunter already knew. He wasn't surprised, but maybe… a little bothered that they wouldn't listen. A little bothered that they were so sure he'd snitch that they didn't even consider inviting him in.

Well. He would. So they were fucking right about that, he guessed.

But... what if he didn't?

Hunter considered the option for a moment. The idea of walking away, going to bed, trying to sleep off this damn headache, getting up the next day like nothing was off. What would happen if he let them go, but then told them he'd known all along? Would that open up a way for them to trust him? To not hate his fucking guts?

And what happens then?

So maybe they could work together better. Maybe they could be a team, like Jericho said. Maybe even friends, even if it was stupid to expect that much. But then they'd run the mission and it would all be over. Everyone else would go home, and he'd… 

Alone again. Jelly and the rest didn't wait for you, you knew they wouldn't.

Would Vic still want him to stay if he knew Hunter'd kept something like this from him? 

Probably not, not if he knew he couldn't trust him. Lies never worked for long. Hidden things were always found. 

Vic had already promised him a chance at being part of something, something he'd never get from the rest of the team. And maybe Sahota hated him, but let him. Hunter'd lived with plenty of people who'd hated him and survived it, but if Vic kicked him out, he didn't know where he'd go next. Back to Chicago to try and get back into dealing? Back to Rex? He shuddered.

No. Not an option. Fuck the team. They'd already sided against him, why should he try now? It wasn't like he was really screwing them over anyway. They'd done it to themselves when they decided to defy Vic.

Hunter stumbled backwards, trying not to make a sound as he crossed the hall, making a beeline for Vic’s office. When he pushed the door open, his trainer was standing at the head of his desk, flipping through sheets of paper. The green drifting around Vic’s form sharpened with his gaze, a darker shade that might've been annoyance softening when he realized who it was.

At least someone wasn't pissed off at the sight of him.

“Hunter.”

He swallowed. “V--Sir.” Shit, where did he start? He felt like a snitch, but shouldn't he? No. Fuck. Whatever. Vic was looking at him with his eyebrows raised now, new color tainting his green. Fuck.

“Sorry. It's important,” he said. “They're… the other three are gonna go after Manak. I overheard them.” He swallowed again, eyes darting away from Vic's desk, hands twisting around themselves. Vic's color hardly shifted. It got… darker, maybe. Sharper somehow, but there was no flash of surprise or anger. 

“I thought it might happen eventually. They're an emotional lot. Unfortunately, that's what you get pulling from the general public.” He set down the stack of papers, falling silent.

“Y-yeah,” Hunter agreed, pinching the skin on the inside of his wrist as hard as he could, eyes dropping to watch daisies sprout from the reddening skin. “Are you gonna stop them?” It felt wrong to ask.

Vic hummed. “No,” he said after a moment. “They can have their crusade. I'll deal with it in the morning.”

Hunter glanced up, but Vic's color was static. He was just gonna let them go? Why?

“What if they don't come back?”

Vic let out a flat chuckle. “They'll come back.”

How did he know? Maybe he didn't. Maybe he just didn't care. Maybe if everyone else ditched it'd just be Hunter, Vic, and Sahota on the mission. Like how it would be in the future, if he managed to not fuck it up.

“Come here.”

Hunter glanced up again, saw Vic pointing at the desk chair. Vic's chair. His tone wasn't trouble, or a warning like it had been for Sahota a few days ago. It was almost something welcoming, almost something soft.

Hunter took the seat, trying not to fidget, trying to keep his attention on Vic. The smell of chlorine stung his nose.

“You have your priorities straight, Hunter,” Vic said, moving beside him to tuck the papers into a folder. “You know what's important, even if the rest of them cave to their feelings.”

“Manak… Manak would be fine on his own,” Hunter said. He didn't know why. Manak didn't matter, he didn't care about Manak.

“True,” Vic said. “But more than logic, I appreciate your loyalty. The importance of obedience is lost on the rest of them. Something that should be corrected before we get into the thick of things.”

“Yeah.” Hunter’s spine seemed to go even straighter when his trainer moved to stand behind him, laying both hands on his shoulders, the chlorine smell clinging to him, smothering.

“I’m proud of the choice you made tonight. You'll be a wonderful addition to my team.”

Light seemed to burst through the tangle of vines in his chest. This was what he wanted, what he needed. He could be whatever Vic asked him to, he could stay.

He could stay, he could stay, he could stay.

It rang through his head, seeming to rise with his heartbeat as a calloused hand gripped his jaw and lifted his head, fingers digging into his cheek, holding him still as Vic’s lips pressed into his.

I can stay, I can be—

The chlorine smell was choking him now, burning his throat, and all he could do was sit there, any thoughts or words or movements split like broken wire.

Vic pulled back, just inches, but Hunter still couldn't move.

“Vic—”

“Shh.” The hand left his chin, moving up to his hair, turning from a stroke to a jerk that pulled a startled yelp from Hunter.

Somehow, the chlorine smell got stronger at the sound, Vic's mouth covering his again.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. “I don't—”

“You want to be a part of my team, hm?” Vic murmured, breath hot and chemical on Hunter's face. “Don't you?”

Yes. But not… he hadn't pictured this.

“I…”

Vic straightened, his hands leaving Hunter, color darkening. “Or maybe not,” he said, his voice immediately cool. “Maybe I misjudged you.”

“No, that's not—”

“Don't lie to me.” The words weren't screamed, or the danger-quiet of a threat, but they were still sharp, twisting in his gut like a knife.

“Vic, I'm— no, I didn't mean that.”

“Then what did you mean? I've poured a lot of time into you. Gave your training a level of attention the others could never hope to earn.”

Is this what he earned? 

“I'm sorry,” Hunter mumbled, digging his nails into his palms. “I just— You surprised me.” 

“I'm not sure I believe you.” The way Vic’s green was growing darker made him want to throw up. Had he already lost his chance?

“I'll prove it. I won't— I was just caught off guard, please.”

Vic seemed to consider his words, the murkiness in his green dissolving as he stepped closer, seized Hunter's chin, and pulled him into another kiss. This time, Hunter kissed him back, trying, trying to show that he meant it, that he could do this, that this was okay.

“There we go,” Vic murmured against his ear. “Good boy.”

He wanted this, he wanted this. He just wanted to be wanted, he was wanted, it didn't matter how.

Hunter leaned into his trainer, trying to lock onto his body heat and not the heavy smell, but Vic stepped away, a fist bunching into the collar of his t-shirt, tight enough to almost choke him.

“I knew I made the right choice, taking a chance on you.”

Hunter tried to shift his weight, to let up some of the pressure from his throat.

“You know how to follow orders, don't you, Hunter?”

“Yeah.” He could, he'd be perfect, and fuck, Vic was looking at him in a way that could've been loving but it made his skin crawl, and his head hurt so bad. Vic gave the fabric of his collar a sharper twist, and Hunter moved with his fist, knees nearly caving in. He could feel the blood building up in his throat, but Vic's gaze was soft on him, his green brightening with something pleasant; he liked this.

Was it so bad if he did? Hunter could take it. He'd had partners with a thing for pain before and it wasn't that bad. Sometimes it was even fun, just handing over control, letting someone do whatever they fucking wanted to him, anything to get them to stay, anything to get them to want to be there.

“Look at you,” Vic murmured in a voice that felt silken and heavy. “There's something you're suited for.”

His grip loosened abruptly, letting Hunter hit the ground, the brightness never leaving his silhouette.

“I'm finished here for the night,” his trainer said, turning his back as Hunter stood, weight heavy on the office chair. “Why don't you come with me?”

Where? To his room? To bed? Hunter's stomach churned, but he nodded all the same. He wanted this. He liked Vic, he liked Vic liking him, he was just caught off-guard. He wasn't supposed to be caught off-guard. He was adaptable, he could roll with anything, withstand anything, do anything Vic wanted.

Is this what it's like to be loved?

Maybe, fucking maybe.

Vic's eyes were still on him. “What’s your implant showing you right now?”

Petals and vines, coiling inside and around him like anxious snakes. Murky carwash-soap rainbow in his head, filling up his skull with a building pressure, oozing out his eye sockets. Thorns around his throat.

“Dead silver,” he lied. It was what he saw back in the room, with Sahota. The warning before, spinning around them both. The shapes dropping like zapped bugs and melting on the ground. Where were they now? When he looked for shapes, all he could find were Cavan’s stupid stars, fading slowly.

“Where does it lead? To me?”

I want this, I want this, I'll stay, I'll learn.

Hunter rubbed his throat unconsciously, forcing his arm to drop when he realized what he was doing. The pain there was hardly an ache. If that was what Vic wanted, that's what Vic would get.

“Mhm.”

×~×~×

@theonewithallthefixations , @violets-whumperflies , @whump-me , @pirefyrelight , @soheavyaburden

@snakebites-and-ink , @whumpsday , @kixngiggles , @echo-goes-aaa , @whumpcateyes ,

@clickerflight , @sodacreampuff , @starfields08000 , @neverthelass

[thecarisfucked]

15 pierresteban fic recs

(in no particular order ❤️)

(the pierre line) (3499 words) by daytrippers Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon, Past Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc - Relationship Characters: Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon Additional Tags: Wall Sex, Mentions of choking, Implied/Referenced Disordered Eating, Childhood Friends, Fluff and Smut Summary: Este never really knew it could feel this way, how instinctive it could be.

hallelujah, petrol blues (8145 words) by orphan_account Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Esteban Ocon, Pierre Gasly Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Future Fic Summary: It’s 2027. Esteban and Pierre are teammates. It goes—okay.

growing pains (5047 words) by grandprix Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon Additional Tags: Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, Complicated Relationships, Childhood Friends, Internalized Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content Summary: Esteban thinks he’s figured his own past out, unwound and stared at and digested it, but that’s still something about his childhood he doesn’t like to look into, not deeply, not cruelly, not with scrutiny. He leaves it there. It almost remains innocent, like that, something clueless and soft and indiscernible that made no more sense when he was twelve years old and crossing the last few lines he’d ever draw in the sand before he lost something forever. Maybe it’s cruel, to someone, Pierre or otherwise, to refuse to admit he ever really loved him.

you whom I cannot betray (41161 words) by tetrapod Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Esteban Ocon, Pierre Gasly, Charles Leclerc, Ensemble Additional Tags: Childhood to Adulthood, Rough Sex Summary: Pierre and Esteban; from the beginning to another beginning.

yes and (lover lover lover) (13208 words) by tetrapod Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot Summary: “How --,” Pierre’s voice cracks in his throat. “How do you want it.”

bare your teeth and show me love (1063 words) by gothic_sevgilim Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon, Pierre Gasly/Charles Leclerc Characters: Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon, Charles Leclerc Additional Tags: Mentions of other ships, Mostly Pierre and Ocon being toxic to each other, Toxic Relationship, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers, Lovers To Enemies, Enemies to Strangers, Not Beta Read, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Teammates Summary: They bare their teeth like animals, only then to kiss abruptly and frantically, bruising each other’s lips, biting hard enough to taste blood.

the heart is a muscle (and I wanna make it strong) (6097 words) by bones_2_be Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Esteban Ocon, Pierre Gasly Additional Tags: vague dubcon due to the consumption of alcohol but everyone is on board, fuckbuddy frenemies to something more like friends, not quite a five times fic Summary: Esteban and Pierre haven't been friends for a while, but sometimes it's better with the devil you know. In which Pierre and Esteban make dubious and self-destructive life choices, then make still-dubious but less destructive life choices.

my thumb's on your teeth (15476 words) by geluksalig Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Esteban Ocon, Pierre Gasly Additional Tags: Parallel Universes, Dreams, Australian Grand Prix 2023 Summary: “Thanks,” Pierre says, afterwards, awkwardly. Esteban shrugs. No one tells him to—not explicitly, anyway. He thinks, if he didn’t want Pierre to race, he wouldn’t have given him a shot of his kart when they were six.

into a jukebox larger than the sun (2044 words) by Anonymous Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon Additional Tags: Infidelity, Explicit Sexual Content Summary: “It looks good,” Esteban says, sliding his hands a little higher, thumbs falling into the valley of his dimples. “It looks so good, I could take a picture and—” Send it to Charles, he means to say. If he weren’t such a pussy, he would.

Drowning (with you, in you) (1425 words) by Lovely_Lotus Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon Additional Tags: Brazilian Grand Prix 2024, Character Study, Introspection, Friends to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers, but more like: childhood friends to enemies to yearning to go back to a happier time, Implied Sexual Content, Pining Summary: Only a single thing breaches the water. Two strong arms wrapped around his back, pulling him close. A smile that's beaming at him that makes his heart ache, the face of a friend and enemy and teammate who Pierre almost forgot could direct such a joyful expression at him. A double podium in Brazil makes Pierre think about his relationship with Esteban.

petrichor (3538 words) by septdecoeurs Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon, Charles Leclerc, Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, Brazil 2024, Introspection, Water metaphors, Implied Sexual Content, Making Up, kind of?, Childhood Friends, Reconciliation Summary: Their helmets knock together as Esteban whispers close to his ear, voice sounding thick. “We did it, Pear, finally.” Pierre nods, all his thoughts swirling into a messy amalgamation that is strangled in his throat. He swallows, blinking rapidly, and rests his head against Esteban’s shoulder. It feels like coming home. If anyone notices the wetness on his cheeks, he will blame it on the rain.

Something ends, something begins (6638 words) by CamilleDuDemon Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon Additional Tags: Romcom Structure, Exes to Lovers, Fix-It, Non-Linear Narrative, Implied Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, post brazil 2024 Summary: Twenty days are reasonable for recovering after such a grueling triple-header. Pierre thinks Esteban won’t text again, so he simply doesn’t hold out much hope – he can be okay with the notion that they’re strangers again, really. It doesn’t really burn, it just…itches, but in a way that cannot be scratched properly. He pushes the thought away, occupies his time with training, golf and whatever shit he feels like doing, because he stepped on a podium during the worst season of his career and he deserves to treat himself, and a week later he’s forced to rethink the situation completely, damn Esteban and his unpredictability. He’s getting ready after some workout, still sauntering around in his microfiber bathrobe, trying his best not to butcher the lyrics of the song that’s blasting from his bluetooth speakers, when the screen of his phone goes off and there he is, the massive fucker, texting him to know what he’s up to during the mini break. Unbelievable. Despite the Cold War they waged on each other for years, Esteban and Pierre reconnect after their joint podium on the Interlagos track, and they fix their relationship one remaining race at a time.

yet again, the jugular (2285 words) by pursuit Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Esteban Ocon, Pierre Gasly Additional Tags: Complicated Relationships Summary: Pierre was never really looking at him the way Esteban looked at him.

fractals (8090 words) by maiaronan - (full disclosure, this one is mine!) Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon Additional Tags: Bedsharing for Warmth, Fucking For Warmth, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, you never forget your first homoerotic teenage situationship etc etc, Lapland Trip 2023, Hand Jobs, Oral Sex Summary: And so it goes. A snake eating its tail, full circle around and around, again and again.

Blue light (9904 words) by Pocket_Girl Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Formula 1 RPF Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon Characters: Pierre Gasly, Esteban Ocon Additional Tags: Light Angst, Miscommunication, as in they are fundamentally unable to understand each other despite trying, First Kiss, Childhood Friends to Rivals to Strangers to Reluctant Teammates to Lovers, Pierre's canonical phone addiction, Author pretends to understand what F1 teams even do during the off-season, I want to apologize for having jinxed the car with this fic Series: Part 1 of Blue light Summary: “Interview after interview, Pierre sticks to the facts and recites the same phrases. "We're not best friends and we won't be": factual. "I know he wouldn't invite me for dinner": also factual. "I'm fine with that": when he reads it, black on white, squeezed between a picture of them both and an ad for Basic-Fit, it seems right. Appropriate. PR-approved. Esteban has no reason to complain whatsoever.” Or: during the off-season, Esteban texts Pierre about his habit of telling the press they aren't friends. Which makes no sense for him to complain about because it's entirely his fault. Things get worse before they get better.

[venusbyline]

Jacaerys Velaryon — Under the Mistletoe

— summary: When you decided to spend the Christmas Break at your best friend Helaena's house, you did not expect her half-sister's family to be there too. Meeting your ex-boyfriend after the messy breakup was something you did not want for the holidays. At least that was what you thought before looking at him again.

— pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x ex-girlfriend!reader

— type: smut, dark, modern AU

— word count: 2.0k

— tags/warnings: female!reader, dark!Jacaerys, ex-boyfriend!Jacaerys, dubcon, modern AU, Christmas smut, rough sex, vaginal fingering, fingerfucking, semi-public sex, kitchen sex, degradation, finger sucking, cum eating, cum licking, dry humping, rough kiss, past infidelity, referenced cheating, argument, possessive behaviour, past relationship, toxic relationship, college students, Targtowers mentioned, Lucerys Velaryon mentioned, Rhaenyra Targaryen mentioned, curse words, ambiguous/open ending, implied Lucerys Velaryon/reader, toxic!Jacaerys, dom!Jacaerys, sub!reader, no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— author's notes: Jace was the most voted in the poll I did asking about this modern AU one-shot for Christmas <3 <3 I hope you guys like it and enjoy the holidays.

— author's notes²: The mention about Lucerys Velaryon/reader is really just a mention. But anyway, he's already 18 years old in this one-shot. Also, I'm considering writing fics about Lucerys. It's hard for me to find fics about him and he's really a character that I love very much. So if you want read these next stories, don't forget to tell me. <3 <3

— crossposting: AO3

When your best friend Helaena invited you to spend Christmas Eve at her house, you thought it might be a good idea. You loved her family, despite everything. Alicent, her widowed mom, always treated you like you were her second daughter. Aemond, Helena's younger brother, was so introverted and quiet that he never ended up causing any problems between the two of you. Daeron, the youngest, was sweet to you and loved telling you about how his high school was going.

The bad thing usually was Aegon, Alicent's firstborn, who always drank before and during the celebration and end up causing some intrigue in the family. However, Helaena had assured you that this time Aegon was traveling to another corner of the world and would not be in England for a few weeks. She said his big brother was enjoying Copacabana beach with his friends in Rio de Janeiro, taking advantage of the fact that summer days had started in Brazil, unlike winter in London, and you would only need to catch a glimpse of him on the college campus when classes start again.

The only problem about that night was the sudden presence of Jacaerys Velaryon during Christmas dinner. Eldest son of Rhaenyra, Helaena's half-sister. Your ex-boyfriend.

"Where are you gonna spend the Christmas Break?" Jacaerys murmured without much enthusiasm while you were alone in the kitchen, finishing baking a pie with lemon cream, cornstarch biscuits and meringue.

You turned to face him across the room, the dark red turtleneck he wore matching perfectly with the black jeans and leather jacket of the same color. And especially with that dark, long wavy hair. You sighed, looking away and focusing on the oven again, despite answering him with another question. "Why you wanna know?"

You hoped that Jacaerys would understand your attempts to divert the topic so you could just ignore his existence, even though you knew he did not give up on anything very often, his little side smile proving your point. "Whoa... Don't be so rude, sweetheart. I'm trying to be polite."

"Well, I don't give a shit about your fake polite manner. I shouldn't even be talking to you more than necessary, actually." You murmured in a low but firm voice, standing up and putting the red gloves back on so you could turn off the oven and remove the pan from inside, the hot steam from the pie floating throughout the kitchen and collaborating along with the heater on the wall to warm up the natural cold of winter.

Jacaerys took a few steps, moving closer so he could look at the dessert as you placed it on the table. Even without saying anything, it was impossible not to notice his curious face, seeming surprised by how the pie looked good. However, he cleared his throat and teased you again.

"Aren't you mad that Helaena didn't tell you that my family was going to spend the holiday at her mom's house?"

His invasive question made you roll your eyes, taking the gloves off your hands and putting them back in place, moving around the kitchen to look for a lemon in the fridge and a grater in one of the cabinet drawers. With the object and the citrus fruit in hand, you returned to the table so you could start scraping the peel, small and thin yellow pieces decorating the top of the dessert now.

"Maybe. I wouldn't have come if she warned me."

Jacaerys lose focus on watching the finishing of the pie after your bluntness words, letting out a giggle. "Goddamnit, pretty girl. Still so freaky mad at me?"

You stopped decorating the candy, your hands clenching around the grater handle. "And that surprise you? That I'm still mad about you kissing that stupid bitch during your college friends' Halloween party?"

Jacaerys hummed at your aggressive sarcasm, the smirk playing on his lips while he leaned on the table next to you. "Not really. But I'm impressed that you admitted something like that to me."

When he leaned his face closer to yours, you let out the breath you had been holding since he placed his large, firm fingers on the marble. The woody fragrance of the Jacaerys' fancy cologne made you sigh slightly, your mind filling with memories when you felt that smell very often, especially lying on the bed with him.

You struggled to put the grater and the rest of the lemon on the table and Jacaerys took advantage of the fact that you had not moved away. You could have done it. You should have done that. You had promised to yourself that you would not fall for another Jacaerys Velaryon's stupid apology again. Not after what he did. Not after he kissed another girl at the same party you were at, just to piss you off over a silly argument.

"Stop overthinking, sweetheart. You're so gorgeous when you just understand that you belong to me." Jace teased, using the height difference to his own advantage, his tall body practically covering yours as he moved behind you, his face in your neck and smelling the perfume. "Fuck, pretty girl... You have no idea how much I missed you and your body."

You did not even say anything when he reached up to the medium-sized velvet red dress you were wearing, pushing the fabric with an almost irritating calm and moving his hand to the waistband of your pantyhose. As soon as he lowered it enough and ran his fingers through the lace of your panties, you finally let out a sigh. "We shouldn't be doing this, Jace."

Jace did not bother to answer at first, kissing the back of your neck and playing with your folds covered by your panties, eliciting a few weak whimpers from you until you repeated. "Jace, I said we shouldn't be doing this."

The boy snorted, the small warm gust of air near your face causing you to shiver, his large hand going to your chin and pulling it without much affection to his side, your eyes meeting now. "What shouldn't we be doing, sweetheart? Finally fucking a few months after our stupid breakup or fucking in the kitchen of Alicent Hightower's house, while my family and your best friend's are in the other rooms, almost no one knowing that their beloved guest is nothing more than a needy and dramatic cockslut?”

Your eyes widened at the accusation, knowing full well what he was talking about. "I-I'm not... I'm not dramatic. How can you say something like that? How can you think I'm the wrong one even after you cheated on me?" You exclaimed a little louder, and Jace rolled his eyes, the fingers that was holding your chin now covering your mouth, not worrying about whether or not it would stain your lip gloss. "If you hadn't pissed me off that night, so I wouldn't have cheated on you." You growled under his hand when he whispered in your ear, wanting to push him far away from your body, although his hand inside the lace that covered your pussy made any shred of sanity disappear from your mind.

“J-Jace, don’t…” You whimpered muffled and almost impossible to hear, your ass pressing against his crotch as you squirmed. "They'll hear us..."

"No one will hear us if you keep your pretty mouth quiet, sweetheart. But maybe some of them would like to hear or see you like this. I bet on my little brother Lucerys, the freshman has a secret crush on you. That's why he's always watching you in the college hallways." Jacaerys mocked, nibbling on your earlobe, the tip of his index and middle finger playing with your clit, going down to collect some of your dripping juices and moving his hand up to caress your bud again. "You're so fucking wet. Have you been like this since I came into Hel's house?"

You trembled at the teasing, your hands imitating what he had done before, gripping the edge of the table to keep your body steady without falling to the floor. Jace's fingers gradually increased the pressure and you moaned, trying your best to open your eyes, seeing the mischievous gleam in his brown eyes and the smile widening while he slid the same two fingers in and pushed them inside you without any difficulty. The tearful and loud moan that would echo through the kitchen was interrupted by Jace's mouth on yours, desperate and hungry lips kissing you without worrying about how messy the kiss was being.

Jacaerys was not someone who disliked wet and aggressive kisses, in fact he was totally into it. You knew about that since you dated him months before, so it was not a big surprise when his arousal began to grow inside his jeans, your ass rubbing against him to tease him just like he was doing to you.

"You fucking whore. Are you trying to make me cum in my pants?" Your skin crawled at the sound of his growling whisper.

Jacaerys bit your lip while you were still panting, only letting out soft whimpers when he increased the speed of his fingers and took the opportunity to rub his soft palm over your sensitive clit, making you see stars and moan his name one more time, mentally thanking the universe for Jacaerys loving being DJ at the university parties and know how to use his pretty hands very well.

At least there was something good about always hooking up with Jacaerys Velaryon.

Without taking out of you, Jacaerys pulled you towards the other door in the kitchen with his free arm, the one that led to the hallway stairs. For a moment, you looked at him in silence, confused but thinking he would take you upstairs and fuck you in the guest room. However, the boy let out a nasal scoff and pointed to the green and red mistletoe decorated at the top of the doorframe. Your furrowed seeing the Christmas ornament above your heads, but you did not have time to question anything, not when Jace fucked his fingers in and out of you.

The wet noises of your pussy being used by him was as lascivious as the sound of his tongue searching for yours again, tasting your mouth as if it were the best candy in the world. The moment you distanced yourself so you could lift your head and shake through the overwhelming orgasm that possessed your body, that was when you understood.

Jace kissed you under a mistletoe. And not just that... he also fingering your pussy and made you cum right there.

Taking a deep breath to calm your body and your mind about what happened, you opened your eyes, watching Jace licking one of his fingers creamy with your release. He smirked to you, a sticky noise echoing when his full lips stopped enjoying your juices. He did not care about your look of disgust and carefully slipped his other finger into your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself as he placed soft kisses on your forehead. A false affection that you both knew would not make up for all the hell and toxicity that had been your situationship.

"You came hard around my fingers and under the mistletoe too."

"I noticed…" Your voice came out more breathless and grumpy than expected and Jace chuckled, caressing your soft cheek.

"You'll spend the next few days of the Christmas Break here at Helaena's house, together with me. Then you'll be my good girlfriend again when we get back to campus." It was not a question but an order, your eyes immediately widening, not knowing how you were going to explain that whole damn turn of events. Not knowing how you were going to explain to your best friend that you were giving in to Jacaerys as you had promised never to do again.

Running the tips of his fingers still dirty with your cum across the pie's meringue, he gave you one last kiss for now. "Happy Christmas Eve, my pretty girl."

[dreamingofthewild]

100 Bloodweave Fanfic recommendations

As there are over 3,000 Bloodweave fanfics, I have been wanting to do a fanfic rec list for a while. To share some of the works I enjoyed and to offer support for the talented writers in the fandom. I opted for 100, as it is a nice number for a rec list. It was very hard to narrow it down, and there are many good fics that, unfortunately, didn't make it too the list. This is not meant as a 'Top 100' list.

The recommendations will be shared in 6 parts as it is too much for one post.

Part 2: In Universe Canon One-Shots - 17 fics.

Of Jackpots and Sticky Fingers by Asidian. 2,736 words. Astarion and Gale encounter the Djinn at the Circus of the Last Days. Hijinks ensue.

Warding Bond by Haarlec. 4,136 words. Fluff and Angst. For Bloodweave Brainrot's 31 Gays of Summer - Day 4 - Shield. 

Dissonance by Quillscales. 2867 words. Manipulation, Implied/ Referenced DubCon. Tav attempts to manipulate Gale into participating in a fivesome with the drow twins and Halsin. Astarion isn't having it. Can be seen as romantic or platonic.

There's no Healing in not Feeling by amberxwrites. 2,872 words. The Araj scene, Tav being a jerk. Five times Gale questions Astarion about his relationship with Tav, and the one time he does something about it. Can be seen as romantic or platonic.

Starving by milestogo2. 7,276 words. Past Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts. Hurt/ Comfort. Gale comforts Astarion during a troubling time.

Veneficus Duellm by Aria_Lerendeair. 8,930 words. Gale challenges a group of wizards looking to kidnap Astarion and return him to Cazador to a wizard duel. I would also recommend this one to non-Bloodweave shippers. Gale gets to be badass and show how competent he is with magic.

Feebleminded by spAceArrow. 3,004 words. Hurt/ Comfort. Astarion is hit with the feebleminded spell. Gale helps.

a delicacy of undeath by shroomonabroom. 3,800 words. Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Angst, Mind the Tags. Gale finds an alternative cure to vampirism: a spawn needs to kill their Master and then consume their heart. Make sure that you have a tissue handy.

All those regrets we cannot bear by Astralia. 7,305 words. Angst, No Comfort, Smut. Gale and Astarion pushed each other towards ascension. They say the way to the Hells is paved with good intentions, and they both paid the price for it.

Like Broken Shards of Stained Glass by lividstatue. 3,089 words. Astarion sees himself for the first time in the Self-Same Trial. Gale attempts to be there for him, despite the gauntlet dredging up his past.

Counterspell by kimprobable21. 7,735 words. Fluff, Catching Feelings. Oh no, whatever is a simple rogue to do when their handsome wizard turns against the party, and they don’t have access to counterspell? There must be some way for Astarion to block the verbal and somatic components of Gale’s scorching ray…

Recipe for Disaster by fsaoud. 8,255 words. Angst, Fluff, Trauma. Inspired by that one line of banter where Astarion says that he pictured his return to Baldur's Gate to include days of hedonistic debauchery and Gale says that it sounds like a recipe for disaster but he is starting to enjoy the taste of chaos.

if my heart stops beating, we'll bleed the same way by AgentBuzzkill. 8,640 words. Hurt/ Comfort, Angst. Gale falls in battle during the fight with Lorrakan and Astarion does not take it well.

These marks will stay by Elowen. 8,434 words. New Relationship, Smut, Comfort. When Astarion loses his tadpole powers and is forced to flee from the sun, it is (to his surprise) Gale who follows him into the dark to offer comfort.

The Missing Piece by thealphaaxolotl. 10,811 words. Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Introspection. Astarion doesn't realize he has feelings for Gale until the wizard is taken by Orin.

The winding road to Waterdeep by LuckofTymora (FelixFelicis). 1,500 words. Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Grief/ Mourning. When Orpheus dies before they can reach the Crown of Karsus, Gale has no choice but to use the orb. Astarion isn't okay with this.

At Last by seagull_soda. 4,716 words. Hurt/ Comfort. The orb is stabilized and Gale gets to have a big ugly cry as a treat.

Part 1: In Universe Canon Multi-Chapter - 15 fics

Part 3: In Universe Canon Divergent - 16 fics.

Part 4: In Universe Post-Canon Multi-Chapter - 20 fics. 

Part 5: In Universe Post-Canon One Shots - 14 fics. 

Part 6: Alternate Universe - 18 fics.

[ofallthingsnasty]

Bill gives off “will fuck you minutes before you have to go meet up your friends so he can get out of it AND have you embarrassed” energy so I’ll love it if you can write that scenario 👉👈

Nothing but facts here 🤭💕 He's such a smarmy asshole haha @flameshadowwolf 😘

fic referenced - please give it a read before you jump into this one, you'll probably need the context.

tags: yandere, heavy dubcon, Bill being condescending as always, breeding mentioned, talk of future knotting, past noncon + forced impregnation + forced marriage, chubby reader, f!reader, werewolf/human, minors dni word count: 3k

You haven’t done your makeup in forever. It’s been at least two months, you think, as you try to remember which of the colors in your little eyeshadow palette is the best for a monochrome look. You don’t really have the time to duke it out with a more complex style right now, especially with your rusty skills - there is barely an hour left until you're supposed to meet Ellie, car ride not included. Your mind sings at the prospect of a quiet evening, with friendly chatter and good food - and you not having to do anything. No needy toddler, no sticky little hands and pouty mouth to rob you of every last ounce of patience and energy, just adults-only conversations and friendly faces. Ellie and her husband Francis are the only members of the pack that are making an effort to include you and you like them all the better for it. You buff out the eyeshadow a little closer to your brows while you try to keep your bitterness down.

That fateful night three years ago had been your D-Day, and everything that followed was just punch after punch to your face - including being shunned by the very community that you had unwillingly become a part of. Of course, the whole pack knows what happened. Three years might have passed, but they still stick their necks together and whisper about it as though it all happened yesterday, avoiding your presence like you’re some bad omen, the hangman’s bride herself. Only Hugh and the Evett couple are cordial, the rest act as though you’re the black sheep of the family. It’s a small relief but at least they treat your daughter fairly well. It might change once her peers reach a mature enough age to be included in the gossip but for now your little toddler girl doesn’t have to play alone on the playgrounds and is invited to birthday parties only her father can take her to.

You rummage through your little makeup bag, searching for your brow powder. It’s probably too old to use safely, but you don’t care as you smudge it into the hairs. It’s not like you have the time to buy a new one.

Out of the whole pack, only your life is ruled by some archaic tradition. You had asked Ellie once about her and Francis and when she answered that they were high school sweethearts, you had quickly ducked into your coffee, ashamed of your own fate. 

Of course, she knows. You’re close enough in age - she’s a few years younger and still bright-faced, probably taking a giant heap of pity in your circumstances. It doesn’t matter to you, you’re just glad that someone who knows about this whole supernatural business is friendly with you - your old, blissfully unaware friends have long since grown tired of your bitter rants about your husband, not understanding why you’re still with him.

Oh, if only they knew. Their not-so-subtle nudges to get you to go to therapy (or to ditch Bill) get nothing but a grim laugh out of you now. No therapist could get you out of this mess, no stupid self-help book could give you the courage (with a sparkle and fire emoji, of course) to just leave. Just leave. God, it’s so stupid it makes you grimace.

Your life simply isn't your own anymore - right down to your name. Now you're just Mrs. Timmons, with a small golden band and his goddamn scent all over you (marking you as his possession). He had dragged you to the altar kicking and screaming, breaking plates and ripping up that gaudy number he had proposed as your wedding dress, but in the end, he had succeeded.

You had threatened to leave once, when Claire had been so very little, to pack her up and go - to the other side of the country, out of the country, across continents - just to get away from him. It had all been hot air, said in a dark moment of despair, of fear.

The solemn truth is that there is no way out of this. No matter how much you screech and fight - you’re not up against a regular man. Behind that grubby smile and dark eyes lies a creature that can track you down with deadly precision and has claimed you as its own, until the day it dies.

It sure is easy to forget when he throws his dirty shoes down onto the couch table or when he smokes when Claire is in the room, when he doesn’t do shit around the house and you get to stew in your anger, ruminate on the abysmal hand fate had dealt you. Then he’s just a regular piece of shit, just another good-for-nothing husband you get to nag and scream at and fume around. But when he fucks you - that’s when he’s back to the snarling beast he had been in that shed. The way he holds you down, even as a mere man, his grip like iron, his eyes feral and wide - even thinking about it makes you shudder.

It doesn’t matter right now, you think. You’ll be safe from his wandering hands and salacious comments in a matter of minutes, able to be yourself and not the always-scowling fury you have been turned into.

Just a swipe of mascara and your purse- 

A soft knock on the door frame interrupts you.

The sound of Bill’s heavy footsteps save you the glance over your shoulder to confirm it’s really him. “Wow, look at you”, he whistles, a freshly lit cigarette in his right hand. “Did I forget something? Date night? Our wedding day? My birthday?”

He laughs at his own joke as he takes a drag and you can already feel the annoyance starting to boil in your stomach. “I kid, I kid. You’re gonna meet with the Everett girl tonight, right? Girl’s night, eh?”

 “Yeah. Francis will join us later, though”, you say, clipped, brushing your mascara wand over the lower lashes of your left eye.

  “That so?”, you can hear him sucking in another lungful, sounding almost pensive. “Sounds awfully nice, princess.” You hum, finally done with your look. “I did invite you to come. If you remember.” A husky laugh behind you makes your brows furrow. “Jesus, woman, what did I do to you now?” You bite your tongue. Oh, you know. You just forcefully impregnated me three years ago and maybe I still haven’t worked through that. No biggie, though. “Be nice to your old man, yeah?”

He takes the cigarette into his left hand and presses a kiss to your temple, then drags his lips down to your ear. His stubble scratches the thin skin that is stretched over the cartilage of your helix and you can’t suppress the shudder. The right hand that lands on your shoulder is heavy and warm as it rubs and presses the fat over the joint, thoughtful but firm. “I have been nothing but kind, haven’t I? If you had ended up with that little freak, you wouldn’t have seen the sun ever again.” Crinkling, dark eyes meet yours in the mirror. 

Evan. You still think about him sometimes, but he moved just shortly after you started showing, too distraught that it had been Bill's kid and not his. You'd pity him if he hadn't done the unthinkable to you, just like Bill did.

“You do know that, don’t you?” Despite yourself, you nod - suddenly hot and cold at the same time. “I keep you fed, I keep a roof over your head, I let you run free, I let you tear up my shit when you’re mad, I let you go to your uppity little bitch you like so much- I think I’m doing way more than necessary, darling.” He mouths at your ear again, suddenly licking and biting the shell, only stopping when you visibly cringe. “I even think I deserve a little something for that, hm? And if it’s not gratitude, it might just be something else.”

He presses out the cigarette before you can even answer, right on top of your eyeshadow palette. Rough hands glide over the nape of your neck, down to your shoulders and settle right underneath your tits where he pushes them up and catches your eyes in the mirror again. “Just look at you, baby. I wish I could ruin all that makeup with my cum but we can’t have you be late for your little wine dinner, hm?” You see your own face twist in shock at his crude words and he watches in amusement, hands already working the soft flesh of your chest. He pinches and prods through the sturdy fabric that cups your tits, rubbing the material between his fingers to appraise it. “Aw, you’re wearing only a t-shirt bra today, aren’t you? Not my favorite lace number?”, he says and squeezes over your clothed nipples roughly, making you yelp in pain. “Or maybe I should be glad you aren’t. Else I’d think you’re dressing up for the Everett boy.” “But you’d never do that, would you?”, his tone drips with something dark. “You’d never betray me, hm?” Your breath stutters. It’s not a question. It’s a threat. “Why, I-”, you gasp, the words enough to shake you out of your stupor. “Why would you think that?”

“Dunno, babe”, he almost croons. “Just wanted to put it out there. In case you got into your little head again.” His hands wander down to your stomach and grab your fat roughly, a deep growl ending the conversation. He buries his fingers deep into you, so deep it stings and you subconsciously stretch upwards, granting him easier access to your neck. He promptly uses it to nip the skin of your pulse point.

“Soft as ever. Makes me want to bite and devour you whole”, Bill laughs. “But I’ll settle for putting another baby in you.” The nails digging through the cotton of your shirt turn sharp and long - he chuckles as you yelp, as you try to wiggle out of the chair in front of your vanity. “Too late, honeypie.” The man who stares back at you through the mirror is no longer a man - he is a wolf again, the same one that sounded the bell for the end of the life you once knew. “Don’t give me those pitiful eyes. Where’s all that fire, huh?”, he snickers, grotesque notes strung together by a deeper voice, by bigger lungs. “Your snippy little attitude. You do know I love to fuck it out of you, again and again.” Your head is pushed down into the wood and it sends your mascara and brushes flying to the floor. He simply drags your face over the vanity until the crown of your head touches the cool glass of the mirror, your legs slowly rising with the stretch. 

You have a hunch of what will follow. “Ass up, sweetheart”, he bites out and kicks the chair underneath you to the side with so much force you can hear it splinter. You’re left to stand on shaky legs, the cartilage of your nose pressed into the furniture. “Good girl.”

You only whimper in response, too weak to struggle against him, even as his hands leave your head.

He shows little regard for your clothes, as little as he had for his in the moment he turned - sharp claws dig into your nicest pair of jeans with little care, thick hands pull them down by force - over your belly, then over your ass. They're left just above your knees as he targets the next layer, a simple pair of cotton briefs. He slices through them and groans at the sight of you - fully exposed, bent over, vulnerable and oh-so-soft.

 "The baby did you good, sweetheart", he laughs and spanks your ass so hard it echoes through the room. "Made you even better. Maybe another one will make that ass even fatter."

  You're mortified at his crude words - but any indignant squawk of protest gets stuck in your throat as he presses his whole muzzle into your cunt.

He licks and pushes and sucks - eats you out so messily that his spit drips down your thighs and you can't contain your voice any longer.

You're rewarded with a chuckle and even more fervor. 

It's too much and yet not enough - his tongue only brushes your clit but he fucks your hole with it so well it makes your legs shake. You don't even register the way his claws dig into your ass, the pain barely noticeable over the mess he's making in between your thighs.

It’s not enough to make you cum but you feel yourself loosening up, growing pliant under his touch. Maybe he can feel it too because just a few precious minutes later he stops, licking his maw loudly. “Could eat you out all day, princess”, he chuckles behind you. “But you got a little girl’s night to go to, don’t you?” You manage nothing but a teary-eyed nod, throwing him a look over your shoulder, that terrifying creature staring right back at you, the man within it clearly getting drunk with the power he has over you when he is like this. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick.” He pushes himself into you slowly, but firmly - his saliva mixed with your own arousal making the most obscene squelch. It’s almost a relief to feel him in you after he fucked you on his tongue and you close your eyes, savoring the feeling of him working you open.

“You take me so well-”, he grits out and you moan in response. You should be ashamed of how much you long for his cock, how the years have made you compliant, even needy for him, even though you’re thoroughly terrified of him - but you can’t find it in you to care right now. The shame will come later, when you’re alone with your thoughts again but for now you just want to him to fuck you so well you’ll forget about everything. He starts out slow but it doesn’t last long - it never does. Just a few thrusts in and he’s found a rather harsh pace that has him fist the neck of your blouse to steady himself, claws puncturing the fabric. “God, I just wanna knot you, sweetheart”, he groans and you believe every word of it. “Bet you want it too- Always such a slut for my knot-” You clench around him both in arousal and shock - taking Bill’s knot is such a messy experience, one that would make you late for sure, with everyone able to smell just why you’re an hour behind schedule. “Ah, tomorrow- I’ll fucking knot you tomorrow.”

Your body is dragged over the wood with every thrust, the crown of your head bumps into the mirror every time he bottoms out - you feel like nothing more than toy with the way you’re rattled around. He seems a little extra desperate, probably trying to empty himself into you as fast as possible.

“Right now I’m- I’m- gonna make you stink with my scent, gonna mark you so that they all know how well I fuck you.” How embarrassing for you. Of course Francis will immediately smell it the moment he walks into the door and you’ll have to duck your head behind your wine glass - wolf that he is, claims like this won’t go unnoticed. “So you can’t run away from me-”, he gasps, out of breath with effort. “And no one can take you, either-” Even through your fucked-out haze, something clicks. He’s insecure. That’s why he’s in this form, why he’s so intent on filling you up before you sit yourself down with friends. Why he just won’t come with you eludes you - but that is Bill, ever so possessive, ever so puzzling.

You’d laugh at him if you weren’t currently getting mounted by a two meter tall humanoid monster, if you weren’t so literally fucked right now.  A groan pulls your attention back to the creature you call your husband. “Oh fuck, babe-”, Bill moans behind you, his pace getting even faster. It grates your insides, your body trying to keep you lubricated as he pounds you. Spittle flies through sharp teeth and lands on your ass as he unabashedly lets his maw hang open, too blissed out to care.

“I’m gonna cum, oh shit- Shit-”, he says and loses himself in a string of curses, trying to fuck you as you deeply as he can, rutting into you with so much force you’re scared the mirror is going to break off the vanity. “Fucking take it-”

The snarl he lets out isn’t human anymore, as are the claws slicing into your scalp, the sudden grip keeping you in place. He shudders violently as he pumps you full of his load, hot and wet. The feeling is enough to wring a throaty moan out of you - not enough to make you cum, but enough to make your legs shake and clench around him. “Damn…” Bill wheezes into the silence that follows, hands still iron on your skin. You slump into the wood beneath you, sweat-slicked and high-strung. He laughs as he hears the thump of your forehead against the vanity. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re gonna make me go before my time with that pussy.” You don’t answer, already irritated with him again. “Well-”, he coughs and takes his hands off you, sounding much more composed. “Looks like you need to start over with your little look.” His words make you gasp and paw at your face, the sticky smudge of mascara palpable on your cheeks. You don’t need to turn your head up to the mirror to tell that you’re back to square one, that you’ll be late, with a dripping cunt and hastily scrawled on makeup. Your arousal is gone in an instant, replaced by hot rage burning its way through your stomach for good. A pat on the head and a content sigh behind you make it boil over, make you clench so hard you actually push him out of you. It’s laughed away, either mistaken for the wrong emotion or simply ignored. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, your old man will make it up to you tomorrow.”

[griefabyss69]

Grief's September Sextravaganza Masterlist

I thought I'd put my @steddiesmuttyseptember fics all in one post! I'm very proud of all of them so consider this post is a fridge and the little bullet points are magnets. (I know two of them are out of order but I wanted to put the sequel right under the first fic in its series!)

Benighted [ AO3 ] Eddie gets his best friend Steve to help him make his performance a little… more interesting. Week One: Service Dom WC: 2,447 | Rated: E | CW: Secret exhibitionism, semi-public sex

Quiet Nights [ AO3 ] When Eddie and Steve get stranded by the side of the road, Eddie jokes about how they could fill their time until morning. Steve takes him up on it. Week Two: Soft and Slow, Backseat, Clothes On WC: 7,771 | Rated: E | CW: Semi-public sex, mentions of drunk sex with a past lover, mentions of recent argument

Thunderous Evenings [ AO3 ] Eddie had thought that the car sex was the height of how good things with Steve could get—Steve proves him wrong, even as Eddie proves to Steve that getting fucked can feel great! SEQUEL TO QUIET NIGHTS Week Four: Slap, Loud WC: 11,318 | Rated: E | CW: In content notes of author's summary on ao3 (nothing major)

Patterns in the Ivy [ AO3 ] Steve needs something to help him as he tries not to drown under all of his assignments. It turns out the guy who used to be Hawkin's pot dealer ended up at the same college as him, and he's hotter than ever. Week Three: Rough, Lingerie, Aftercare, Sneaking Around | WC: 6K | Rated: E | CW: Public sex, implied/referenced drug usage (weed), Eddie is a drug dealer, mentions of Steve's parents being terrible

Silence Awakened [ AO3 ] Maybe Eddie shouldn't have goaded Steve so much, but... he wasn't expecting him to react like this, so it's not really his fault, is it? Week Five: Degradation, Impact, Silent, Full WC: 6054 | Rated: E | CW: Dubcon (Elaborated in author's note on ao3), Under-negotiated kink