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novaursa · 1 month

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The Dragon and The Wolf

- Summary: Rhaenyra sends her daughter instead of her son to fly North. You.

- Paring: velayrion!reader/Cregan Stark

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is second born child of Rhaenyra, has silver hair and violet eyes and is a dragonrider. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Mature 16+ (expect for rating to go higher in the next chapter)

- Word count: 3 681

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @21-princess

- A/N: I had this one stored away, but I've decided to post it on a request. Harwin Strong one is not yet finished, but will be posted in coming days. I'll see how both of these are received before posting more.

The wind whips across the snow-dusted fields, biting and cold, as you soar above on your dragon, Thraxata. The North stretches below like a vast, white ocean, with Winterfell looming ahead in the distance, its grey walls rising like ancient guardians against the winter sky. The sun hangs low on the horizon, casting a pale light that glimmers off the frost-coated land.

Thraxata’s dark scales gleam like polished obsidian, a stark contrast to the endless white beneath. Her massive wings carve through the air with graceful power, the membrane tinted in deep shades of violet and blue, like the twilight sky before night fully descends. She is known as the Midnight Fury in whispers—born of shadow and flame, a terror in the night skies. Her roar splits the silence, echoing across the fields, a sound both commanding and otherworldly.

From your perch on her back, you spot the waiting banners below: the direwolf of Stark, surrounded by lesser sigils of Northern houses. Lord Cregan Stark stands at their forefront, a tall figure clad in thick furs and armor, as still and stern as the land he rules. He expects a prince, no doubt, a son of Rhaenyra, a warrior with fire in his veins. But you are no prince.

You are Y/N Velaryon, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Silver-haired like your mother, with eyes the color of amethyst flames, you are the embodiment of old Valyria—a sight that would capture any man’s breath, even in the frozen heart of the North. Unlike your brothers, there is no questioning the blood that runs in your veins. You carry both the fire of your ancestors and the steel of the sea, a daughter of dragon and salt.

Thraxata descends with a mighty sweep of her wings, stirring a storm of snow and ice as her talons dig into the frozen ground. Her head swivels as she growls low, a deep rumble that vibrates through your body, her violet eyes fixed on the assembled Northerners. You dismount with practiced grace, the long cloak of thick fur billowing behind you as your boots crunch into the snow.

The men whisper, their breath misting in the cold air, eyes wide with awe and trepidation. No prince, but something more—something wilder, something that belongs in tales and legends.

Cregan Stark steps forward, his eyes fixed on you. They are grey like the winter itself, hard and sharp, yet there is a glint of something else—curiosity, perhaps, or a flicker of admiration beneath the layers of duty. He dips his head in a respectful nod, though his eyes never leave yours.

"Princess," he greets you, his voice deep and resonant, like a wolf's growl beneath the snow. "Winterfell welcomes you. I had expected a prince, but the Queen has sent a dragon nonetheless."

Your lips curve into a small smile, cold as the winter air. "My brothers may be princes, but it is I who bears the fire and ice that binds our realms, Lord Stark. I trust you will remember the oaths sworn to my mother, and the duty you hold to the true Queen."

His eyes narrow slightly, though there is no hostility, merely calculation. "The North remembers its oaths, Princess. But oaths are easily sworn and easily forgotten when the fires of war draw near. I would hear your words and judge for myself where our loyalties lie."

Thraxata’s tail lashes behind you, sending a spray of snow into the air. You can sense her restlessness, her desire to protect you, to assert her dominance in this land where dragons are more myth than reality. But you place a gloved hand on her scaled flank, a silent command, and she stills, though her eyes remain fixed on Cregan.

"You speak with wisdom, my lord," you reply, your voice firm but laced with the authority of the blood you carry. "But the North has never bent to whispers or empty promises. My mother’s cause is just, her claim undeniable. The realm needs strength, and you know as well as I that only fire can bring the long night to its knees."

There’s a flicker of something—approval, perhaps—in Cregan’s gaze. He steps closer, his boots crunching in the snow, until you are but a breath away. The North has always been a place where respect is earned through strength and resolve, not titles or finery. In that moment, you realize that your mother’s choice was not a mistake; you were sent because here, in this land of cold and iron, you are seen not as a delicate princess, but as something fiercer.

"Then perhaps the Queen chose wisely in sending you," he murmurs, his voice low, for your ears alone. "The North respects strength, and it seems that is something you possess in abundance, Y/N Velaryon."

There is a tension between you, a silent acknowledgment of the game you both play. He is the Wolf of Winterfell, and you are the Dragon sent to bind him to your mother’s cause. But there is something else too—a flicker of intrigue, of something more personal beneath the formalities.

“I shall make my case before the gathered lords,” you say, breaking the charged silence. “And I trust that Winterfell will extend the hospitality due to a dragon and her rider.”

He gives a slight incline of his head, a gesture of respect between equals. “Winterfell is yours, Princess. And I look forward to seeing just how fierce the fire of a dragon truly burns.”

With that, he steps back, signaling to his men. The banners dip in a formal show of respect as you walk forward, the Northern lords parting to make way for you. Thraxata stays behind, watchful, a dark shadow against the snow.

As you enter the gates of Winterfell, you can feel the eyes of Cregan Stark on your back, heavy with unspoken questions, and perhaps—just perhaps—the first stirrings of something that could grow amidst the frost and flame.

The warmth of Winterfell’s great hall is a great contrast to the biting cold outside. The stone walls are thick and ancient, adorned with tapestries depicting wolves in the hunt and battles long past. A roaring fire burns in the hearth, casting flickering shadows that dance across the rough-hewn beams above. The scent of woodsmoke and roasted meat fills the air, mingling with the faint tang of iron and earth, as though even the stone itself remembers the blood spilled within these walls.

You stride forward with measured grace, your fur-lined cloak trailing behind you. Eyes turn your way as you pass, curious glances that are quickly averted once they meet your violet gaze. The courtiers and bannermen of Winterfell are not accustomed to your kind—a dragonrider with Valyrian blood, a figure more suited to the tales of Old Nan than to the cold North. They murmur among themselves, voices hushed but thick with speculation, wondering if you are as fierce as the stories of your mother suggest.

Lord Cregan walks beside you, his stride steady and sure, the embodiment of Northern strength and resolve. He leads you to the head of the hall, where a carved wooden chair sits, draped in furs—a seat of honor, meant for you. As you take your place, his voice rings out, commanding the attention of everyone present.

"The Princess Y/N Velaryon graces us with her presence. Her arrival is most fortunate, for it seems the North’s business does not wait. House Glover has brought a criminal before us—a man accused of grave crimes—and they demand justice. Perhaps," he says, his grey eyes locking onto yours, "it would be fitting for a dragon to pass judgment."

There’s no mistaking the challenge in his words. This is a test, one meant to gauge your strength, your understanding of Northern customs, and how you wield your authority. He watches you closely, waiting for your reaction, as do the assembled lords. You know this moment is pivotal; how you handle this situation will determine whether they see you as just another southern princess, or as something more—someone who can command both fire and frost.

You meet his gaze evenly, a faint smile playing on your lips. "It would be an honor to dispense justice in the North, Lord Stark. Show me this criminal and let us see what manner of man he is."

Cregan gives a slight nod, and with a gesture, the doors at the end of the hall creak open. The sound echoes through the chamber as two men of House Glover drag a prisoner forward, shoving him to his knees before you. He’s a ragged, weathered man with wild eyes and a face marked by scars. His clothes are filthy and torn, his hands bound with rough cord. There’s a stink about him—of sweat, fear, and desperation.

One of the Glovers steps forward, bowing briefly before addressing you and Cregan. "This man, Wyl Gray, is accused of murdering his kin and stealing from their holdings. He fled north to escape our justice, but we tracked him down and brought him here, as is our right."

The hall falls silent, all eyes on you now. The weight of their expectation is palpable. You rise slowly from your seat, descending the steps with a regal grace. Your voice is soft but carries through the room with the authority that only a dragonrider can wield.

"Wyl Gray," you say, your tone cold as the Northern winds, "you stand accused of betraying your own blood and committing theft in the lands sworn to House Glover. What have you to say in your defense?"

The man’s eyes dart around wildly, searching for some hope, some mercy, but finding none. He looks up at you, trembling slightly. "I did what I had to," he snarls, his voice hoarse. "My kin treated me worse than a dog, taking what was mine by right. I took back what they stole from me—nothing more!"

The hall murmurs in response to his words, some in anger, others in grudging acknowledgment. You can see the flickers of approval from a few of the assembled Northerners—they value strength, even when twisted by desperation. But you know better than to be swayed by the claims of a desperate man. His actions speak louder than his words.

You step closer, your gaze piercing. "You claim they took from you, yet you took their lives. Blood demands blood, Wyl Gray. In the North, justice is harsh and swift, but it is also fair. A man who cannot protect what is his without resorting to murder is a man unfit to live among honorable men."

Cregan watches you intently, his expression unreadable, but you can feel the shift in the room. The lords are weighing your words, assessing how well you understand their ways. It’s not enough to be just, you must be decisive—and you must show that you are not ruled by softness.

"You are guilty of murder and theft," you continue, your voice unwavering. "But the North does not deal in mercy for such crimes. You shall face the punishment decreed by the Old Ways. Justice shall be meted out by the one who passes the sentence."

A heavy silence falls over the hall. This is the moment—where the test truly lies. You could ask Cregan to deal with the criminal himself, and none would question it. But you understand what is truly being asked of you. The North respects those who do not flinch from difficult decisions, those who stand by their words with action.

You turn to Cregan. "Bring me the sword," you command.

There’s a ripple of surprise among the lords, but Cregan’s expression shifts, a hint of approval crossing his stern features. He gestures, and a massive sword, long and sharp, is placed into your hands. Its weight is heavy, but you hold it with ease, feeling the cold steel beneath your fingers.

You step before the kneeling man. His eyes widen in terror, realizing that you intend to carry out the sentence yourself. You look down at him, feeling no pity, only the cold resolve needed to see justice done. "In the name of House Glover, for the blood you have spilled and the dishonor you have brought upon yourself, I sentence you to death. May the gods judge your soul as they see fit."

With a swift, clean stroke, you bring the sword down, severing his head from his body. The hall is silent, save for the soft thud of the head hitting the stone floor and the hiss of blood soaking into the rushes.

You let out a breath, handing the sword back to a waiting Stark guard. The lords nod with approval, respect in their eyes. This is not a land for those who shy away from harsh truths or difficult choices. You have shown them that you understand the North’s ways—and that you are as much dragon as you are queen’s daughter.

Cregan steps forward, a slight smile touching his lips. "Well done, Princess. The North remembers strength, and today, you have proven yours."

There’s a weight to his words, a subtle acknowledgment that you’ve passed his test. The respect between you has grown, forged not only by fire and ice, but by a mutual understanding of what it takes to rule.

As the hall begins to stir with renewed conversation, you feel Cregan’s eyes linger on you a moment longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between you. It’s not just respect now—there’s a flicker of something deeper, something that might grow, given time.

But for now, you’ve earned your place among the wolves. And in doing so, you’ve taken the first step toward binding the North to your mother’s cause.

A little more than two weeks have passed since your arrival at Winterfell, and in that time, you have come to understand the North in ways few from the south ever do. The cold no longer bites as fiercely, the rough customs of the Northerners have become familiar, and even the solemn howls of the wolves at night are a comfort rather than a cause for concern. You’ve spent your days among Cregan’s people, riding alongside his bannermen, sitting in council with his advisors, and breaking bread with his warriors in the hall. You’ve proven yourself capable in all the ways that matter to them—skilled with both words and steel, a dragon in human form.

The Northern lords have come to trust you, their respect won by your ability to speak plainly and match them in courage. They see in you a reflection of their own values—honor, strength, and loyalty. Even Thraxata, the Midnight Fury, has found her lair in the craggy wilderness nearby, roosting among the jagged rocks as if she, too, feels at home in this stark and wild land. The villagers whisper tales of the black dragon seen circling the mountains, her shadow long across the snow, a fearsome guardian from the days of old.

Today, you ride out with Lord Cregan and his men on a hunt. The sky is a bleak grey, thick with the promise of snow, and the air carries the scent of pine and earth. The forest is dense, the trees tall and ancient, their branches heavy with frost. It’s a test, of sorts—Cregan’s way of seeing how well you handle yourself in their world, not just as a rider of dragons, but as a hunter and a leader.

You ride astride a hardy Northern stallion, its breath steaming in the cold air, and you match the men stride for stride as they navigate the rough terrain. Cregan rides beside you, his expression more open than it had been when you first met. Over these past weeks, a bond has formed between you—one built on mutual respect and a growing sense of trust. He speaks more freely now, and there’s a warmth in his tone that was absent when you first arrived.

When the hunt begins, you do not hesitate to join the chase. The hounds bay as they track the scent of a massive stag, and you ride hard, your cloak snapping behind you in the wind. You’re no stranger to riding, and you handle your steed with ease, navigating the twisting paths and snow-laden ground. When the time comes to strike, you draw your bow with practiced precision, letting the arrow fly. It finds its mark true, and the stag falls. The men around you roar with approval, slapping their shields and calling your name in praise. They respect a woman who can hunt as well as any man, and here, they see you as one of their own—a warrior, not just a princess.

As the hunt winds down, Cregan approaches you, his face flushed from the cold and the thrill of the chase. "You’ve more than earned your place among us, Y/N," he says, his voice gruff but warm. "Few could keep pace with Northern men in their own forests, let alone best them. I see now why the Queen sent you instead of a prince. You’ve shown strength and wisdom—two things the North values above all else."

You incline your head in acknowledgment. "I’ve come to admire the North and its people. But admiration is not the same as allegiance. I must ask, Lord Stark—will you now stand by my mother and send your armies south to fight in her name?"

Cregan’s expression shifts, a shadow crossing his eyes as he considers your question. He’s silent for a long moment, his gaze turning toward the distant horizon, where the land stretches into a vast, icy wilderness. "The North is not like the South," he says finally, his tone measured. "Our duty is first and foremost to our own. With winter coming, my responsibility is to the Wall and to the people who must survive the cold months ahead. I cannot, in good conscience, march thousands of men south when their families might starve without them."

You frown slightly, frustration creeping in. "So you’ll abandon my mother’s cause? You gave your word, Lord Stark."

Cregan’s eyes meet yours, unwavering. "I do not break my word, Princess. I swore to uphold my oaths, and I will. But sending armies south would be folly with winter approaching. However," he continues, his tone softening as he watches your reaction, "there are those in the North who would fight, even in the harshest winters. The Greybeards—elders, warriors who have lived long and seen much. When winter comes, many of them leave their homes, believing it is better to pass in battle than to linger and be a burden on their kin. They are few in number, but each is worth a dozen younger men in skill and experience. I will send them to your mother, to fight in her name. They may not be an army, but they are a force to be reckoned with."

It’s a compromise, one that you didn’t expect but cannot wholly dismiss. You nod slowly, understanding the practicality behind his words. "Your support, even in this way, will strengthen our position. I thank you for honoring your oath, Lord Stark."

Cregan remains silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, more personal. "There is another matter I wish to discuss—a way to bind North and South even closer. You’ve proven yourself in the eyes of my people, and I have come to value your counsel and your strength. The North needs a Warden, but it also needs stability and unity. I am in need of a wife, Y/N."

His words catch you off guard. You had expected negotiations over troops and strategies, but not this. You study him closely, searching for any hint of jest, but there is none. His gaze is steady, earnest even, and the weight of his words is not lost on you.

"A marriage alliance," you murmur, more to yourself than to him. It’s a move that makes sense, politically and strategically. Your mother’s cause would be strengthened by such a bond, and Cregan’s position would be solidified, uniting the North under his leadership. But you know it’s more than just politics—there’s something personal in his offer, a recognition of the connection that has grown between you over these weeks.

Cregan inclines his head. "A marriage would do more than just bind our houses. It would be a show of unity between North and South, and it would ensure that whatever may come in this war, our strength remains undivided. You are a woman worthy of the North, and I would be honored to stand beside you as more than just allies."

You consider his words carefully, your mind weighing the implications. There’s a certain inevitability in the offer, a recognition that your paths have been converging since the moment you arrived at Winterfell. You could refuse, insist on keeping your independence, but you know that this is more than just a marriage proposal—it’s a partnership that could shape the course of the war and the future of the realm.

Finally, you meet his gaze, your voice clear and firm. "If this is the path we choose, Lord Stark, know that I will be as fierce in our union as I am in battle. The North will have a wife who is as much dragon as she is Velaryon. But I do not take such matters lightly—if we are to do this, it must be done with respect, trust, and understanding."

Cregan’s smile is genuine, his eyes gleaming with both respect and something warmer. "I would expect nothing less, Y/N. We’ll have much to discuss in the days to come, but I believe this could be the start of something greater than either of us alone."

The weight of his words lingers between you, and as you ride back toward Winterfell together, there’s an unspoken understanding—a shared resolve. You have won the respect of the North, secured their support, and now, perhaps, you are on the verge of something more—an alliance forged not just in duty, but in fire and ice, strength and trust.

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targeryan #cregan stark #hotd cregan #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x you

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peachesofteal · 9 months

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Simple Math / Part 5

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 4.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Stalking. Brief mention of domestic violence. Feelings of fear, self loathing, and anxiety. Vomiting. Panic attack/comfort. Medical inaccuracies, hospital setting. A little bit of praise. Johnny is a flirt and a menace.

“Ye’re off yer head.”

“I’m not.” Johnny expects Simon to relent, to give it up, but when he doesn’t budge, something hot sizzles alive in the pit of Johnny’s stomach, desire roaring to life in his veins.

“Jus’ like that? Ye’re goin’ let me see yer bonnie face finally?” He slurs, lifting the bottle to his lips, and Simon nods.

“Only if you win."

“And if ye win?” Simon moves closer, his chest brushing against Johnny’s, balaclava covered face dipping down, noses nudging against one another’s in a tentative, teasing way.

“If I win, you’ll remove something of my choosing instead.”

Your phone is ringing.

In your sleep, you hardly recognize it, but your subconscious is well trained, and your hand seeks the source of the noise effortlessly, dragging it from the nightstand and next to your face, to squint blearily at it, awareness coming quickly when you recognize the charge nurse’s work line.

“Hello?” You clear the cobwebs of sleep from your throat.

“Hey, sorry to wake you.”

“No, ‘s alright. What’s going on?”

“I know it’s your day off, but-“

“You’re short.” You fill in the blanks, and she huffs.

“We’ve got two out with flu like symptoms, and I’m floating another to-“

“It’s okay.” You swing your feet over the edge of the bed, rubbing your eyes. “I got you. Just give me like, an hour? I have to get ready and stuff.”

“Of course. Thanks so much, you’re a lifesaver.” You zone out for a moment, plotting out the rest of your day, and mumble something like ‘don’t worry about it’, ending the call with your thumb.

The hotel carpet is plush. It’s cushioned and soft, and it gives a little when you stand and stretch, pulling your arms over your head, twisting and turning with tired bones, shaking loose the stupor that holds your neck too straight, too tightly.

OT isn’t the worst thing in the world right now, considering you’re paying for a long term stay in a hotel, you tell yourself more than a few times as you shower and dress. You should be grateful for it. Understaffing has it’s benefits, financially.

The only wrench about coming in on your day off this week is you’re supposed to be collecting more things from your flat. Particularly, clothing. You’ve only got a short rotation of outfits, scrubs, both in short supply, and… no clean underwear. You had planned to move large chunks of your wardrobe over today, probably at least two trips worth, but will now have to settle for stopping by fairly quick to grab what you can.

It will be fine, you think, casually checking your surroundings as you step off the platform. In and out and on with your day.

You were wrong.

You see it immediately, stepping through the door. The locks are in place, handle, deadbolt, extra one at the top, but you can tell, you can feel, that someone has been in here. Your blood thickens in your veins, freezing to a stop, sluggishly propelled by your frenzied heart. You can hear it in your ears, the thunder of your panic, can feel the fear twisting itself into a sailor’s knot and holding you hostage.

Your feeling is confirmed, rationalized, when you push your bedroom door ajar and see the carnage of what’s been left behind on top of your bed.

Shredded panties.

The entire underwear drawer has been spilled out across your sheets, lace and cotton and silk all ripped to pieces, torn edges clearly made by hands, not knives, not scissors, but the personal touch of fingers, of fists.

Your breath catches in your chest, oxygen in the room falling away, leaving you panting, gasping for your next inhale as you cautiously pick up a pair close to you. They’re grey cotton boy shorts, and your stomach flips up into your throat when they stand as stiff as a board, some sort of dried substance splattered across them, rendering the fabric firm and inflexible.

Not… not just some dried substance… you realize in horror, scanning the pile of panties, noticing the stains on most of them, a milky white color shining against black silk.

You can’t breathe. You stumble away, back slamming into your dresser, sinking down onto the floor, hands covering your ears.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

This is sick, even for him. An escalation of disturbing behavior that sends a chill down your spine, frightening you even more than you already were. You knew he’d get in, hoped he would buy your carefully crafted lie: the appearance of you still living there… but to act so brazenly, to do something like… this.

Does he know, does he realize, you’re not actually living in the flat now?

He’s really going to kill you this time.

You race to the toilet, heaving yourself over the seat as your breakfast rushes past your lips, a cup of coffee and half eaten muffin accentuated by the sting of bile, and you gag, spitting and hacking until you’re finished, flushing it all away.

You don’t look at the girl in the mirror. You don’t want to see her. Don’t want to tell her all the ways you’re letting her down. She thinks you’re smarter than this, stronger. Braver. She believes you’ve done it once before, you’ve escaped, you’ve hid, and you can do it again.

She doesn’t know you’re not sure you have the heart for it now. She doesn’t realize you’re tired, you’re afraid. She doesn’t understand that you like the life you’ve made, that running is exhausting, that sometimes, in the very darkest corners of your mind, you think that letting him win might be easiest.

So, you don’t look at her. You mourn your pile of panties for a too long second and lock the apartment up tight.

Get it together. Get yourself together.

You coach yourself the entire way to work, trying to ignore the rubbing and bunching of your scrub pants, an unfortunate consequence of being forced to go commando.

Deep breath. You can do this.

You still have your sanctuary.

You had hoped, for a miniscule moment, that your day might improve once you step foot in the hospital, and you pushed away the inkling that suggested that optimism may be linked the fact that you’ll get to see Simon and Johnny, opting not to even acknowledge the strange sensations swirling about inside your heart whenever you think about the other day. The day when the world stood still and Johnny touched your hand so gently, stroking his fingers over your skin, or when the elevator doors parted to reveal Simon and their baby, a sweet baby girl safe in his arms, his eyes alight and adoring, your knees almost giving out at the sight.

Needless to say, you’re eager to badge in.

The day is quickly derailed, when within a half an hour of getting settled into your routine, an alarm goes off for two sixty-eight: thirty-nine degrees.

Your mind immediately somersaults to the pain in his upper right quadrant from your last shift, logical thought leaping all around as you jog down the hall.

You notated it. You passed it on in shift report. It’s only thirty-nine. You did everything right. No one here would just disregard something like that. Deep breath.

Still…

Bile leak. Abscess. Infection. Or worse… hepatic artery pseudoaneurysm, hemorrhaging. Big things that could lead to worse things, worse outcomes, worse-

The door comes up quicker than you realize, and without hesitating, you slip inside.

“Hi.” You’re a little breathless, and Simon’s eyes snap to yours, taking you in, studying from head to toe, brow knitted together. Johnny’s asleep, and you’re not sure if that makes you feel better, or worse.

“Everything alright?” Of course. He’s too perceptive. Get control of yourself, it could be nothing.

“Yeah, I ah… have to draw some blood.” You really do not want to wake your patient, or alarm Simon, but you refuse to lie. You fire off a text to the attending on call, advising him of Johnny’s temperature and reminding him of the upper right quadrant pain, letting him know he can expect labs as soon as you get them downstairs. You give Simon a nod, turning to slide the draw open quietly, pulling out everything you’ll need. His gaze burns a hole in your scrubs, the ever-present scrutiny impossible to escape, and sometimes you wonder if he’s reading your mind.

“What’s wrong? He just fell asleep, Pen was here all morning, tired him out.” His protest is husky, and you think he’s frowning behind the mask. You imagine a strong mouth pulled downwards in consternation; wide jaw gnashed tight with worry.

“He’s running just a bit of a fever.” He jolts, and you shake your head, hoping to soothe his fear. “It’s not too high. I’m not super worried, but we’ll need to check his white cell count, just in case, okay? And then we’ll go from there.” He nods.

“You said this could happen.” You smile. It feels unsteady, but you hope he can’t tell.

“I did. I promised, that if there was something to panic about, I would tell you. We’re not there yet.” It’s not a lie. Your wild spiral from a few minutes ago was an extreme, not reality, and you need to keep your head on.

“Okay.”

“Right. So, just going to do a quick blood draw and get it downstairs so we can find out what’s going on.” Simon shifts uncomfortably, and you carefully squeeze Johnny's arm, wrapping him with the tie and swabbing the inside of his elbow as fast as possible.

He blinks, eyes opening slowly, confused brow smoothing when he realizes you’re leaning over him, and his gaze darts to Simon before landing back on you. “There’s our bunny.” He mumbles softly, and your face heats, eyes widening in surprise before you regulate your reaction, and Simon coughs. Loudly. Bunny?

“Such a flirt, MacTavish.” You playfully chastise him, relieved he’s feeling like himself. “I just need to get some blood and then I’ll leave you in peace to sleep.” He shrugs, but Simon rubs a thumb against his thigh in tiny little circles, too fast to be considered comfort, and Johnny clucks. “Ah, come on Si.”

“You’re runnin’ a fever, Johnny.”

“Ach. ‘s nothing.” He brushes it off, but his eyes are slow to track Simon’s movements, and you casually sneak a peek at the monitor, noting his blood pressure.

“Could be.” You assure him, smoothing a hand over his shoulder and taping a small patch of gauze over the puncture. “But better safe than sorry, right?”

The labs are inconclusive. The attending hems and haws before finally asking you to schedule a stat ultrasound of his abdomen, and you manage to bump him to the front of the queue, pulling a few strings here and there by rattling off some bullshit about being higher priority.

In the time it takes for the tech to get to two sixty-eight with the machine, you get a new admission. Intubated, but awake, and getting them and their family squared away takes longer than you would have liked, the patient’s middle-aged husband a wreck of nerves and worry, the kind of anxiety that makes you sit with him in the room for a little while, patting his hand and promising that you’ll be there for them, every step of the way.

By the time you step out of that room, it’s been nearly an hour. You catch a glimpse of Simon in the chairs outside two sixty-eight, and you throw him one of your best work smiles, hoping to reassure him, soothe his nerves. You want to go to him, want to sit beside him and talk him through everything, the outcomes, the possibilities, but you still need to add the notes for your new admit, and-

Someone catches your eye from the end of the hall. It’s a man, white, with brown hair, in regular clothes, and he stands taller than the others around him, shoulders rolled back just- just like-

No. You force yourself to look, to truly see him, taking in his facial features, the slope of his nose, and it’s hardly a second before you’re realizing it’s not who you thought it was. It’s not him.

The second doesn’t matter to your heart. It’s already racing, tripling it’s steady pace inside your chest. You’re shaking, trembling in the middle of the hall, frantically looking for the nearest closet, or empty room, or…

Stairwell. There’s a stairwell just beyond where Simon is anxiously waiting, and you beeline to it, nearly tripping over your own feet past him. You think you hear your name being called, but the blood rushing in your ears is too loud, and you can’t be sure. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters right now is getting away. Hiding. Not letting yourself be noticed.

You take the first flight down, stopping on the landing to rest your face against the polished, cold wall, desperately trying to fill your lungs with air, encouraging yourself to breathe.

It wasn’t him. You’re safe.

Deep breath. You can do this.

Your fingers dig into your hips, squeezing through the numbness, through the overwhelming feeling of your impending doom, and your head swims, lightheadedness nearly knocking you off balance.

“It wasn’t him.” You whisper aloud. “It’s not him. You’re safe. Get it together.” You chant, eyes clenched tight. Your heart is still pounding, no sign of relenting, and your lungs burn, screaming inside you, desperate for air. The feeling of suffocating, of dying, grows stronger, gaining momentum, and your eyes slam shut, your mind and body locked in a tomb of panic and fear.

You hear your name again. It’s sharper, authoritative, but you can’t open your eyes, too overwhelmed to even make sense of it. Deep breath, just breathe.

Something touches your shoulder. It’s unexpected, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you register it as gentle, but you’re too far gone, too far buried beneath your fear and your panic and your shame. It triggers you into a defensive posture, and you flinch so hard you jostle yourself into the wall, turning into the corner, hands out in front of your face.

“Hey, hey.” It’s Simon. Simon is standing in the stairwell with you, palms open, concern heavy in his eyes, and you vaguely realize he’s talking, soft, deep words washing over you. “-to breathe?” He comes closer, only half a step, but it’s enough to startle you back into the corner, and he stops short. “It’s alright. I’m not going to touch you.” He soothes, and you recognize the pitch, the calm, affectionate tone from Johnny’s bedside. Sour nausea surges in your stomach, and your lungs fight the invisible hand that tightens around them. “Can you take a deep breath?” You shake your head, and he huffs a soft chuckle. “You can do it, just try. Through your nose, like this.” His chest expands, eye contact never breaking, and you try to follow suit, getting halfway before your head spins, vision tunneling. “You’re alright.”

You’re not alright. None of this is alright. You’re having a panic attack, in the stairwell at your job, in front of a patient’s partner.

You can’t speak, so you shake your head instead. No.

“Yes, you are.” He assures. “Everything’s okay. Focus on your breathing. Try another one for me.” His hand covers his heart, and you focus on the way it ebbs and flows with the movement of his diaphragm, the pace of his breaths.

You manage to get one full inhale and exhale. And then you get another. Then a third, a fourth, until it’s coming easier, and your head doesn’t feel as fuzzy.

“Good job, that’s it.” Your fingers twist together, the grating noise of your jagged breathing smoothing out even more, and Simon nods encouragingly. “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Nice and slow.” Sweetheart. The word is bright, boundless and sweet as honey, the sentiment settling in your belly and growing warm. The two of you stand there, just breathing, staring at one another, for what feels like an eternity, until you find the strength to summon words.

“I-I’m sorry.” You finally choke once you’ve got a better handle on yourself, hands going lax at your thighs.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” You’re about to brush it off, thorny lies starting to form in your mind, excuses and carefully crafted explanations fusing together when your work phone beeps, the low frequency different from the ones related to patient care. Shit. Already? Simon’s glances at it in your pocket and cocks his head.

“End of my shift.” You explain, moving towards the stairs, your hand trembling on the button to silence the alarm. The muscles in his neck flex, molars grinding together.

“Still feeling a little shaky?” He observes, and you look down to your feet, mortification crawling up your spine, blooming across your cheeks through heated blood vessels.

“Um…”

“Would you mind, maybe sitting with Johnny for a bit?” You do still have notes to do. “If his test is done? I have to run home, help the Prices' put Penny down. She’s been a bit fickle, lately. Missin’ her Da.” He rubs the back of his neck, chest flexing inside the charcoal grey hoodie, and for a weird, too long second, you wonder what it might be like to fall asleep there, or just close your eyes for a minute, even though it's something sweet and far away, unobtainable in every facet. Simon says your name, jogging your attention, and then takes the first step, partially turning like he wants to reach for you, but thinks better of it.

“Uh. Yeah, I… I can.”

You badge out and grab your stuff, keeping your tablet so you can complete your notes while you sit with Johnny. You’ve already checked his results, and when you slip inside the room, the attending is updating them, explaining how he has a very small bile leak, and will need an endoscopic procedure tomorrow morning.

The attending excuses himself, giving you a quick nod, and then Simon leans down, knocking their foreheads together tenderly.

“Keep an eye on him, I hear he likes to make trouble.” Johnny smiles, pink-red color creeping up his neck into his cheeks, and Simon seems like he’s smiling, before he turns serious. “Behave. I won’t be too long.”

“I always behave.” He pats the side of the bed, beckoning you, and you shake your head, plopping down in the recliner to his right.

“I hear ye’re keepin’ me company, pretty girl?”

“I am. Got some notes to finish, heard this chair was pretty comfortable.” You quip back easily, and it feels natural, to be joking and laughing, to be hiding again.

“Well, I’ll try not to distract ye then.”

Your tablet clicks dark with a satisfying shutter, and when you place it face down, Johnny gives you one of his stupidly handsome smiles. “All finished?”

“Yeah, not too bad.” His phone vibrates against the tabletop, and with his good hand, he opens the message, turning it to show you the screen. It’s a picture of Penny, half asleep against Simon, clad in a pink onesie covered in little ducks. Her cheek is squished against him, long baby lashes fluttering on her skin. “She’s so cute.” You say, and he nods, flushed with pride. You glance at the contact name, Lou, and before you can stop yourself, a question bursts out: “Who’s Lou?”

“Our captain’s wife. She’s been helpin’ a lot, with Pen. Which is great, they’re getting a lot of girl time.”

“Your captain?”

“Aye.”

“Is that…” you want to ask but trail off. You don’t want to admit that you’ve heard gossip about them.

“Military. Simon an’ I work together, in a task force.” A task force. A task force sounds eerily close to special ops, and your nausea comes back with a vengeance.

“What… what kind of task force?”

“Global ops. Anti-terrorism, domestic threats, the lot. How I ended up here, with ye.” The image of your ex looms, his body tense in his gear, or the memory of his boots, sitting shiny by the door, one of them pulling back, swinging towards your stomach. “Bun?” Bun?

“Huh?” you blink. “Oh, sorry. Spaced out there for a second.”

“That’s alright. Simon said ye had a bit of a scare earlier?”

“No I uh, just couldn’t catch my breath, but I was fine. It was fine.” You deflect, moving on as quick as you can manage. “Did you call me bun? And… didn’t you call me bunny, earlier?” He gives you a sheepish look.

“Aye. Is our nickname for ye.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Well… ye look a bit like a bunny, and ye had that sticker the other day that Penny noticed.” Your face heats. “I know ye’re probably real soft like a bun, too.” Real soft? Is he… does he mean- your eyes widen, and he smirks.

“Johnny.” You flounder, helplessly, confused by his attention, this flirtation that seems to have grown into real affection, and he shifts slightly, leaning forward, reaching for your hand.

“Ye dinnae need to be afraid.” He coos. The words are a moon above a tide, pulling and reaching, dragging the swell of the waves higher and higher, until they threaten to pull you under, overwhelm you and drown you.

“I…” I don’t understand? I thought you were gay? I don’t know what is happening here? Johnny grimaces, and you immediately forget about the conversation and leap into action, jumping to your feet. “What is it? Where’s your pain?” Your hands hover over his belly, and he points to where his liver currently sits, slowly leaking inside his body, spilling bile that could eventually kill him if it hadn’t been caught. You pull down the blanket, unsnapping his gown to push it aside, checking for anything physically observable, site swelling, a rash, anything. “Does this hurt?” You cautiously press down, tapping slightly, watching his face for a reaction.

“No.” he says, and when you reach over to his other side, turning to watch his facial expressions, he moves with you, barely leaning, chin pointed in your direction.

His face is suddenly incredibly close to your face. And he looks… so handsome. So pretty, with his bright blue eyes and perfect bones, soft lips that part with an inhale. He dazzles you. Distracts you.

This is your patient, get it together. You’re a professional, act like it.

“Does that hurt?” You croak, and his lips quirk into a half smile, a warm palm gliding over the small of your back.

“It doesnae hurt, bun.” He winks.

“Oh my god, were you faking?” You try to stand up, but the pressure on your spine is firm, and he chuckles.

“Can I tell ye a secret?” He’s fully serious now, question whispered just above your ear, and you nod.

“Of course.”

“Ye’v been drivin’ me mad today, pretty girl. Walkin’ around here wit’ no panties on.” Oh. Oh… my god. You shoot upwards, hand covering your mouth in shock, and he laughs, raising an eyebrow before his gaze drifts over the curve of your hip.

“Johnny!” you hiss, scandalized, and then guilt hits you like a train, like two tons of rocks have been dropped on top of you. Simon. “Johnny, you… you and Simon, you’re-“

“We’re lucky ye’ve come into our lives.” He finishes, and you frown, confused. “We think ye’re really special.” We. We?

“What did I miss?” Simon says from the doorway, and you jerk, stepping back like Johnny’s bed is on fire and you’ve just been burnt, eyes wide and wild. You feel like a child, caught with a hand in the cookie jar, but Simon doesn’t look angry. Just curious.

“Jus’ talking.” Johnny replies, and he starts to lower his bed, watching you with heavy eyes.

“Well. I should get going. I’ve got a few trains to make.” You glance at the clock, and then give them both a polite smile. Simon crosses his arms.

“Looks like you tired him out.” He comments, and they glance at one another, some sort of communication happening silently before he shrugs. “Let me drive you.”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t. It’s not… you just got back, and I’m fine, really. It’s not that far, I-“

“If it’s not that far, let him drive ye.” Johnny pipes up, and Simon piles on easily.

"He's not going to let this go, and neither am I. Let me get you home safely, please." You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. "It's the least we can do." Your shoulders slump in defeat. It’s just a ride. It’s not crossing a line.

“Okay, then.” Johnny smiles, and Simon moves to his side, brushing his mask covered mouth against his forehead.

“She go down okay?” Johnny murmurs, tenderly cupping his cheek.

“Like a champ. Promised I’d bring her tomorrow morning. Think she understood me.”

“Aye. She’s smarter than ye, so probably.” He teases, and they share a lighthearted laugh before Johnny’s bidding you a goodbye, and Simon directs you out the door.

“Uh, right here is fine.” You point to the curb, and Simon slows the car to a stop, turning to face you with that ever-present scrutiny, brows shoved down above his eyes.

“A hotel?” You swallow.

“My um, my flat is being renovated. It’s a whole thing so I just figured I wo-would stay somewhere else.” You want to flee, run out of this car and away from him, but he holds you in place so easily with just his eyes, so you sit there, frozen, one hand on the door handle, the other splayed against your thigh.

“Is everything alright? Earlier-“

“I’m fine.” You rush out, cutting him off. It’s well practiced, the denial, the avoidance, these things that you normally excel out.

But nothing is normal with them.

He cocks his head, and then nods, and you breathe a little easier, turning to push the door open.

“Wait.” A hand tugs at you, thick, warm fingers lightly touching your wrist, and you whip back around to face him, eyes wide. “If you ever need anything, Johnny and I… we’re here.” Why is your heart beating so fast?

“Oh, I uh… I’m fine, I don’t need-“

“That doesn’t work on me. Johnny either, pretty girl.” He tells you, and it’s so firm, so strong backed, that your mouth goes dry, and you gape at him. What? What doesn’t work? Is he… is he saying he doesn’t buy it? Doesn’t believe you? He’s reading your mind, subtly raising an eyebrow, and then nodding. “Put my number in your phone.” He instructs, and like a robot, like a vampire’s Thrall, you pull it from your bag, swiping open the contact list and pressing each number in the order he gives it. “We’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks once you’re finished, and you mumble a shaky yes, finally pushing the door open, and climbing out.

“Alright, well. Good night.” You bend at the waist, giving him a wave through the window, and his jaw moves beneath the mask, shifting to the side, eyes squinting at the corners. He's smiling.

“Good night, bunny.”

#peaches writes #simple math #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x soap x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #ghoap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap x reader #soap x ghost

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lxsunshine · 6 months

Text

cckwarming w s4n

(dom!roomatesan x roommate!reader)

cw with s@n

you didn’t want to bother him, but he’s been in his room for almost 4 hours, just hearing some occasional yelling and groaning. you knew San was busy playing games with a group of online friends he called “ateez”, but you wanted to hang out with him, and you felt quite lonely from the lack of attention. it was the weekend so earlier, you texted up some of your other friends in hope for someone to interact with, but they were busy. so your last resort was your friendly roommate that you adored, and harbored a small crush on.

san was your age and worked as a personal trainer at a gym down the street. you had walked past his gym once and you were greeted with defined muscles covered in a sheen of sweat. he had damp hair and his grey tank top was drenched, making the shirt cling to his chest and you could see his pectoral muscles and abs on full display. you couldn’t help the rise of heat to your cheeks and the drop of your jaw if you tried. never have you seen your roommate so in his element, so sweaty so… fuck you felt a familiar heat in your lower belly and you had run back to your apartment and taken a cold shower in the shared bathroom.

since then, you’ve been noticing all the small things that San does that somehow turns you into a flustered mess. when he lounges around in grey sweats and a plain white wifebeater, your thighs clench together. when he’s in the tiny-ass kitchen with you and has to move past you, so he respectfully places his hands on your waist so he can maneuver around you, your tummy explodes with butterflies. when he makes you your morning coffee and presses a kiss to your forehead before he goes to get ready, fucking niagara falls accompanied by butterflies.

san also has a very rough voice when he first wakes up. he’s also a cuddler, which you did not expect. so imagine your surprise when you heard his alarm blaring at 7 am one morning and he wouldn’t turn it off, so you walked into his room and nudged him awake, making him groan and pull you by your arm right on top of him. then he proceeded to pull you flush against him and he nuzzled his head into your neck, groaning “not yet.” it would be an understatement to say you were burning red and almost shaking with desire.

san has never hidden his affection with you, and you’re sure that if people saw you two together, they would think you’re lovers. so now, waiting for 4 hours for some roommate bonding time, you were getting frustrated and sad. you really wanted to hang out with someone, and that someone being a buff-nerdy-gamer/personal trainer-roommate. building up your courage, you sheepishly knocked on his door and waited to hear a response. after nothing but more callouts, you sighed and opened the door. to your surprise, San was basically naked. he wore only a pair of basketball shorts and socks with his slippers. his black hair was fluffy and messy under the headphones, and his full chest was on display, hard nipples exposed to you. you swallowed hard and walked closer, making San finally notice you. he took off one headphone, seeming a bit sheepish, and he covered his chest with his arms.

“oh, hey, was i being too loud?” he asked, giving you a smile that made your heart burst. while he was taking a small break from gaming, he grabbed his water bottle and tipped it back, his throat swallowing deeply. your eyes locked on his throat and you felt yourself turning red. realizing he had asked you a question and was looking at you with a raised eyebrow, you stammered out a response.

“oh, n-no you weren’t. it’s just, you’ve been here for a while and i wanted to hang out with you for a bit… but if you’re too busy…” you trailed off, watching him fiddle with the rings he had on his right hand. your eyes greedily observed all the veins on his hands and his well-taken-care-of nails. his fingers were so nice and long, and so pretty with all the veins that clenched when he grabbed things. you imagined what his neck would look like gripping your neck, teasing your folds, finally sliding into you and curling upwa-

“hello, sweetheart?” he called you out of your filthy thoughts, a sly smile on his face and an eyebrow raised in a teasing manner. “your face is awfully red, what were you thinking about, hmm?”

you blushed even harder and nervously laughed, uncomfortably noticing how your panties were clinging to you, “nothing really, sorry i should go.”

his eyes seemed to narrow and a dark look came over his face as he grabbed your wrist, “i asked you a question and i don’t really appreciate you lying to my face.” his complete change in demeanor made you shiver with excitement and you weakly tugged at your arm. he didn’t budge and he pulled you closer to him. now your knees were touching and you looked down at him a bit.

you struggled to respond in the close proximity and you found it a bit hard to breathe, “ ‘m sorry. i was distracted by your hands.”

you wanted to die, the embarrassment heating your skin and making the room feel like a sauna. he hummed in thought, eyes flickering to your lips and then back to stare into you.

“what do you want with my hands?” he asked, voice low. his hand that wasn’t gripping your wrist reached to cup your jaw, and you felt your knees weaken at the intimacy of it all.

suddenly, his hand wrapped around your throat and he applied the slightest bit of pressure, making you whimper and fall to your knees. the sound you made spurred San on and his dick twitched in his pants at the sight of you on your knees.

“please,” you begged, not really knowing what you were begging for. you clenched your thighs together, seeking just a big of friction and he chuckled. his hand still wrapped around your throat and the other now tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“please what?” he asked, almost whispering, and he leant in so close that his lips were centimeters from your own. your eyes flickered down to his soft looking lips and you never felt a stronger urge to kiss someone than you did now.

“please touch me, hold me, anything!” you cried, one hand grabbing onto his thigh. he tsked, letting go of you and sitting back against the chair.

“you interrupted my game and now you want me to spend more time entertaining you?” he chuckled, messing with his headphones.

you felt ashamed and humiliated, but somehow that just made more arousal seep into your underwear. the way he was looking at you with lidded eyes, and his disinterested expression… you craved him. trying to express your apologies and desire, you leaned forward on your knees and nuzzled your head into his crotch. you mouthed wetly at his slightly chubbed cock through his shorts and he inhaled sharply, hand gripping his arm rest.

“fuck, you want me so bad, huh baby?” he laughed breathily and one hand gently raked through your hair. you just whined and mouthed at him again, wanting to express how much you wanted him. suddenly, his gentle caresses changed and he grabbed a chunk of your hair and pulled you, making your head snap up with a cry.

“my teammates are going to wonder where i went. i can’t let them down,” he said to you, sounding condescending and evil. you couldn’t help the flutter of your eyelids, and San laughed in shock.

“if you want me so badly, you can sit on me, princess,” he said, pulling you all the way upright onto your feet and then gesturing to his lap. you could see his hard outline sitting heavy in his lap through his damp shorts and you wanted it. you wanted him filling you up, pressing against your walls and all the nerves inside of you. you wanted him to twitch inside and fill you up with his hot release.

eagerly, you nodded and went to remove your panties from under your skirt. San’s eyes widened for a spilt second before it changed back into his nonchalant face. he leaned back into his chair and before you could step closer, he stopped you.

“you’re sure you want this? i’m going to be in you, love, and i truly want this. do you?” he asked, a bit of insecurity seeping into his voice. your heart stuttered in your chest at his consideration and you craved him even more. even though San was showing off a new exciting side, he was still your kind and loving roommate and your friend in the end.

you nodded and San cocked his brow. realizing he wanted verbal consent, you verbally agreed and he smiled with his cute dimple before he schooled his expression and motioned for you to come closer. he had you turn around so your back would be flush to his bare chest. he lifted his hips a bit and slid his shorts down a bit, pulling his cock out. he then pulled you down, so his cock rested against your folds. you ground gently a few times against him, addicted to the sounds that he made, and his cockhead caught on your entrance a few times. and then he finally slid into you. it felt a little painful from the stretch, but you were wet enough to make the slide easy. as soon as he bottomed out, you keened at how full you felt. he was thick enough to stretch you out and long enough to hit all the right places inside you. he kissed your neck, arms wrapped around your waist, and he whispered, “you doing okay? feels good?”

you moaned in response, wiggling around a bit before you tried to move. one arm wrapped tight around your waist and the other reached to hold your throat.

“i’m pretty comfortable right now,” San smirked and pulled you flush against him, making it impossible to move.

“s-san, what?” you whined, wanting to feel his cock catching on your walls and drilling into you.

“shh. sit still while i finish my round,” he bit your neck playfully while he unwrapped his arm from your waist and adjusted his headphones back on.

then he turned his mic back on and continued playing as if he wasn’t inside of you. you sat in shock but leaned back against his chest to stay comfortable. everytime he got too loud, you accidentally clenched around him, making him squeeze your neck and groan a bit.

“yo, san bro, you good over there?” a voice that was labeled Yunho in the chat called out.

he just squeezed your neck in a warning and your hips stilled (when did they start moving again?).

“all good, yunho. let’s counter-strafe,” he called out, clearing his throat. you whined softly when his hips bucked up into yours. san’s hand traveled from your neck to cover your mouth.

“shh baby, almost done and then i’ll fuck you for real. you can be good for me, right love?” he whispered, you clenched around him in response, making him curse and stumble in the game.

“clearly you can’t,” san grunted, trying to recover in the game. “don’t worry, baby. you’ll get what you deserve.”

#ateez smut #ateez #ateez au #san x reader #ateez x reader

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aajjks · 1 year

Text

loser ≠ lover (m)

synopsis. He wants you so much, even if you’ll destroy him, because he’d let you.

fem reader x yandere oc.

warnings. yándere, öbsession, masochïstic tendencies, mentions of physical, emotional abûse, unhealthy thöughts, èxtreme obsession, obsessive thoughts.

note. MY FIRST OC!!!!! UHHH IM SO SO NERVOUS BECAUSE IM NEW TO THIS KIND OF THING BUT I HOPE YOU ALL WILL GIVE HIM A CHANCE. HES ALL YOURS TO INTERACT WITH, send fanart?!?? Please I’d be honoured, send asks talk to him!!!! 😭💌

second instalment x

loser boy who worships the ground you walk on!

Who licks off the dirt that trails off your shoes as you walk down the school hallway.

loser boy who is so obsessed with you that he can’t breathe if he can’t get a look at you.

loser boy who can’t feel anything but love for you, passion that pumps so hard in his veins for you, who can’t say a word without stuttering except your name.

Loser boy who follows you around like a lost puppy, who doesn’t care if your ‘friends’ cuss at him, if you call him a dirty dog.

At least you’re talking to him! God, he’s so lucky!

“Goodness fuck off! You sicko! How’d you find my address!?” You spit at him, your eyes filled so beautifully with hues of disgust, your luscious lips curled up in annoyance. He smiles so brightly at you, God, you’re so beautiful.

“O-Oh please! C-Call me more names! P-Please!” He begs, on his knees, his raven hair falling on his grey orbs, his lashes wet as he begs you.

You feel embarrassed, He notices, yet he feels his heart burning from the need to hear you insult him.

It’s been too long.

And that’s why he’s here, at 1 am right infront of your door, begging.

“Fucking masochist! You’re so disgusting! FUCK OFF.” The way your shoe hits his jaw, makes him moan out your name like a prayer.

You groan in anger, he gets up again, you struggle against him, your nails scratch him, the burn feels euphoric, he missed you so bad.

“You don’t understand huh?!? LEAVE. ME. ALONE.” You try to get away from him, the boy doesn’t let you, instead he grabs your legs, wrapping his arms around them, “n-no please! take me back please!” He’s sobbing.

Yet his heart loves the thrill of your resistance, it turns him on so much, his pants feel so painfully tight, “NEVER! You ARE NOT GOOD FOR ANYTHING! You are of no use to me anymore!” you keep insulting him, it makes him feel so relieved.

You hadn’t been talking to him for so long, he almost went insane without you.

“Y-YN p-please kiss me!” He stands up, “p-please!”

“FUCK OFF Ezekiel!” His mind blurs.

His tongue lulls out and he whimpers as you finally utter his name out, it sounds so good, so erotic from your mouth, His name was made for you to call out.

He is so obsessed with you.

“S-Say it again… p-please!” Ezekiel stands up, his knees wobble, the stormy grey eyes are full of lust, craziness.

You roll your eyes at him again, it only makes him so much more excited, he loves your rejection so much, he always has.

Because it’s a unique bond between you, you treat him special, he knows.

“fuck off weirdo.” Ezekiel doesn’t say anything but pushes you against the door of your house, “YN…” he brings his face so much closer to you, he feels scared yet thrilled.

You’re so unpredictable, it makes him shake with anticipation.

“P-Please don’t leave- don’t-don’t abandon me! I-I’m sorry I disappointed you b-but he deserved it.” You raise your eyebrows at his ‘apology’

“No. Get away from me you sick freak! You had no right to beat him up like that, who are you huh? My boyfriend? Please…” you scoff, “you’re nothing to me Ezekiel, absolutely nothing.” You spit again at him.

God.

“You’re just a pathetic man who gets me off. You’re just a pastime you get that?” You point your finger to his chest.

“Y’know you’re lucky you have a big dick and a pretty face. sometimes you’re obedient too and you make good punching bag.” You laugh so cruelly, venom drips in your words.

Yet he takes it as words of praise.

“You’re like my dog.”

Yes he is.

“S-So please just take me back? I-I’m so sorry YN…. Please punish me but not like this! H-HIT ME.” He takes your hand and swipes it hard across his cheek.

You gasp in surprise, Ezekiel looks at you with pure desperation. “Please! I-I can’t live without you,” he bites his lower lip, the mole under his lips becomes more evident.

“I-I can please you! I can help you get off! Please let me- give me a chance- I’ll make you cum as many times you’ll want to- PLEASE GIVE ME A CHANCE AT REDEMPTION!”

“P-Please!”

#yandere #yandere x reader #smut #yandere x you #soft yandere #male yandere #yandere oc #masochistic yandere #ezekiel: loser ≠ lover #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #obsessive love #obsessive yandere #yandere fic #yandere ezekiel #yandere x yn #yandere boy #yandere smut

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liliewrites · 4 months

Text

"IN THE HEARTHFIRE'S EMBRACE"

a/n ; HALLOO:DD so, here's the first part of the "let the world burn" series inspired by the song of the same name from chris grey. more women will be added to the list as i go, so feel free to drop some suggestions which genshin women you think would be a great addition to the series. anywaay, thanks for readingg:))

-warning/s ; a bit of descriptive violence, mentions of blood and burning but not directed at the reader. -pairing/s ; arlecchino x fem!reader.

where in ; these women would go against every person in teyvat-- would even watch teyvat burn, all for your sake.

(men please dni utc!)

“Lynette, whatever happens, keep your mother safe.”

The words rang in the little girl’s ears repeatedly as she held the older woman’s hands. They were not related by blood in any way, but this woman had taken care of her, raised her and nurtured her for as long as she could remember. So she keeps her father’s words, and protects the woman with what she has.

“There they are! The wife of the Knave!!”

With an annoyed curse beneath a whisper, Lynette grabs onto your hand tightly, pulling you to run away as the spies have found you in your hiding spot. Tired, panting and breathless- your legs felt like it was about to give out, but thanks to the adrenaline spiking through your body, you just kept running, and running, and then finding yourself driven in a corner with nowhere to escape as the spies had surrounded you from all sides.

Despite being struck with fear, your motherly instincts came first as you held your precious daughter in your arms, wanting to protect her more than wanting to be protected by her.

“Mother, I can… I can handle this!” Lynette exclaimed, but you knew better, it was two against half a dozen grown men and only Lynette was capable of fighting out of the two of you but her alone would not be enough to face them. “My child, settle down, I'd rather die than witness you slain in front of me. Let me protect you, so hush.”

You whispered, tears starting to form in the corner of your eyes as immense fear ran through your veins. You closed your eyes shut to brace yourself for impact, heart filled with dread as one of the men neared you with a blade of his own. He let out a sickly chuckle at your demise, the wife of the Knave’s to be precise, then raising his arm up to—

“Fucking imbeciles.”

—to fall in front of you beheaded, with warm and thick blood splattered against you and the child in your arms. You opened your eyes to look up but you already knew who it was and to your horrific relief, it was your wife covered in blood who stood menacingly in the background. Her hand letting go of her scythe that she earlier held with a grip so tight, her hands trembled while she slayed the wretched men in blinded fury then she started to slowly walk towards you.

You gasped at the sight and immediately covered Lynette's eyes as she was no more than just a child who although you knew was no stranger to this kind of scenery, you still wanted to shield her from the gruesome sight. Nonetheless, still, you felt glee to see your wife.

As for said wife, Arlecchino’s chest was heaving in pure, unfiltered wrath and with no remorse stepped upon the men’s lifeless bodies in a rather harsh manner. Her sharp, pointed heels stabbed itself into the flesh as she made her way towards you through the fire she had caused in the midst of tearing the men apart just a few moments ago.

— but as soon as she reached you, the look in her eyes softened and all hostility she held had instantly melted away. Replaced by a vulnerable and fragile display of guilt and fear as the apathetic mask she’d mastered to put on for years straight had cracked for a brief moment out of fear for you. “My beloved, I am deeply sorry for arriving so late...” she apologized and her tone sounded so different than how she insulted the man who almost killed you. She gently pulled you up into her arms and held you and her daughter with a relieved sigh.

“I didn't realize that a few had escaped and chased after you, my beloved. I am terribly, terribly sorry for making such a horrible mistake.” Her voice was shaky and you knew that behind the tough exterior she tried to put on, her heart was broken beyond a million pieces at the thought of almost losing you.

“My dear, it is alright. Lynette kept me safe, and we are alive.” You tried to reassure her, but at the moment you had mentioned the word “alive”, the intense emotions kicked in as she was reminded of the fact that if she arrived just even a second late, you and her daughter would’ve been dead along with the men that lay on the ground. The raging embers of fury ignited once more, so she separated for a moment to summon countless burning crimson blades in thin air one after another, embedding it into the lifeless bodies that lay on the ground. After her little outburst, she looked at the burning men with a glare and held you tightly to keep you safe and secure to provide you solace, amidst the burning chaos of flames that surrounded all three of you.

“My beloved, if you were to die at the hands of such crooked men, tainted and ruined, I could never find it in my heart to watch the world prosper without you as it’d have no meaning at all.”

She spoke with such conviction that it felt like a comforting flame that soothed the fear in your heart but to those who dare lay a finger on you, this served as a threat as this same woman who held you and your child with such a gentle hold and looked at you with tender eyes swearing that she would be capable of attempting to kill the Tsaritsa with her bare hands in a heartbeat— if it meant protecting you.

There is no sane bone in her body, that was indeed a fact, but if you were to be taken away from her then she’d be willing to watch the world go poof, drowned in the flames of her agony of your loss if it were to ever happen.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino genshin impact #arlecchino x female reader #lilac writes💜#we all love arle in this blog

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allaboutsturns · 4 months

Text

𝙻𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚜!

christopher sturniolo x reader

content/warning(s): fluff, lego building, kissing, tickling, swearing.

summary: you bought a flower bouquet lego set and were struggling to figure out how you were meant to build it when your boyfriend chris walks into your shared room and offers to help.

you stared at the scattered array of orange, yellow, white, and green lego pieces that decorated the hard wood floor of you and your boyfriends shared bedroom with an annoyed expression painted across your face, “ugh!!” you groaned, impatience starting to boil through your veins.

you had been trying to put together this lego bouquet for probably thirty minutes now, but with each attempt came failure. you just couldn’t figure it out and you were too stubborn to ask for help. you knew if someone offered help, you’d take it without hesitation.

“this is really starting to piss me offfffff!” you huffed. you heard footsteps walking down the stairs towards the bedroom that you were in. instead of getting up to greet whoever was approaching, you placed your head in your hands allowing defeat to cast a shadow over your body.

you rocked back and forth in your criss-cross position on the floor. you heard the door open which was followed by a little chuckle, “baby, what are you doing?” a familiar voice asked. you groaned before throwing your hands up into the air as a surrender.

“i can’t figure out this damn lego set,” you mumbled as you jutted your bottom lip out into a fake pout, finally looking up at the boy who had entered the room. it was your boyfriend, chris. he was wearing a black hoodie and grey sweatpants.

“well i don’t think you’ll be able to figure it out without the manual for one,” chris said with furrowed brows as he grabbed the manual out of the small garbage can that resided in the corner of the room. you rolled your eyes at him, too stubborn to fully admit he was right, “well… yeah..” you grumbled.

“and two, the pieces are scattered everywhere, ma,” he paused as he scanned the floor, finally continuing, “you have to keep the pieces organized.” he said with a small laugh as he walked over to you, patting your head gently before sitting down next to you.

“can i help?” he asked before planting a small kiss to the tip of your nose. you felt a smile tug at the corners of your lips as you nodded, “yes please,” you answered, finally letting the smile take full control of your expression.

chris smiled back, planting another gentle kiss to your lips. you smiled into the kiss before pulling away and looking at the unorganized mess of lego pieces in front of the two of you, “okay so… organize?” you asked. chris nodded his head as he hummed a response, “mhm!”

the two of you began organizing orange with orange, yellow with yellow, white with white, and green with green.

after you finished organizing the pieces, chris picked up the manual that he had placed on the floor next to him a couple minutes previously. he flipped it open to the first page of instructions and you leaned over, laying your head on his shoulder as you looked over the page with him.

“okay so these pieces,” he started, pointing at the green pieces, “go like this,” he continued, now pointing at the picture representation on the instructions. he placed the manual down, in front of the two of you this time, leaving it open to the first page.

you both began grabbing pieces and connecting them together. sometimes you would pick up a piece he needed and would hand it to him, vice versa.

after about thirty minutes, you and chris placed the final lego piece onto the build together. with one final click, you guys had finished.

“we did it!!” you cheered. chris laughed and pulled you into him, kissing your head and face excitedly. you couldn’t help but giggle at how cute he was.

you laid in his arms as you both looked at your completed lego masterpiece. after about five minutes of just looking at your hard work, you felt chris’s body shift and you looked up at him. he looked down at you and a mischievous smile crept across his face. you shook your head and tried to escape his grasp but it was too late, he was already tickling you.

“chris! shit- no! please! stop- oh my god!!” you screamed through a laughing fit. you tried to wiggle free but couldn’t escape his grasp. you were both laughing uncontrollably.

all that could be heard from your room were squeals and screeches and laughter, “baby, stopppp!!” you begged, laughing so hard that tears began to form at your waterline.

“fineeee,” he sighed with a fake pout as he stopped tickling you, “your laugh is just too damn cute,” he mumbled. you rolled your eyes and playfully punched him in the arm, “you’re the worst!” you said with a giggle. he smiled and kissed your forehead.

“i love you so fucking much, ma.” he whispered, pulling you into him as close as he could. you nuzzled into his chest and wrapped your arms around his waist, “i love you, baby.” you replied as you closed your eyes.

chris ran his fingers through your hair gently as you both sat on the floor tangled in each other. it was moments like these that you both held so close to your hearts. this was a memory you would never forget, “i wish i could just freeze time and stay in this moment forever,” you whispered into his chest quietly. him playing with your hair was lulling you to sleep.

“me too, gorgeous, me too,” he said quietly, “but i’m also glad that we can’t freeze time here because that means i get to make more memories like this with you, more memories that we won’t ever forget.” chris said as he kissed the top of your head. you smiled and nodded, “you’re right.. i love you more than anything.” you spoke the words ‘i love you’ again. you couldn’t help it, you really did love him more than anything and if you could say it to him a million times in a day you would.

“i love you more than anything, ma.” he reciprocated.

eventually you fell asleep in his arms on the floor. he noticed because your breathing slowed and your grip on him loosened a bit. he gently stood up and picked you up bridal style, walking you over to your guys’ bed. he placed you in the bed gently and tucked you in, walking over and turning the lights off before grabbing the lego bouquet the two of you built and putting it on his desk, “i’ll find a little vase for you tomorrow.” he whispered quietly to the bouquet, giving it a little boop before walking over to his side of the bed and climbing in.

he gently pulled you as closely into him as he could and kissed the back of your head before closing his eyes and falling asleep. your breathing synced as you both slept peacefully, dreaming about more memories you hoped to make with each other.

divider by: @/Kafekitsune

MORE CHRIS FLUFF!!! i’m obsessed w him he’s js so cute (IM A MATT GIRL 4LIFE THO!!) i love building legos so i js had to make one about the reader and one of the triplets building a lego set together. HOPE YOU ENJOYED! (writers block has been kicking my ass btw so i hope this isn’t like… terrible LMAO)

- ace <3

taglist: @whoisabbyysblog @mattyblover07 @b2cute @samandcolbyfan22 @h3arts4harry @nickgetsmewetter

#Spotify #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #allaboutsturns #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo fluff

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malum-forev · 1 year

Text

First Trimester

(This is a short drabble I couldn’t get out of my head, idk what this is lol)

Bucky kept his head in his hands, eyes closed tightly. His breath ragged.

He could hear Steve’s loud footsteps pacing the room while Sam stood rooted in place. He could hear his friends’ heartbeats thumping rapidly.

“And you two-“ Steve couldn’t get the words out.

“That’s usually how that happens.” Sam retorted sarcastically.

Steve’s hands shot up. “I’m just trying to understand how this happened!”

“Looks like I should have had the birds and the bees conversation with both of you.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“What am I going to do?” Bucky croaked, his throat dry and scratchy. The question was mostly for himself, wondering just how he would manage everything happening in his life.

“You aren’t going to do anything.” Sam ran his hand over his face. “Before you go into crisis mode like a chicken running with its head chopped off, you need to make sure it’s yours.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped open.

“Sam-“ Steve’s cautious tone only made the Falcon more angry.

“Here’s what we know,” Sam’s voice was firm. “You two have got super soldier serum running through your veins, it changed your bodies drastically. Which obviously means your swimmers were altered, doctors told you the probabilities of you two getting someone knocked up are zero.”

“Close to zero.” Steve corrected.

“Whatever,” Sam rolled his eyes again. “Now- this one goes around the tri state are area banging anything with legs.”

Buckys cheeks burned red.

“Two months later, someone comes around saying they’ve got a super soldier baby brewing- does that not sound shady to anyone else?”

Steve rubbed his hand against his chin. “When did Dr. Cho say she could get a paternity test?”

“Two weeks.” Bucky whispered.

“Then these are going to be the most stressful two weeks of your life, kid.” Steve slumped his shoulders.

She hadn’t let the crippling nervousness seep into her body, work, friends and exhaustion had been great distractors. But now, as the steel gates of the Avengers compound opened she felt it.

She was the one who had encouraged a paternity test when she knocked on Bucky’s door weeks ago.

She hadn’t thought twice about missing her period the first month. Long hours at the art gallery we’re to blame, right? But as the days turned into weeks and the strange knot in her throat tightened, she decided to take a test.

Not thinking anything would pop up except the not pregnant label on the plastic test, she left it on the counter and forgot about it. That is, until a three minute timer rang and the scariest word ever written was staring at her. Pregnant.

(Y/n) waited a full week before visiting a gynecologist. Some gel, and ultrasound and some probing later, she was pregnant and that was that. She didn’t even register the bean sized blob on the screen. A muffled sound replaced the cheery doctor’s voice.

“Is Dad excited?” The young doctor smiled. Dad, fuck there’s a dad that needs to be notified.

(Y/n felt as if she’d stuffed a handful of gravel down her throat. She nodded weakly and lied. “He’s ecstatic.”

What she should have said is: he’s terrified.

When Bucky saw (Y/n)’s text on his phone, he’s ego shot up. He whistled as he prepared some eggs that morning, thinking highly of himself.

I don’t usually go back for seconds but I guess I can make an exception. Bucky thought as he shaved his face that morning. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a tight shirt, a combination he’d read online was the bee’s knees for getting women riled up these days.

But there might as well have been nothing underneath those boxers he was wearing because the shocking news killed any kind of vibe he had been feeling.

(Y/n) rocked backwards and forwards nervously as she stood in his living room. She didn’t even want to come in but he’d insisted. Now, Bucky was slumped back on his couch with his eyes set on the floor.

“I know this sounds strange-“ she swallowed. “But I don’t usually do what we did, I don’t do one night stands. I love relationships which is why my friends convinced me to sleep with you- not that I needed convincing you’re like so hot but you know what I mean. Well, I guess you don’t know what I mean because you barely know me, barely know I exist.”

“You love relationships?” Bucky’s eyes widened.

“I-well- shit- I shouldn’t have said that. It sounds-“ You sighed deeply, trying to collect her thoughts. “What I’m trying to say is that, you’re the only person I’ve had sex with in- a long time. And I want you to know that I’m not telling you this to make you feel like you have to be involved- that is if we decide to keep it. I just thought you should know that I’m pregnant.”

She tried to make her voice sound firm and confident but her whole body rejected the idea. There was nothing she was more afraid of than this. This life altering decision.

“And you’re thinking of keeping it.” He whispered, blue eyes staring back at her.

(Y/n) nodded slowly then shook her head. “I don’t know. Yes, maybe. I have a stable job, pretty decent insurance and a nice apartment downtown so, I’ve got the basics covered. I’ve always wanted children, not now but- I don’t know.”

“I’m also aware this is insane news so, I understand if you need time to process or decide if you want to- be involved, I guess.”

Bucky slowly nodded. She wrapped her cardigan closer to her body and his whole body jerked up, standing from the couch.

“Ar-are you, showing?” Bucky’s curious tone made her lips tweak upwards.

“It‘s been like two months and it’s the size of a bean so, no.” She tried to lighten the mood.

“You’ve been to the doctor?”

She nodded. “She told me I could have a paternity test done in a couple of weeks, if that’s something you’re interested in.”

Paternity test- paternity. Those words didn’t even seem real to Bucky. It had been such a distant thing that the thought hadn’t registered in his mind yet.

“I’ve got a couple of doctors that would probably know how to handle that-“ he said pointing to her stomach. “With the whole, serum and everything. Would you mind if I talked to them?”

“I don’t mind, whatever’s better for bean, right?”

Bucky’s body was enveloped in a foreign feeling. So different than anything he’d felt before, an unsettling feeling in his stomach that brought goosebumps to his skin.

“The bean?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows.

“Not the bean. Just, bean.” Her cheeks burned and a smile developed on her lips. “The doctor said it’s going to be a while until I can find out the sex so, I’ve been calling it that. Bean.”

“Bean.” Bucky repeated quietly, fighting from letting out a smile. He couldn’t let himself get involved, not before a decision was made. Did he want to be in bean- the baby’s life? Was he even the father?

(Y/n) and Bucky walked through the white corridors at the Avengers med bay in silence.

Both of them stopped at an opened door.

“You sure you don’t want to come in and check I don’t switch up the viles, rig the paternity results?” She regretted the joke as soon as the words flew out of her mouth. Bucky’s blue eyes widened. She had tried to lighten the mood but the only thing she succeeded was to make Bucky uncomfortable-

“Good thinking,” Bucky’s lips twitched upwards. “I’m sure having my old ass sperm in there was your plan all along.”

She couldn’t help a giggle escape her mouth. Bucky placed his hand on her lower back and lead her into the room.

He held her hand through the procedure and followed her back to her car after everything was done.

“I guess I’ll call you once the results are in.” Bucky bit his bottom lip as she nodded, the tired look on (Y/n) worried him. “I just wanted to say, again, how grateful I am you’re being so cooperative.”

(Y/n) saluted him. “Anything for our troops.”

Bucky tipped his head back with laughter. “Please let me know when you get home safe.”

—

Her feet ached, scratch that, her whole body hurt. (Y/n) usually worked a double shift on Sunday’s to get double pay since that was the day rich people usually liked to shop at the gallery. Even though this was routine for her, she felt extremely tired this time. Pregnancy was starting to take a toll on her body.

(Y/n) heard the rain patter intensify as someone opened the glass doors.

“H-hi.” Was all she heard.

“We’re closed.” She called out but no one answered.

A sopping wet Bucky stood at the front of the gallery.

“Looks like you need to buy an umbrella.” She smiled.

“I’m going to be a dad.” The words came out stuttered, like he was trying to stop them.

Bucky stopped talking the second he received the email. DNA test result came back positive. He was the father. A father. That word echoed through his mind all day but he didn’t tell anyone a single thing, not until he could figure out how to manage the information. Steve would try to find solutions, Sam would freak out, Nat would laugh and Tony would probably ignore him. Each and every one of his friends’ reactions would stress him out more than he already was. He had no one, no one to talk to about this. Except her.

(Y/n) sighed deeply, taking her heels off and walking towards him. Without saying anything, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought Bucky close to her. The tension he felt between his shoulder blades disappeared the second he was in her arms.

She softly held his face in her hands. “I haven’t decided anything and we still have time to figure out wether or not we want to keep bean-“

“Bean, oh God bean.” Becky’s eyes met hers. I can’t let bean down. He thought.

“I understand if you don’t want to go through with this.”

“Look at me.” Bucky’s voice was hoarse. “I need you to know that I want this- I want bean so much you have no idea. The thought of me having a kid was so lost but you’ve- I- I am forever grateful and indebted with you, you have no idea.”

(Y/n) smiled. “So we’re doing this? We’re having a baby?”

“Let’s have a baby.” He said.

Part 2: Second Trimester

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns x you #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot

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sylusjinwoon · 5 months

Text

{ 162 }

moonlight.

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

sung jinwoo walked into the hunter association building for a scheduled meeting with the chairman. while taking casual strides into the building, he let out a yawn. jinwoo believed that nothing out of the ordinary would happen today-

only to be proven wrong the moment he opens the double doors to the conference room as a sudden weight was felt shoved against his chest.

had jinwoo been any normal man, he would have quickly been toppled over. but thanks to the newfound poise he had gained since becoming an s-rank, jinwoo manages to steady himself while keeping an arm around the stranger’s form.

“whoa, be careful.” his voice was gentle and not at all spoken in a manner that was meant to be like a scolding. yet still, he hears the gasp and looks down-

only to be met with someone unfamiliar-

only to be met with you.

your eyes widen with surprise with your lips halfway parted. incoherent sputtering were all he could hear when you back away from him. clearly sensing your embarrassment and discomfort, jinwoo lets go of you while keeping a hand shoved into the pockets of his coat, grey eyes shining with mirth for you.

“sorry for bumping into you, moonlight! i’ll be more careful next time!”

now this was interesting.

never before had he been referred to by such a nickname before.

moonlight?

he replays the word you had uttered in your panicked state over and over again before deciding that he liked it.

ready to say something to you, he was given little time to react when you suddenly bowed down to him, “sorry, but i’m late for a very important mission!”

you end up stepping off to the side, running past jinwoo as the young hunter was left staring off at you with pure amusement in his eyes.

“ah, hunter sung jinwoo! it’s nice to see you again, come on in, there’s a few things i’d like to discuss with you.” chairman go gunhee greets him with a hearty laugh.

despite his reluctance to look away from you, jinwoo enters the conference room with chairman go. during the meeting, the chairman spoke about the hundreds of sponsorship offers he had received for ahjin guild, yet as jinwoo poured over the paperwork, not a single one of those offers stood out to him. clearly, he had you other things on his mind.

why would i need any of these deals when the system provides me with far superior weapons?

jinwoo was dimly aware of the chairman letting out a sigh before saying a name he had never heard of before.

“excuse me?” jinwoo looks up expectantly to see a smile painted on the chairman’s features.

“that’s the name of the new healer that ran into you just now. she gets a bit scatterbrained when she’s nervous, but the young woman has a good heart. ever since ms. joohee lee retired, i have seen her transfer and appearance at our association as a blessing.”

jinwoo winces at the mention of joohee, recalling back their last meeting together when she announced her retirement to him. perhaps he should figure out her address and mail a gift to her?

but chairman go’s next words was what ultimately breaks him out of his reveries, making jinwoo do a double take, “today was her first raid.”

knowing that it was your first raid fills jinwoo with a strange discomfort, his chest tightening as the urge to protect you fills his veins. “you sent her off without me?”

the chairman gives him a confused expression, “i assure you, hunter sung, that this is a low level gate; a mere c-rank. the woman is a certified a-rank healer, and i’m certain she can handle healing her comrades.”

jinwoo’s heart suddenly began to stop just then, being filled with fear as he had flashbacks pertaining to the cartenon temple-

the same double dungeon that had killed him before deciding to choose him as the system’s player.

without even thinking about it, he looks towards the exit and asks for the exact location of where the c-level gate had spawned. chairman go lets out a sigh, collecting all of the documents together into one neat pile before answering him.

“it’s in the middle of the city, you wouldn’t miss it, hunter sung.”

jinwoo thanks the chairman before making a mad dash out of the association’s building and into the busy streets of the city. as he ran, he was able to sense the gate’s power quickly dwindling as it seemed to be on the cusp of disappearing.

hm? that’s strange; is the raid already over?

within the next few minutes, jinwoo arrives at the location where the gate had supposedly been, being filled with a relief when he saw a group of hunters and you in the midst of the crowd. they each call out your name, giving you a thumbs up while expressing their gratitude towards you and your healing abilities.

in return, your expression was sheepish, and a little embarrassed, waving to your comrades as they each returned home for the day. your hand was still kept in an upright position when you finally noticed him standing a few feet away from you with a lazy smile on his face.

you appeared to be flustered now, hands now gripping on tightly to your satchel as you attempted to run away from him by going in the opposite direction-

lucky for jinwoo, he was fast enough, already able to cut off your escape as he appears directly in front of you, eyes glowing a faint hue as his lips were turned up in a smile.

“why did you start running right after seeing me?” jinwoo made sure his voice was soothing and smooth so as to not scare you away. he could see the way your eyes darted everywhere else but at him, cheeks seeming to warm up in response to his question.

“u-uhm, well, it’s because i had run into you earlier and uhm-“

“you had called me moonlight, right?”

it seems he had nailed it, for your expression became even more panicked as you tried to take several steps away from him. but jinwoo, still filled with amusement and joy, was simply having too much fun to let you go.

“come on, there’s no need to look so panicked. your nickname for me actually intrigued me a lot.” he keeps a hand behind your back, preventing you from moving away from him.

“i’m just curious about your nickname for me, that’s all.”

jinwoo had to fight back the grin and chuckle that threatens to escape from his lips (he physically had to purse them in response to your flustered state.)

“uhm, well, that i-is…” you kept stuttering the tiniest bit, even fanning your face in response before setting the palm of your hands against your heated cheeks. “i’m sorry, i’d rather not say, hunter sung.”

jinwoo didn’t like how stifling his title sounded against your pretty, parted lips, making him sigh as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

after all, he would much rather be your moonlight.

“come on, let’s celebrate.” he decides to change the subject then in hopes of getting you to relax around him.

“huh? what? did you say celebrate?”

not even giving you a chance to reject him, he places a hand behind your back while leading you into the city.

“wait… where are you taking me?”

“out to eat at this steakhouse as celebration for your first successful raid.” jinwoo admits to you with a wink and a grin, making you even more flustered in response.

“oh, there’s no need! besides, i’m a little sweaty a-and-“

“don’t worry about it; it’s more of a casual dining experience, and i’m certain no one will be opposed to a healer like yourself dining at their establishment.”

you were ready to protest once more when jinwoo could detect a low, grumbling sound coming from your stomach. a cheeky grin was felt spreading when he looks down at your abdomen. unable to meet his gaze, you fold your arms across your chest, “okay, f-fine! i’ll join you for dinner…”

knowing he had won, jinwoo takes a hold of your hand in his, weaving across the city with a bright smile on his face when he takes you to the restaurant. upon arrival, he felt a little disheartened to see how busy it was, but when the hostess saw him, he was immediately offered a private table near the back of the restaurant.

“hm, i guess it pays off to be an s-rank…” once they were both seated, jinwoo takes a look at the menu while offering you the basket of warm rolls with butter for you to munch on to help with easing your hunger. losing all of your prior shyness now, you take two rolls and place them on your plate, spreading the butter on it before taking a bite. basking in your eager moans as you ate, jinwoo couldn’t help but let out a light chuckle in response.

“is there anything in particular that you’d like to order?”

between bites of your rolls, you shake your head before swallowing. “n-no, i don’t mind having what you’re having…”

jinwoo hums in response, collecting both of the menus when the waiter comes by to take his order.

“we’ll have two 16 ounce steaks cooked medium rare please.”

the waiter nods and writes down the order, “and what would you like to drink?”

“red wine and two waters.”

the waiter then takes the menu while smiling, “got it. it will be out soon, sir.”

jinwoo was finally left alone with you, seeing the basket of rolls already half empty as you worked on what he assumed was your last roll. he smiles at you before taking a roll himself, “do you feel better now?”

“oh, yes! ah, sorry if i looked like a pig, scarfing down all that buttery bread.” you had a sheepish expression on your face now, scratching the back of your head while letting out a nervous giggle.

jinwoo shakes his head in response, “there’s no need to apologize, pig out all you want. you can always be yourself around me.”

he listens to the way you proceed to swallow thickly, not quite brave enough to meet his gaze when you thanked him. humming in response, jinwoo also starts enjoying the dinner rolls while making small talk with you, wishing to get to know you better as you both waited for your food to arrive.

and truly, jinwoo did not hold back with his questions that were strangely intimate.

were you seeing anyone at the moment?

what was your last relationship like?

what was your childhood like?

do you have any siblings? if so, are you the eldest, middle, or youngest child?

when did you awaken your powers as a healer?

what is your…

favorite food-

favorite color-

favorite song?

the moment his questioning ceased was when their food finally arrived, as two large plates steaks with mashed potatoes and broccoli were placed before them.

“well, dig in. and don’t be shy, i know you still must be starving, especially after your first raid.” jinwoo had to make sure to reassure you as he could see the way your mouth was practically salivating at the food.

“t-thank you so much!” picking up your knife and fork, you began cutting into the juicy and tender piece of steak, placing the morsel within your mouth as you let out a happy moan in response.

“delicious!”

jinwoo was filled with utter delight as he watched you eating your meal, taking casual bites of his own food, but never once straying his gaze too far away from you. you continue eating in silence, not saying a word as it was clear that you wanted to savor this meal to its fullest.

you and jinwoo continued to eat in a comfortable silence for the next hour, with jinwoo letting out a whistle at your own, empty plate. “wow, that’s pretty amazing. i thought i was the only one who could polish off this meal.”

you were in the middle of taking gulps of your iced water, setting down your glass before wiping at your lips, “sorry, it was so good… and i guess i was pretty hungry. i had skipped lunch earlier because i was so nervous about my first raid.”

“that’s understandable.” jinwoo nods while taking sips of his red wine. “just… don’t skip meals ever again, okay? your body needs it- especially now that you’re a healer.”

you nod in agreement while giving him a smile. “thank you, i’ll definitely keep that in mind… hunter sung.”

“jinwoo.” he ends up correcting you with a sigh. if you weren’t going to call him moonlight again, then he would much rather you refer to him by his first name.

“ah, what…? you’re giving me permission to call you by your first name?”

“yes.”

jinwoo leans back against his seat with his arms crossed over his chest, “is that a problem?”

you shake your head while clearing your throat, “n-no, it’s no problem at all! if that’s the case, then you may call me by my first name, too.”

when the waiter returns, he asks if you or jinwoo would like dessert, but you both shake your head at the offer. jinwoo gives the waiter his card, paying for both of the meals, which earned another smile from you.

with the dinner date completed, jinwoo places his card back within his wallet, pocketing it before casually walking beside you. you were playing with the straps of your satchel, mouth opening and closing, like you wanted to say something to him.

“the reason i called you moonlight was because your radiance is as gentle as the moon.”

your sudden words makes jinwoo stops in his tracks, feeling his heart begin to pound when he heard that nickname again-

moonlight.

his attention was fully on you now, facing you completely as he rests both of his hands within the pocket of his coat. you did not meet his gaze, clearly embarrassed as you forced yourself to tell him the truth.

“i spent some time perfecting my healing abilities because i held a deep admiration for you… you were achingly beautiful to me, jinwoo… you filled my life with such motivation and light- however, your presence and beauty wasn’t harsh like looking up at the sun, shining so brightly that it may blind me.”

you take another moment to yourself before finally meeting his gaze, eyes shining with a look akin to adoration for him.

“no, instead, your brilliance was more like that of the moon. your gentle rays was like a beacon for me… that’s why, you’re my moonlight.”

once you had finished your explanation, jinwoo felt as though his heart was floating in response. never before had such unbidden happiness filled his veins, the feeling becoming so potent that he had to take a step closer to you.

“oh? that’s why you called me moonlight?” he asks with another grin spreading across his handsome features.

“ah, yes. in my rush… i didn’t want to say your name and my secret nickname for you kind of slipped…?” you admit with a bit of a tremor in your voice.

his rich chuckle was heard echoing into the night air when he leans down, placing a hand on your chin while admitting, “to be honest, i’m glad that your secret nickname for me slipped.”

he hums a bit while brushing the tip of his nose against your forehead. you end up clinging to the front of his coat while shakily calling out to him.

“please, refer to me as your moonlight from now on.” jinwoo gives you a soft smile, taking your hand in his while pressing a kiss against the back of it.

“i can be your moonlight, and you can be my love. how does that sound?”

he basks in the way your smile widens in response to his proposition, giving him an eager nod before wrapping your arms around his neck.

“that sounds perfect to me, moonlight.”

and when he finally leans down to press his lips against yours, it was a sensation jinwoo knew that he would never once forget for the rest of his life.

a.n. - i’ve had this daydream stewing in my head for a while now, and finally decided to write it all down in a more coherent story ｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡ i wanted to post this real quick before spending the following weeks doing research with my professor, so please do enjoy!

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x you #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling #sung jinwoo #jinwoo sung #.stories

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novaursa · 12 days

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Valyrian Bride (Final Chapter)

- Summary: When your older brother, Jacaerys, promised you to Cregan to be his bride, the Lord Stark did not expect what he got - a trueborn dragon.

- Paring: velaryon!reader/Cregan Stark

- Rating: Mature 16+ (just to be safe)

- Previous part: continuation

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @daeryna @melsunshine @21-princess @ferakillia

The dawn of their wedding day broke with a rare warmth for the North, the sky a deep, endless blue above Winterfell. Snow clung to the castle’s ancient stones, but the air was still, as though even the wind itself held its breath in anticipation. The entire stronghold seemed to hum with energy, its people gathered from every corner of the Stark lands to witness a union that had already become the subject of countless whispered tales.

Cregan Stark stood in the courtyard, the grey furs of his cloak draped across his broad shoulders, his usual starkness softened by the weight of the day. His heart, so often steeled against emotion, was lighter today, a sense of anticipation thrumming in his veins. He had faced battle, the harsh winters of the North, and the endless responsibilities of leading his house, but nothing felt quite like this. Today, he was not just Lord of Winterfell—he was a man about to be wed.

The courtyard was bustling with activity. Banners of House Stark and House Targaryen fluttered side by side, their sigils sharp contrasts—wolf and dragon, winter and fire. His bannermen, all garbed in their finest, stood near the towering trees of the godswood, while the castle’s women prepared the space for the ceremony that was to take place beneath the Heart Tree.

The great Weirwood loomed tall, its ancient face carved into the pale bark, its red leaves fluttering like the blood of old gods. This was where Cregan had wanted to wed her, beneath the watchful eyes of the gods of the North, and though she had been born to the faith of the Seven, the princess had agreed without hesitation. She was to become a Stark, after all, and she would take her place among their traditions.

The quiet murmur of the crowd hushed suddenly, as a figure appeared at the edge of the courtyard. Cregan’s breath caught in his throat as he saw her.

She stood at the threshold, wrapped in rich silver and deep crimson. Her gown was a marvel of southern craftsmanship, its fabric shimmering in the morning light like molten fire. The silver thread that wound through the delicate embroidery reflected her Valyrian heritage, its designs reminiscent of the ancient sigils of her forebears. Her hair, like strands of spun moonlight, was woven into intricate braids, entwined with tiny pearls and rubies that caught the light, making her appear as though a crown of stars rested upon her head.

And yet, for all the beauty of her attire, it was her bearing that stole Cregan’s breath. She moved with the quiet confidence he had come to admire, her violet eyes focused on him as though there was no one else in the world. There was no trace of nervousness, no hesitation—she was every inch the dragon’s daughter, proud and regal, yet today, she walked toward him as his bride.

The crowd parted for her, whispers trailing in her wake, but no one dared to speak aloud. Even Cregan’s bannermen, hardened men of the North, stood silently, as if afraid to disturb the moment. He heard the faint murmur of the word Valyria pass between them, a reminder of the ancient blood she carried, blood older than any in Westeros.

As she reached him beneath the Heart Tree, Cregan felt the weight of the moment settle over them both. She lifted her head, her eyes locking onto his, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. The godswood, the crowd, the banners—all of it was distant, insignificant. There was only her, and the promise they were about to make.

Maester Kennet, chosen to officiate the ceremony, stepped forward, his voice strong but reverent. “We gather here beneath the eyes of the Old Gods, to witness the union of House Stark and House Targaryen. Winter and fire, bound together.”

Cregan turned toward her, taking her hands in his. They were warm despite the cold air, her skin soft against his roughened palms. As they stood there, so close, he could see the faintest flicker of emotion in her eyes—a softness that she seldom let others see.

“I, Cregan Stark, take you, Y/N Velaryon, to be my wife,” he said, his voice firm but laden with meaning. “From this day until my last. I will stand with you, through fire and snow, through war and peace. I swear it before the gods, before my people, and before you.”

Her lips curved ever so slightly, her voice steady and clear when she spoke her vows in turn. “I, Y/N Velaryon, take you, Cregan Stark, to be my husband. I pledge my fire to your winter, my strength to your cause, my loyalty to your heart. From this day until my last breath, I will stand with you. This I swear before the gods, before your people, and before you.”

The words hung in the air, tangible and full of weight. Cregan felt them settle into his soul, binding him to her in a way that was more profound than he had anticipated. There was a finality to it, but it was not a burden—it was a promise he wanted to keep.

Maester Kennet raised his hands. “By the old gods and the new, I declare you husband and wife.”

Cregan didn’t wait for the maester to finish. He pulled her to him, his hands still wrapped around hers, and kissed her. It was not a show for the crowd, nor was it born out of any sense of duty—it was a moment just for them, filled with the raw certainty of the vows they had exchanged.

The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound filling the courtyard and echoing off the ancient walls of Winterfell. Cregan, for once, did not care who was watching. When he pulled away, the smile on his face was genuine, and for a moment, he saw a glimmer of the same emotion reflected in her eyes.

They turned to face the crowd, and as they walked through the throng, hand in hand, Cregan caught the glances exchanged between his bannermen and the ladies of Winterfell. His bannermen, who had known him since boyhood, seemed almost astonished by the expression on his face. They had rarely, if ever, seen him smile like this.

Later, the maesters would record that no one had seen Cregan Stark smile more than on this day, save for the birth of his first child with the princess. But in that moment, as they walked through the people of Winterfell, his heart felt as though it might burst with the weight of the joy he carried.

As the newlyweds entered the great hall, the feast that awaited them was grander than any Winterfell had seen in years. Tables were laden with food, goblets filled with wine and ale, and laughter already filled the room. But even amidst the celebration, Cregan’s focus remained on her—his wife.

He leaned in close, his voice low enough for only her to hear. “You make Winterfell warmer, princess.”

She tilted her head to him, her smile soft but knowing. “Perhaps it’s not just the fire in me, but the wolf in you.”

He chuckled, a deep, content sound. “A wolf and a dragon. We’ll see what kind of legends they make of us.”

“They will make legends of us, Cregan Stark,” she whispered. “That I promise.”

And as the night wore on, with the fire roaring in the hearth and the joy of the wedding spreading throughout Winterfell, Cregan knew she was right. This day, this union, would be remembered long after both of them were gone. And the legends would speak of the dragon that brought fire to the North, and the Stark who stood beside her, unflinching and steadfast.

The cold air of Winterfell’s courtyard bit at Cregan’s cheeks, the chill seeping through even his thick furs as he stood with his arms crossed, eyeing the great dragon Vaetrix. Her crimson scales glinted in the pale northern light, each one like a shard of polished ruby set against the stark white backdrop of snow. Even at rest, her massive wings were tucked tight against her sides, a vast stretch of membrane that flickered like flame when she shifted, the tips of her talons sinking into the frozen earth.

To say Cregan Stark was a man comfortable on solid ground would have been an understatement. He was born of stone and ice, a wolf bound to the earth, as much a part of the North as the walls of Winterfell itself. But today, as he stood beside his wife, watching the dragon’s great form settle before them, he felt that comfort slip away, like snow melting beneath an unexpected spring sun.

She had offered—no, insisted—that he take to the skies with her, on the back of Vaetrix. Cregan had held his ground through worse. He had fought battles, endured the harshest winters, but none of that prepared him for this. He could handle swords and shields, but flying? That was a different beast entirely. Quite literally.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, casting a skeptical glance at his wife, who stood beside him looking perfectly at ease, even amused.

Her silver-gold hair, tied back to keep it from whipping in the wind, gleamed in the cold sunlight. There was a mischievous glint in her violet eyes, and a faint smile played at her lips as she regarded him. “You’re not afraid of a little flight, are you, my lord?” she teased, her tone light but carrying just enough of a challenge to make Cregan’s jaw tighten.

He looked back at Vaetrix, the dragon’s head lowering to the ground with a snort that sent a puff of steam curling into the air. The dragon’s golden eyes—deep, intelligent, and unsettlingly aware—fixed on him with what he could only describe as amusement. As if the beast knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Afraid? No,” Cregan grumbled. “But I’d be a fool to not be cautious of flying on the back of a creature who could swallow me whole.”

She laughed then, a bright, musical sound that carried over the stillness of the courtyard. “Vaetrix isn’t interested in eating you. She’d much prefer a herd of sheep over a Northman. Too much wool, not enough meat.”

Cregan raised a brow. “Comforting.”

She placed a hand on his arm, her touch warm despite the cold. “Come, Cregan. You’ve fought in battles, faced down far worse than this. Flying will be nothing. Trust me.”

It wasn’t the flight that unnerved him, but the idea of relinquishing control. He was used to being on solid ground, where he could command his surroundings. The sky was unknown territory, one he had no desire to claim. But as he met her gaze, the playful challenge there mixed with something deeper—her faith in him, and perhaps a desire for him to share in her world. He couldn't refuse that.

With a deep breath, Cregan nodded. “Very well. I’ll fly with you. But if we fall, I’ll haunt you from the afterlife.”

Her smile broadened, and before he knew it, she was pulling him toward Vaetrix. The dragon lowered her massive form even further, folding her legs beneath her to allow them to mount. Up close, Cregan could truly appreciate just how enormous the beast was—her scales, tough and unyielding, were the size of his hand, and her wings, even at rest, stretched out like the sails of a great ship. Each breath she took seemed to rumble through the earth, and the heat radiating from her was enough to melt the snow in a wide circle around her.

He watched as his wife climbed effortlessly onto Vaetrix’s back, her movements fluid and graceful, as though this was second nature to her. It probably was. When she looked back at him, the challenge was still in her eyes. Cregan sighed, grumbled something under his breath about never being able to say no to her, and climbed up after her, though with significantly less grace.

Once he was seated behind her, his hands gripping the edge of the saddle far tighter than he’d ever admit, she glanced back over her shoulder, her smile still firmly in place. “Hold on, my lord.”

“I already am.”

“Good. You’ll want to hold on tighter.”

Cregan opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but before he could form the words, Vaetrix gave a mighty heave and pushed off the ground. Cregan’s stomach lurched as the world dropped away beneath them, the courtyard and the walls of Winterfell shrinking rapidly as the dragon’s powerful wings unfurled and beat against the sky.

He swore, loudly and without shame, as the icy wind whipped against his face, stinging his skin and making his eyes water. The ground, which he had spent his entire life firmly planted on, was suddenly nothing more than a distant blur of white and grey far below them. The sensation was like nothing he had ever experienced—wild, untethered, and completely out of his control.

His wife laughed, the sound carried back to him on the wind. “Are you alright back there, my wolf?”

Cregan, still clinging to the saddle for dear life, managed to mutter something that sounded vaguely like, “I’ll kill you for this.”

She only laughed harder.

As Vaetrix rose higher into the sky, her wings beating with a steady rhythm that shook the air around them, Cregan forced himself to breathe. Slowly, the initial shock gave way to something else—a sense of awe. The land stretched out beneath them in all directions, a vast expanse of snow-covered wilderness that seemed to go on forever. Winterfell looked impossibly small from up here, just a cluster of grey stones nestled against the white of the North.

The sky itself was a wonder—endless, clear, and so achingly blue that it made him forget, for a moment, the biting cold of the wind. Up here, the world was different, quieter, as though they had left the cares of the earth behind.

“This is what it’s like,” she said over her shoulder, her voice softer now, no longer teasing. “To be free in the sky.”

Cregan didn’t respond immediately, still adjusting to the sensation of being so far above everything he had ever known. But as he watched the vastness of the North unfold beneath them, he began to understand. Up here, there were no boundaries, no limits. It was just them, the wind, and the dragon’s wings.

“It’s…” he started, struggling to find the right word. “Incredible.”

She glanced back at him, her expression softening. “I knew you’d like it.”

“I didn’t say I liked it,” he shot back, though the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

She smirked. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m cold,” he retorted, though he was no longer holding on to the saddle quite so tightly. In fact, as they soared above the snow-covered forests, he realized that his fear was ebbing, replaced by something closer to exhilaration. The wind roared in his ears, but instead of dreading it, he felt alive—more alive than he had in years.

Vaetrix let out a low rumble as if sensing her riders’ mood. The dragon's massive wings tilted slightly, adjusting their course, and Cregan felt the shift as they glided smoothly over the treetops. The ground below seemed distant now, almost irrelevant.

Cregan glanced down again, marveling at how small everything appeared. "I’m still not sure how you trust her to do this."

His wife’s voice was warm as she replied, “Vaetrix is my partner, not just a mount. She flies because I trust her, and because she trusts me. It’s not about control—it’s about the bond.”

He nodded slowly, her words sinking in. Perhaps that’s what made the Targaryens so different from anyone else—their bond with these creatures was deeper than a rider and a horse, deeper than any earthly connection. It was fire, blood, and something more.

Vaetrix’s wings beat steadily as they soared toward the horizon, and for the first time, Cregan let himself relax, loosening his grip just a little. He even allowed himself a small chuckle.

"Alright," he said, leaning in slightly toward her. "Maybe I don’t hate this as much as I thought."

She smiled, her laughter carried on the wind, and as they flew together—wolf and dragon—Cregan knew that he had just crossed a threshold. This, too, was part of the life he had chosen with her, part of the legend they were creating together.

And despite himself, he was beginning to enjoy it.

The chill of winter had wrapped itself around Winterfell like an old, familiar cloak, but inside the thick stone walls of the castle, the air was thick with heat and anticipation. The hearthfires burned fiercely, their flames casting flickering shadows on the ancient stones, but it wasn’t just the fire that made the air feel so stifling. It was the weight of the moment, the hush that had fallen over the great hall, the tense waiting, and the murmured prayers to both the Old Gods and the new.

Cregan Stark paced the floor just outside the chambers where his wife labored. His usually composed demeanor was gone, replaced by a restless energy that he couldn't shake. His boots scuffed against the flagstones with each turn, and though the men around him—his bannermen, his household retainers—watched him with a mixture of concern and amusement, no one dared to speak.

It wasn’t that Cregan feared what was happening behind the door. He had seen battles, endured the harshest winters, and ruled his people with a steady hand. But this—waiting for the birth of his first child—this was different. This was something far beyond his control, something that stirred a deep, primal worry in him.

He had been kept from the birthing chamber, of course, as was custom, but the muffled sounds of his wife’s labored breathing reached him even through the thick door. It was agonizing—knowing she was enduring such pain, and yet there was nothing he could do but wait.

One of his bannermen, Arnolf, an older man with a long, weathered face, stood beside him, watching the young lord with a hint of a smile. “My lord, pacing a trench in the stone won’t bring the babe any faster,” Arnolf said, his tone light despite the gravity of the situation.

Cregan stopped mid-step, shooting a half-hearted glare at his bannerman. “If I don’t keep moving, I’ll go mad.”

Arnolf chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Ah, the first child is always the hardest. You feel as though the world is on the edge of changing forever—and you’re right, it is. But trust me, my lord, it will all be worth it.”

Cregan nodded, though his jaw was still tight with worry. He knew the risks of childbirth, even for a woman as strong as his wife. She was no fragile southern lady—she was a dragon rider, fierce and unyielding—but still, childbirth had claimed queens and common women alike. He had never feared for her before, not when she flew on Vaetrix, not when she faced down the dangers of the North, but now...

Another sound, a sharp intake of breath from behind the door, sent Cregan’s heart racing again. He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to burst through and be by her side. He hated this helplessness. Hated that he could do nothing but listen.

“Cregan,” came a voice from the shadows. It was his half-sister, Sara, stepping forward, her dark hair pulled back from her face, her expression soft but commanding. “She’s strong. She’ll make it through this. You know she will.”

He looked at her, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. “I know. But it doesn’t stop the worry.”

Sara placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. “It never does. But trust in her strength. She’s born of dragons, after all. And you’ll see your child soon enough.”

Before Cregan could respond, a cry pierced the air from beyond the door—a new, sharp cry that did not belong to his wife. It was the cry of an infant, high-pitched and insistent, as though the child had already inherited the fire of its mother’s blood.

Cregan froze, his heart thudding in his chest as the door creaked open, and the midwife stepped out, her apron bloodied but her face bright with a smile. “A son, my lord,” she said, her voice warm. “A strong, healthy boy.”

For a moment, Cregan couldn’t move. The words washed over him, sinking in slowly. A son. His son. He felt as though the ground beneath him shifted, like his world had just expanded in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

“A son,” he repeated, his voice almost reverent. He had dreamed of this moment—had imagined it a hundred times—but nothing had prepared him for the reality of it.

The midwife nodded. “Your wife wishes to see you. She’s tired, but well.”

Cregan didn’t wait for more. He strode through the door into the chamber, his heart still hammering in his chest. The room smelled of blood and sweat, but it was warm, almost stifling, and lit by the soft glow of candles. His eyes immediately found her—his wife—reclining in the bed, her silver-gold hair damp with sweat, but her face flushed with triumph. In her arms, bundled in soft furs, was their child.

She looked up as he entered, and the faintest smile touched her lips, though exhaustion lined her face. “Cregan,” she breathed, her voice soft but steady. “Come meet your son.”

He moved toward her slowly, as if in a dream, his eyes fixed on the small bundle in her arms. As he reached the bedside, she shifted slightly, lifting the child toward him.

Cregan gazed down at the infant—his son. The child’s skin was soft and pale, his tiny fists clenched tightly as he wailed, his little face scrunched in displeasure at being so new to the world. But what struck Cregan most was the shock of silver-gold hair atop the boy’s head, unmistakable, just like his mother’s.

“He’s perfect,” Cregan whispered, his voice thick with awe. He reached down, hesitantly at first, then more surely as he took his son in his arms. The weight of the child felt impossibly light, yet it was as though Cregan’s heart had just doubled in size.

His wife watched him, her violet eyes gleaming with warmth. “He has your hands,” she said softly, her voice touched with amusement. “Strong, like a Stark.”

Cregan chuckled, though his throat was tight. “And his mother’s hair. He’ll stand out here in the North.”

She smiled faintly. “Let them stare. He is both wolf and dragon. They’ll come to respect him for it.”

Cregan looked down at the boy again, his son, his heir. The child’s cries had quieted now, and he blinked up at his father with curious, unfocused eyes. Cregan could see it already—the strength, the fire that would burn within this boy. He was a Stark, but he was also more than that. He was part of a legacy that would shape the future of the North and beyond.

“He’s beautiful,” Cregan murmured, the weight of everything hitting him at once. The responsibility, the joy, the pride—it was overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

“He will be great,” his wife said quietly, her voice soft but filled with certainty. “I can feel it.”

Cregan nodded, leaning down to place a kiss on her forehead, his gratitude for her—for everything—too deep for words. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice rough.

She smiled, though her eyelids were drooping with exhaustion. “We did this together.”

He stayed by her side as she drifted off to sleep, their son still cradled in his arms. As the night deepened outside Winterfell’s thick walls, Cregan knew that the world had indeed changed forever. The child in his arms was not just his son—he was the future of House Stark and House Targaryen, the bridge between ice and fire.

And as Cregan looked down at the tiny face peeking from the furs, he smiled—a smile that his bannermen had not seen since the wedding, a smile that would be remembered in the histories of the North, alongside this day, as the day the first dragon-blooded Stark was born.

The sun hung low in the sky, its orange glow turning the snow into a strange mix of fire and ice. Cregan Stark, now a bit grayer around the edges but still every bit the Lord of Winterfell, stood near the training yard watching his men practice their swordplay. His face, as usual, was etched in concentration, though every so often, his gaze flickered toward the godswood where his daughter had spent most of the afternoon.

He knew her well enough to sense when mischief was brewing, and today, there was something in the air that told him she was up to something. He just hadn’t quite put his finger on what.

It wasn’t long before his suspicions were confirmed. His daughter, all of ten years old but with the same silver-gold hair and fiery spirit as her mother, came bursting through the courtyard gates with something bundled in her arms. Cregan immediately recognized the familiar look of determination in her eyes—he’d seen that look before, mostly when his wife had her mind set on something impossible, like teaching him how to fly on a dragon without looking like he was going to throw up.

“Papa!” she called, her voice a mix of excitement and urgency as she half-skipped, half-ran toward him. “Papa, look what I found!”

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued, though a part of him braced for whatever his daughter had gotten herself into this time. He folded his arms over his chest, his deep voice calm as he spoke. “What have you brought me this time, little one? A dragon egg, perhaps? Another wild idea about climbing the walls of Winterfell?”

She shook her head, a wide grin spreading across her face. “Better,” she declared, and with that, she opened her cloak to reveal a small, squirming ball of fur.

It took Cregan a moment to register what he was seeing. A direwolf pup—tiny, scruffy, and with impossibly large paws for its body—peered up at him from the folds of her cloak. Its wide, blue eyes blinked curiously, and its little tail wagged as though it had already made up its mind that this was where it belonged.

Cregan let out a deep sigh, the kind that comes from years of parenting and knowing exactly what was coming next. “Where did you find that?”

“In the woods by the godswood,” she answered cheerfully, holding the pup up as if presenting him with the greatest treasure the North had ever seen. “Isn’t he wonderful?”

The pup let out a small yip, clearly eager to be part of the conversation. Cregan eyed the creature with a mix of fondness and exasperation. The wolf looked like it had been born to cause chaos, and somehow, his daughter had already taken a shine to it. He could almost hear the arguments forming in her head.

“And what exactly do you expect to do with this… wolf?” he asked, trying to sound stern, though his resolve was already weakening at the sight of her beaming face.

“I want to keep him,” she said, her tone so matter-of-fact it was as if she had already made the decision for him. “He’s too little to survive on his own. And I’ve always wanted a wolf, Papa. You have one! Why can’t I?”

Cregan rubbed the back of his neck, fighting the smile that was threatening to break through. “I have a wolf because I’m the Lord of Winterfell, not because I found one wandering around the woods and decided to bring it home like a stray dog.”

His daughter’s eyes narrowed, and she tilted her head, giving him that look—one that made him feel as though he were about to be outwitted by a ten-year-old. “But you are the Lord of Winterfell, and that means you get to decide things like this, doesn’t it? You could say yes, right now.”

He sighed again. “That’s not exactly how—”

“Please, Papa?” she interrupted, stepping closer and cradling the pup against her chest, her eyes wide and pleading. “He won’t be any trouble. I’ll take care of him, I promise. I’ll feed him, and train him, and everything.”

Cregan glanced down at the pup, who seemed entirely unfazed by the conversation, content to nestle into his daughter’s arms. The little wolf let out another soft yip, as if to back up her case.

“Do you even know how to train a wolf?” Cregan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll learn!” she insisted, her excitement growing. “He’s smart, I can tell. And I’m smart too. We’ll figure it out together.”

Cregan stared at her, knowing full well that he had lost this battle before it even began. She had that same stubborn streak as her mother, that fire that wouldn’t be extinguished no matter how hard he tried to reason with her. And truth be told, he wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea of her having a wolf. A direwolf was part of the Stark legacy, after all. And though it was a bit earlier than he had planned, this felt… right.

He took a deep breath, looking from his daughter’s hopeful face to the pup in her arms. “Fine,” he said at last, his tone resigned but soft. “You can keep him.”

Her face lit up, and before he knew what was happening, she had thrown herself at him, wrapping her free arm around his waist in a tight hug. “Thank you, Papa! Thank you, thank you!”

Cregan chuckled, placing a hand on her head. “But you’ll be responsible for him, understand? That means feeding him, training him, and making sure he doesn’t tear through Winterfell like a wild beast.”

“I will, I promise!” she said, pulling back to beam at him, her eyes bright with joy.

The pup let out a soft whine and squirmed in her arms, wiggling until his head poked out from her cloak again. He gave Cregan a long, inquisitive look, his tiny tail wagging with uncontainable energy.

“I suppose we need to give him a name,” Cregan said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “What will you call him?”

His daughter thought for a moment, her brow furrowing in concentration. Then, with a grin, she said, “How about… Storm? Because I found him after that big storm last night.”

Cregan nodded, glancing down at the pup who was now chewing on the edge of his daughter’s cloak. “Storm it is, then. A fitting name for a troublemaker.”

As they turned to head back inside, the newly named Storm trotting happily at their heels, Cregan couldn’t help but smile. His daughter had her wolf, just as he had his. The pack was growing, and despite his earlier reluctance, he felt a deep sense of pride swell in his chest.

He leaned down to ruffle his daughter’s hair, his voice warm with affection. “You’ll do well with him, little one. Just don’t let him eat all my boots.”

She giggled, glancing down at Storm, who was already sniffing the ground with intense curiosity. “I’ll try, Papa. But no promises.”

Cregan chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought.”

The years had settled quietly over Winterfell, and though the seasons had come and gone, bringing with them both harsh winters and gentle springs, the castle remained the sturdy heart of the North. Cregan Stark, now older, with silver threading through his once dark hair and lines etched into his strong features, stood at the window of their chambers, looking out over the snow-covered courtyard. The sky was a soft grey, typical for this time of year, but the wind had stilled, leaving the world in a peaceful, almost serene silence.

Behind him, the familiar crackle of the hearthfire filled the room, its warmth seeping into the stone walls, casting a golden glow that softened the edges of everything. He could hear the gentle rustle of fabric as his wife moved about, though they no longer rushed through life the way they once had. These days, time was kinder, moving slower, allowing them to savor the quiet moments.

Cregan turned from the window, his gaze settling on her. She was seated in the large, cushioned chair by the fire, her silver-gold hair, now streaked with strands of white, falling loosely over her shoulders. Her beauty, undiminished by age, was not the fiery, untamed force it had been in their youth, but rather something more enduring, more graceful—a calm, steady flame that had warmed him for decades.

She looked up as she felt his eyes on her, her violet gaze meeting his, and a soft smile touched her lips. “What are you staring at, my wolf?” she asked, her voice still carrying that playful lilt, though it was quieter now, softened by the years they had shared.

Cregan smiled, crossing the room to her side. “Just thinking,” he replied, lowering himself into the chair beside her with a soft grunt. His joints weren’t quite what they used to be, but he still moved with the strength of a man who had led Winterfell for decades.

She raised an eyebrow, setting aside the book she had been reading. “You’ve always been a man of few words, but thinking? That’s dangerous.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “Dangerous for some, maybe. For me, it’s just remembering.”

Her smile deepened, and she leaned back in her chair, the firelight flickering in her eyes. “And what are you remembering, Cregan Stark?”

He reached over, taking her hand in his. Her fingers, though not as nimble as they once were, still fit perfectly in his. He traced the lines of her palm, thinking of all the years they had spent together—of the battles fought, the children raised, the moments of laughter and sorrow that had woven their lives into something greater than either of them could have imagined.

“I was thinking of the first time I saw you,” he said, his voice quiet. “When you rode into Winterfell on Vaetrix. I had never seen anything like you, and I was certain, in that moment, that my life was about to change.”

Her laugh was soft, more of a breath than a sound, but it filled the room. “I remember that day. You looked like you were trying very hard not to run for the hills.”

Cregan shook his head, grinning. “I wasn’t about to run. I was too busy trying to keep my mouth from falling open. You were this fiery, untouchable force, and I was just a man standing in your shadow.”

She squeezed his hand gently, her thumb brushing over the back of his knuckles. “You were never just a man, Cregan. Not to me.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire filling the space between them. Cregan let his gaze wander around the room, settling on the small tokens of their life together—the furs draped over the bed, the carvings of direwolves that adorned the wooden posts, a tapestry that depicted both the wolf and the dragon entwined, a gift from one of their children.

“I never thought we’d come this far,” he said quietly, his voice almost wistful. “Through everything. Wars, winters… raising our children.”

She laughed again, this time with more warmth. “Oh, the children. They were more of a challenge than any war we faced, weren’t they?”

Cregan smiled, thinking of their brood—strong, stubborn, each with their own fire. Their son had grown into a man of great strength, a natural leader who now stood as Lord of Winterfell. Their daughter, with her direwolf by her side, had become a force in her own right, a woman who carried both the blood of wolves and dragons with equal pride.

“They were. But we managed.” He looked at her, his gaze softening. “We did well, didn’t we?”

She tilted her head, studying him with that knowing look she had always given him, the one that told him she saw right through him—through his walls, his defenses, straight to the heart of him. “We did better than well, my love,” she said softly. “We built something that will last long after we’re gone.”

He nodded, feeling a deep sense of contentment settle over him. She was right. The legacy they had created together, the family they had raised, would endure. House Stark and the blood of dragons would continue to thrive, long after their bones had returned to the cold ground of the North.

Cregan lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. “I’m glad it was with you,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else by my side.”

Her eyes shimmered with emotion, and she leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. “I know, Cregan,” she whispered back, her breath warm against his skin. “It’s always been us.”

They sat like that for a long while, the fire crackling softly beside them, the weight of the years they had shared resting lightly on their shoulders. They didn’t need to speak—everything that mattered had already been said.

Outside, the night deepened, the stars beginning to peek through the grey skies, but inside Winterfell, there was warmth, and love, and the quiet peace that only came with a life well-lived.

And in that moment, as they sat together, hand in hand, Cregan Stark knew that he had found everything he had ever needed—here, in the heart of Winterfell, with the woman who had brought fire to his life and warmth to his winter.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #hotd #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #cregan x #cregan stark #hotd cregan

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spurbleu · 3 months

Text

few lucky men ✤︎

[ken sato x afab reader]

S. he convinces you, in the exchange of a drink, to be his luck charm, a rabbit's foot sewed in saccharine smiles.

warnings: mdi, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, hookup

word count: 3.2k

࿓༚︎︎‧⁎︎✳︎⁎︎‧︎༚︎࿓︎

Drenched in ecstasy.

Partygoers moved in short bursts- their silhouettes collapsing and repairing in a drunken frenzy. Sudoric air settled in the pockets of in-between (gaps among a kissing couple, an open mouth smile, the space separating fingers), stealing the hot breath from the masses.

Did it make you better- to be an observer rather than a player? To watch from the ‘dimly lit bar’ (everyone writes about it one day- you’ve seemed to find it in penthouse of stranger), neck wet from your intervals on the dance floor.

You tried finding the answer at the bottom of a shot glass- so many times you’d forgotten if you had. The bartender seemed to have a taste for your saccharine smiles, charmed as he handedken you yet another drink.

Martini glass- even in the low light you could see the blushing pink of the liquor, an orange film resting on the surface. On a stick, a raspberry, which you popped in your mouth with relish.

“What is it?”

He shrugged, saying something you couldn’t hear as he corralled a drunken man off the bar table. You take an eager sip.

You could hear the liquor burning your throat, the acid settling in your stomach with a content thrum. The aftertaste came with a buzz- subtle tinge of berry and orange- sweeter than the liquor. You let yourself giggle over the drink- perhaps childish, but all the more honest.

“Oh my god…that’s so good.” It had been a long time since you actually liked the process of getting drunk over the feeling.

“Glad you like it.”

You turn slowly, partly because you needed to, partly because it felt sexy in the moment. The curve of your lips gave away your tipsy- an askew smile creasing the plush of your cheeks. It complimented the soft flush under your eyes- make up flaking. You were hopeful, positive, that it didn’t dissuade him.

Dark hair fell lopsidedly on his face, the roots flat with sweat. The curve of his cheekbones was sharp, but promising. They creased over his smile, sideways and charming. It looked familiar- then again liquor can do that- handsome faces always looked the same under dim lighting and vodka.

“Hey.” You said casually.

He chuckled, shaking his head. There was an air about him- definitely drunk- but not enough to make you nervous. “Hello.”

“I assume you bought this drink for me?”

“I did,” He leaned on the bar, and you caught the way his eyes ran up your figure (it felt like he was already undressing you- not that you minded), as he held out a hand, “Ken. Ken Sato.”

There was an attitude in the lilt of his voice. Confidence- borderline arrogance. He was definitely famous- judging by the way he carried his broad shoulders and low tone. He wanted you to know who he was.

You ran the cap of your tongue over the roof of your mouth before introducing yourself and shaking his hand. “Charmed.”

You took another sip of your drink, not loosing his eyes, “How did you know I liked fruity drinks?”

He laughed- a pretty sound. It swelled into the lighter timbres of his voice, harsh around the edges like the salt on a cocktail glass. You sucked in your bottom lip- you wanted to hear it again.

“Lucky guess.”

You took another sip, humming in reply. “You a lucky guy, Ken?”

There was a glint in his eyes then. The grey was sharpened (knife against a whetstone) into something more. It wasn’t more of anything- just more. Like when you breathe and you feel your chest expanding, or you look at the view from your window from a different angle, and it swells.

More.

“Depends…” A long finger came to trace the rim of your glass. The groove of his knuckles had you mused- observing the vein that crept from his wrist. You tilted your head, leaning further into the bar as you crossed your legs.

“On…?”

He gave you a wry smile- and for a foolish moment you thought it looked unpracticed. Genuine- a contentment pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“…if I get to take you home tonight.”

You blinked. It was rare for you to be caught off guard- and your laugh might’ve given it away, if you hadn’t turned towards the bar, your hair covered the deepening tint on your cheeks.

“So bold.”

“Is that wrong?” he asked, a subtle anxiety obvious in the falter of his shoulders and the shake in his voice. You gave him a smile, taking a final sip of your drink before placing it back on the bar.

“No, no I never said that. Just an observation,” you hummed, “in fact, I’m flattered that your luck relies on me.”

You could tell by the shift in his shoulders that he had regained his confidence, eyes meeting yours again. “Well,” his hand came up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. The moment felt strangely domestic for a bar in the middle of a party, the music in the background sounding much sweeter than you remembered it last, “want to make me a lucky man tonight?”

His hands rested by your ear, waiting for you to answer or for you to swipe it away. You did neither, and instead leaned in, nose to nose with a complete stranger. You saw the way his hand twitched (nervous- cute), and how his eyes remained unmoving but hopeful.

“Alright.”

▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎▁︎

“Fucking finally.”

He lifted you, holding your thighs and resting them on his hips as he pulled your face up to his and kissed you.

There was a frustration on his lips- undoubtedly caused by the way you palmed his trousers in the car, watching as he gripped the steering wheel in thin patience. But beneath it was fervor- not in the slightest sloppy.

But it wasn’t practiced, either. The plush of his lips against yours- the way his teeth occasionally nipped at your bottom lip or grazed your top one. It lacked a coordination that would have felt unnatural. He kissed you like he was sober- like even if liquor hadn’t been in your guts- he’d still want you.

The thought made you pant into his mouth, kissing him with a new ferocity as he carried you through the hall.

He laid you down on something soft. You watched him as he stripped, ignoring the urge to call out something filthy.

Wide shoulders capitalized his broad chest, held up by a collection of muscles- breathing in a hungry rhythm that made you clench your thighs. He looked taller than he did at the bar, pronounced by the reel of his shoulders and the way it rippled down his spine.

He must be some kind of athlete, based on his build. God, he looked near indestructible- even the small of his waist promising a reckoning. You bit your lip- mind wondering if the other parts of him held a similar weight.

He turned towards you, bare to his boxers, stepping over the bunches of clothing that rested on his feet.

There it was again- that lopsided smile. It was harsher now, the ends of it pulled tight into his cheeks, plump in red desire. The base of it wet and swollen- your doing. A surge of pride fuzzed at the base of your hips.

He crawled towards you, arms coming to rest by your shoulders, eyes curiously roaming you figure- still dressed. You swallowed.

You were no virgin- but men always moved fast. Hands shoving up your dress, clothes still on as you fucked half-minded and antsy. Their breath always reeked of alcohol or something stronger- forcing you from the sheets in the early morning before the light found your face.

You weren’t used to leisure- it felt near painful. Watching him see you- lacking a hostility and haste found in most sex. It was graceful without calculation- living in the way he kissed you (evidence enough in your bloated lips) and in the aphrodisia that fanned from the base of his nose.

It was all sobering- and you were still trying to figure out if you liked it.

“Do you like this dress?”

His question grounded you, and you glanced down before nodding slowly. “It’s my favorite.”

He grinned, pulling you forward by the small of your back as his hand found the zipper, eyes still searching yours. “I’ll be gentle with it, then.”

He slipped the zipper down and you shivered- unsure if it was the surge of cool air that assaulted the dip in your spine, or the way his fingers traced the curve of it.

He had that effect on you- it was maddening. To be unsure was unfamiliar. Night after club after party, expectations were met. Sloppy intimacy, driven by the liquor, hot on your tongues as you navigate the unlikelihood of orgasm.

It was the way he looked at you. Stealing (almost preserving, a romantic thought), eating precious time, knowing exactly what he was going to do and how aroused you’d be. He had the upper hand, held the cards, whatever analogy made it easier to swallow.

Your dress was off now, and he sat back on his heels, hands coming to hold the dip in your waist. His thumbs pressing into the supple of your skin, the pad of his print searing into the tender parts of you. Again, domesticity, falling somewhere between appreciated and perturbed.

“You’re beautiful.”

You laughed weakly, unwilling to admit his words tied knots in your stomach, “Then why aren’t you kissing me?”

He laughed (Martini- salt rim. Softer now, warm rum, firewood), coming off his heels before hovering inches above the plunge of your abdomen, leaning on his right forearm as he came face to face with you. “Impatient?”

“No,” you corrected, voice hoarse, “I’m just not used to men being this slow…”

His eyebrows rose, arch carving surprise masked by amusement, before his mouth came to kiss the space between your jaw and your ear, sensitive pulse thrumming humiliatingly fast under his palate.

“Slow? What’s wrong with slow, sweetheart?”

You closed your eyes, resisting the urge to moan as he made his way down your neck, kisses slowly becoming more intense, leaving bubbles of red and pink in their wake. A hand came to brace the base of your neck, holding you still as you tried to keep a semblance of sanity. “W-Well you…it takes you longer to…get to the point.”

He hummed, lips tugging into a smirk on the slump of your collar bone. His hand slipped down from your neck, palming your back as he unclasped your bra. The motion was done delicately, fingers fluttering over the gap in the center of your posture.

How easy it would be, you thought, for him to pull you from the seams.

Unravel the thick knots of arousal that held you together weakly as he cupped your breast with his free hand, navigating the sensitive flesh with eager teeth and tongue. You let a sigh escape the cavern of your lungs- relief. You felt his chest rumble over your stomach- laughter.

“You seem to be enjoying the slow approach.”

Your jaw clicked, your head lifting up- face chastising. He smiled, sitting between your breasts with a proud smile. You glared at him- secretly amused with his antics, “If I knew you were going to be this slow, I would have-hhhuu…”

You were quickly silenced as his tongue padded against your nipple, teeth grazing before moving down your stomach. You let yourself lean back into the pillows, soft fabric cool against your burning muscle. Maybe slow wasn’t…terrible.

His lips drifted until he met the base of your pelvis, a single hand coming to play with the band of your thong, the other sitting teasingly at the small of your back. You grit your teeth, blowing frustrated breath through your nose.

“Ken.” You said, warning.

“Magic word, sweetheart.”

His cadence was conceited- reeling in his own indecency- facing your wet cunt and deciding to wait. It was beyond you- to be patient. Anticipation wasn’t friendly. But the tug in your gut- the beat between your breaths as you watched him smile at you- wanted you to try.

You rolled your head back, avoiding the gaze that brought it out of you. “Please.”

He smiled, satisfied. He pulled the last remaining fabric aside, revealing your sobbing cunt.

You sucked in through your teeth. Cold air, vicious in degree, nestled in the clandestine cavity between your legs. It only amplified the slick, dripping from vulnerable corners in pleas of sticky respite. It leaked, rather unevenly, to the inside of your thighs, covenant to your impatience.

Despite the display, there wasn’t humiliation- only a rapacious desire as you bucked your hips.

Please.

You felt his nose grind into your mound, his tongue finding the fold of your lips. You gasped, rolling your hips forward. Shit.

Weighted lips on the base of your cunt, you scrambled for your dignity. Out of reach, knocked out of your hands- with each new wave of pleasure sent from the base of your spine to the tip of your head. He hummed against you, the vibration against sensitivity pulling your stomach forward in an arch spelling your surrender.

“Oh s-ssshit. Ohsh’it. Ken-fuck,” You were left damseled under his tongue, exploring the early sponge of your walls, “P-please don’t stop…feels…sogood.”

He tilted his chin, tougher bone now grinding against the polish of your lips, his mouth now entirely centered around your defenseless clit.

White knuckles came to grip his hair, a breathless moan rattling behind your teeth, digging into your bottom lip. Patience paid its due, your libido only expanding from your hips to your gut as he continued his slow assault.

Swallowing every ounce of you that slipped through your own breached barricade, staining his mouth with the stench of yielding. He must smell it- your admission of defeat, you confession that God, patience has taught you. Secretly, you hope he’s enjoying it- maybe even addicted.

“Oh fuck- Ken-“

Strangers- saying his name like a chorus. Repeating it until the syllables are sore and it doesn’t taste as sweet. Until it rots your teeth, palpable when your own name starts to sound unfamiliar. Until the underside of your tongue- soaked in drool, has it etched.

Your legs felt your oncoming orgasm first, the familiar shake in your ankle coming up to tense your calves. You pressed them into his cheeks, before he slotted his digits around the pudge of your thigh and pinned them to the bed with a gruff groan.

Don’t do that. It said.

It started to rise to the bed of your spine, and you moaned his name louder with each reckless kiss he laid against your swollen lips. “Ken…I’m close please….close…close...”

The grooves of his tongue worked harsher against the peaking bud, Go on, he wrote, do it.

Blooming in the filthier parts of you. From its spoiled roots, you can feel your orgasm rising and collapsing within the gardens of your stomach. It grows between the liquid bones of your legs, vines beneath coiled veins. In haphazard gasps, you can feel the coolness of petals slip along your tonsils.

Eventually, the garden withers- beautifully. Leaving you, shaking and bare in its wake. You crumple under the lost weight, whimpering when you feel the heat you had wished to memorized separate from the cleft between your legs.

You held a clarity in the moments after- free of allergens and bothersome thoughts- left in a still state of bliss. Where the body numbs, accepting the blunt of orgasm. Or, the state of complete fragility.

In it, you hardly noticed the way Ken stood, wrapping the plush of his palm against your ankle- until he yanked you forward, now flush against his hips.

He leaned over you, the curve of his back now abandoning the lesson he had seemingly been teaching you- patience. Instead, it held the virtue of a man starved- famished. He took a hand to cup your cheek, wiping the sweat that collected under your lashes.

“Sweetheart- you didn’t think we were done, did you?” To accentuate his point, he rutted his hip against you, and you felt the crest of his cock against your puffy lips, and you moaned, feeling the spindles and buds from the garden unearth themselves again.

His had came to grab your chin, squeezing your cheeks as he continues the torturous clothed rhythm against your beaten pussy. It was so vulgar, contrary to the gentleness that had your legs pressed together minutes ago- that, hilariously and pathetically, they began to spread.

(Patience has its limits, even for its preachers).

You bucked your hips, and he shook his head, grip tightening on your sore cheeks. “Use your words, what do you want?”

“M-mmore.”

Unsatisfied. “Of what?”

“Yyou…’ock in m’pussy…pleaseuh…”

There it was again, the sharpening of a knife. The more in his eyes- the lull of normalcy into something larger than words, feral and unkept. You knew he was famous in that moment- no man of the regular vitality would have so much to keep hidden behind the iris of his eyes.

He tore the band of his boxers down to his thighs, his cock flattening on your belly and you hissed, its pulse feverish against you. As he leaned his hips back, he took it in his hand, the other still holding your chin (albeit, tamer), pressing the tip against your weeping lips, still stingy from your orgasm.

You let out a strained gasp. “Fuck, Ken- j-just please fuck me al-“

The sound of him bottoming out was borderline obscene, his length slowly plunging into the stiff dough of your walls, his shuddering breath devolving into a husky moan. Your back arched into him, as if your body was trying to fill you up more than he already did.

Your cunt acted as your hands- feeling around the thick basin of his cock, memorizing the fat vein that slithered up the right side- the shroomed tip hitting your cervix. Just how full you felt then.

As he fell into a slow rhythm, you felt as though he was forcing you to rememorize every patch of flesh and ecstasy in your own cunt. Refamiliarize yourself with your walls as he battered them, the sound of your own body as it’s severed in two- it was all so crude.

His hips rolled into your own, heavy grunts peeling from the roof of his mouth. Empty mumblings and moans thrummed from your lips- nonsensical aloud- but it all felt right with him bruising your insides.

“Hah- this is what you wanted right? To be fucked? You feel good sweetheart?”

His voice was tilted, the grasp of your cunt slurring the modest inflections, defaulting his words to a shameless, pussy drunk husk. He knead the base of his palm against the cushy flesh around your pelvis and you nearly screamed- hand pressing his own cock deeper into you.

“Yes, please please don’t stop- feel so gooodd…so full…”

His pace seemed to push the honesty from your gut to your throat, coming out in spurs of confessionals. Tears pooled at the lining of your eyes, snot dribbling in an immodest drop over the crest of your lips.

Ken took his hand off your chin and swiped a thumb over the veil of sweat and tears from your cheek. “Look at you- such a mess. Such. A. Fucking. Mess.”

He punctuated each word with a particularly harsh thrust, and you could barely hear him speak over your own babbling. Your eyes struggled to see anything of detail, mind foggy in its own relish.

“Ken…Cu…cumm..uh..uh..”

He slowed his pace and you whined in protest, before he grabbed your hips, thumbs digging into the bluntness of your bone. “Not yet.”

Your mind was too murky to collect the next several seconds of movement, but suddenly you were on your face, shoulders hunched over your cheeks, your ass arched in a flattering angle. And before you could process any change at all, he pressed his cock deeper than you’ve felt it.

He must have been deaf to your moans at this point, you gripped the sheets in front of you- the white fabric memorizing the timbre and pitch of your voice as you screamed his name and other useless curses.

The sound of his hips connecting with the pudge of your ass was near sickening, and he bent down, holding your hands in one fist to splay in front of you. He leaned by your ear, his free hand digging a plum grip on your hips.

“Come’n, Sweetheart. Cum for me…you can….hah….do it.”

You did.

The garden was gone. Scorched by something so fiery hot you could barely see. It burned the tendons and muscles beneath your pulsing skin, renewing the flowers for stars. Spots in your vision- comets eroded into something rougher (beautiful, still), the constellations spilling from your drool as you muttered something incoherent and unimportant into the mattress.

He rode you out through your high, whispering your name, capitalized by curses and mutters.

“Hah…shit- fuck oh god I'm cu-uhmm..”

He slipped out, an unflattering sputter echoing somewhere behind you as you felt him drip out on the gaps of your back.

Your ass fell limp to the side, legs crumpling under the weight of your own pleasure- searing. It wasn’t a broken feeling however, being split in two. Your cells buzzed with a ferocity you had been unfamiliar with until now, euphoric, frayed ends playing at the fringes of your mussed hair, the corners of your mouth- lifted.

You shuddered. You weren’t sure what to feel- if anything. Exhaustion and arousal leaked from the intimate parts of you- but anywhere else it was a mystery.

It wasn’t until you felt a warm hand cradling your face that you registered what it could-should be.

Comfort.

“You alive?”

You snorted, sinking into the grooves of his palm. “It wasn’t good enough to kill me.”

Ken raised a brow, body curled next to yours in a position that felt, yet again, domestic. “Oh yeah? I recall you screaming my name loud enough that the neighbors might think I d-“

You placed a hand over his mouth, gentle enough that he could pull it away if he wanted too. You let out a quiet sigh, snuggling closer and laying your head on his arm.

“Shh. Don’t ruin anything by talking. You’re right- whatever…” you yawned, peaking one eye open, a butter smile creasing the base of your cheeks, “you feel lucky yet?”

His hand came to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear- a movement familiar enough you’re beginning to think he had a habit of it. He smiles at you, drowse pulling at the edges of his eyes.

“Yeah. I do."

#oneshot #ultraman rising #fanfic #ken sato x reader #ken sato #ken sato smut #ken sato x you #x reader #fanfiction #f!reader #kenji sato #kenji sato x reader #kenji sato x you

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visionsofmagic · 9 months

Text

they like to share you. ✭ 2 ✭

➤ bi han, kuai liang, tomas [lin kuei brothers]

・゜✭・. part 2 out of 2 | previous | m.

✧.* nsfw, mdni!, f!reader, gang bang, edging, pet names, humiliation, degradation, roughness, cruelty, double penetration, hair pulling, begging, crying, oral > m! receiving & f! receiving, overstimulation, anal sex, oral sex, orgasm control, claiming, biting, size difference, clothes on/off, praising, cumming, no protection, exhibitonism, watching, sloppy kissing, lin kuei brothers being lin kuei brothers, ‘s all I guess? • wc: 4.8k • roses’ notes: oh, this is the most horny shit I have ever wrote & I hope it is good enough because I was (s)creaming as I read it over and over again lol, and it contains a huge tag list full of nsfw content. just bear this horny thing with me while having fun. enjoy! [can do part 3 if you want to! *kiss*]

≛ you have no idea how you end up in a situation like the one you’re in now – it would be a lie if you said you had never imagined it. the dreams of being in this right moment wandered around your mind. they didn’t reach this far, but there were the times you tried not to think about it, breaking yourself while clenching your thighs together, the sin taking you as a whole and eating you alive; however now, it is the most sinful thing you’re doing contrary to simply dreaming about it. until this exact moment, you couldn’t believe you would face such sin – yet, every nerve of your body screamed that it was the most extraterrestrial feeling you have ever felt.

it’s not the sin of being a naughty woman who thinks about the lin kuei brothers shamelessly – every single night, until she gets it, no, it’s the sin that carves into your body within the soul.

it’s not the sin that eats you alive either, no, it’s tomas – the most precious boy you have known, having a heartwarming personality thanks to his nature of being innocent and gentle, especially when it comes to you but when you look into his eyes as his head stays between your thighs that can crush him any time soon (which he will take gladly), tongue going in and out of your pussy that soaking wet into his face and neck. only the sight of it can make you cum into his face but you try to hold it, eyes directed into his that are full of tears of having your greedy pussy as the way he needs, a reflection of you the proof of the sin that has just started.

and being eaten, sucked, and licked by tomas is not the only thing you’re getting.

as you pump yourself harder into his hungry mouth, wanting him to drow with your taste, feeling a bit need of dominance manner, you throw your head back when kuai liang pinchs your hardened nipples, not paying attention to how his younger brother lies on the bed, you’re above him, heat is flowing in your veins, making you feel another sense of exposeness while being naked, completely, as they stay still with their clothes on.

“kuai liang –“ you try to say, earning another pinch at your nipple, body jolts at the action as he stays behind you, on his foot. he watches your face closely unlike bi han who is sitting on his armchair, leaning against it, one hand under his masked face, elbow resting on the side of the armchair as his cold gazes travel on three of you, watching as if there is a special show for him.

“yes, princess?” kuai liang asks, looking at how your hands get into tomas’ grey hair, pulling it and moving your hips faster – he gets that you’re close, they all do.

“I’m – I’m clos – aaaahh – tomas!”

tomas leaves a cute chuckle, proud of himself, when you can’t finish your sentence with the impact of his tongue – or the way he eats you so hungrily, as if he will die if he can’t have the lovely taste you have. his hands find your ass, pushing you further against him, the desire of being the first one who makes you cum caging him.

kuai liang, wanting to help you reach it faster, wanting to see you cum so that he can have you afterward, holds you by the chin, lifting your head up so that he can kiss you passionately, swelling your moans inside his mouth. one of your hands find his cheek, pulling him closer while the other one stays inside tomas’ hair, caressing it to find a source of steadiness when two lin kuei brothers capture you as the oldest one watches the scene before him.

when you break the kiss, moaning loudly because of being so close, you hear a voice – the one that gives a chill down your spine.

“did I allow you to do that?” bi han asks, sounding colder than ever – is he doing it on purpose? you can’t decide yet, mind is so dizzy.

“w-what?” you ask, knowing both of lin kuei brothers are also surprised at their older brother’s sudden words, eyes turning to him – all of you look at him.

he only rises an eyebrow, “did I allow you to cum?”

“but bi han –“

“but brother –“ you and tomas try to find an excuse to make him let you cum; to reach the climax you need for your part, and to be able to lick it – getting the taste of your sweet juice for tomas’ part are the reasons behind why you sound like begging.

“you will cum when I say,” then, he crosses his arms as if he isn’t the one who is edging you. looking at kuai liang’s face, he tilts his head in the direction of your body, “pick her up.”

furrowing because of being so close yet so far away from your climax, you see tomas apologizing silently, not understanding his older brother’s intentions truly until he feels kuai liang picking your body up by holding your waist and putting you down again – right on tomas’ hardened cock that you moan when your bare aching pussy touch it through the fabric of his thin training pants.

it seems kuai liang is the only one who can acknowledge the pure intentions of bi han as he whispers into your ear, hands rising up, reaching your breasts that bounce lightly with the impact of your moving hips on tomas – without giving any mind to it, just wanting to feel something.

“my love, bear it a little longer,” he says, caressing your breasts, sending a different jolt of pleasure to your body – the slow burn of it increases the fire you have inside that is ready to break free. “tomas,” he then says after taking a quick glance at bi han’s direction to see whether he is doing it right or not. “she’s ready enough.”

“are you?” tomas asks, the palms replace on your cheeks as he rises, getting closer as you sit on his lap in full display – there is a bit of shame left, the one will have vanished soon after you understand what will come next. “if you want to stop, we can – I can. just say and –“

you stop him in mid-sentence. being such a caring person, even in moments like this – maybe mostly in moments of proximity at the highest level, he wants to be sure that you want this – with your whole heart and soul. and you do. with a smile, you nod, putting a kiss on his lips, both loving and lustful, earning a few whimper sounds from the man, you hold the edge of his pants, lowering it down to free his aching cock where it stays, “please tomas –“ you say, “I need you to fill me up.”

not expecting this boldness from you, he freezes for a moment before deciding you’re in a state that all of these things they do to you – and will do soon enough, are a matter of life and death – or sin and love if you are being honest.

he holds himself from swearing when he feels your bare thighs touching the side of his cock. leaning down on his back again, he puts his hands on your waist, lowering you down step by step, so caressly that you will think that he sees you as a fragile flower.

putting your palms on his bare chest, you turn to kuai liang, eyes teary as you feel tomas thickness getting inside of your warm walls. it’s already too much but you need more – you carve more. there are lots of reasons why you’re being so nasty; first, being a whore for them as bi han uttered (how can he always be right about you?), second, you love them all, and lastly, you want to prove to them, mostly bi han, that you are capable of taking three of them – physically and spiritual.

“take them off,” comes out of your mouth as an order rather than a request, and you feel a kind of power over them when kuai liang doesn’t ask you to know your place, unlike his older brother. as he nods, a cocky smile position on his attractive face. “please.” you finish your words to be gentler but he is already taking his clothes off one by one, eyes never leaving yours, giving you a show while tomas is one step ahead of being inside of you fully.

when you see his perfect sculpture, different in shape and posture than tomas’ delicate, welcoming, and reassuring one, you can’t help but sit on tomas’ cock in one go, want him to rail you up because your mind can’t take it anymore and it’s still too early to be that dizzy! which condition will you be in when there are three of them, you ask yourself, will be there a time like that?

all your unanswered questions disappear when tomas starts moving, wanting to take your eyes off of kuai liang for a moment because he needs to see you losing your mind as he fucks you good – giving everything to you, and receiving you all.

“tomas –“ you cry his name aloud, his tip hitting deep, thickness opening you wider as he keeps pounding into you irregularly – both you and him are new to it and it makes you stay unsteady with unclear minds. he’s too lost in the taste of your pussy that clenches around his length beautifully and you’re having the highness that comes with his thick cock and heavy balls, hitting you mercilessly even when he wants to act attentive, not wanting to hurt you but it feels so good – you feel so good that he swears he is addicted to it already.

“y/n – agghh – I – fuuuagggh!” he nearly swears when he opens his eyes, never realizing he closed them in the first place, and seeing your bouncing breasts, open mouth, teary eyes which are half-closed as you watch his pleasure getting to his face visibly. your nails are scratching his neck.

“tomas! it feels so gooaggghh!” you want to say more; want him to know how good he is at making you see the starts with each thrust he is sending. you feel the amatory and desire at the same time.

“oh, is that so?” bi han’s sharp voice cuts the tension between you and tomas, earning a side eye from you as he chuckles at your attempt to dismiss his words only to feel more of what tomas is giving you.

however, there’s another lin kuei brother who seeks your attention; kuai liang whose hand is on his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you being fucked by his younger brother, and even from that away, bi han can see how he tries to hold himself, wanting you to be the first one who recognizes his shameless acts, and allowing him to come closer. bi han thinks his brothers are acting as if you’re the most fragile flower on earth – yes you are, but not in the moment. only bi han knows how much a whore-like you can be for them from your previous moments before he decided to let it go.

that’s why he doesn’t stop talking, contrary to that, he puts his elbows on the edge of the armchair, hands united as he leans closer from where he sits, eyes on you, “then be a fucking good girl and take another needy cock in that hole of yours gladly and thank them for it, my pretty slut.”

even in a moment like this, he can’t help but be possessive over you – which makes him call you his rather than indicating that you belong to three of them, not only bi han but who you are to judge now, especially after being a fucktoy for his younger brothers after desiring it for a long time.

tears flow down your face as you keep bouncing on tomas’ cock, already too lost in the high that feels like you take a dozen of aphrodisiacs. the power they hold over you cannot be prevented, you don’t want either, so, you nod with obedience, holding yourself together enough to reach for kuai liang’s hand. putting his warm hand on your abdomen, you make him come closer while listening tomas’ whimpers and low moans that he leaves with great shyness – unlike his brothers, he’s the most closed one when it comes to expressing his feelings and thoughts loudly.

he’s more open when there are only two of you. however, you can say that he’s close to breaking when you begin to talk with kuai liang between your moans.

“let me, fire boy,” you say, smirking down at him as you start jerking him off, making him get ready. another sense of pleasure strolls through your body when kuai liang leaves a growl – it’s more animalistic than you can ever imagine, and its effects become visible on you too when he pumps his cock into your fist without thinking, only using pure instincts. you begin to think how you will handle not only tomas’ thick cock but also kuai liang’s that stands with all its glory; warm inside your palm, leaking precum, and twitching at the sight of your ass.

seeing his younger brother’s cock disappearing and appearing again as he fucks you creates a flame in kuai liang because now he can see what bi han was talking about – how he didn’t realize what his brother meant by calling you a slut for them in the first place, but now, he is witnessing it; he sees how you look at his veined cock while taking tomas’ cock. it’s clear that you want him to join.

and who he is to decline your silent offer? he can fight a hundred men if you want him to – but he can’t stop when he has you – they have you. he’s a gentle lover, he really is. maybe he cannot show it as delicate as tomas’ love or as cruel as bi han’s. he knows you don’t seek it too. you have fallen for them for who they are, and kuai liang burns with the desire to show how his love is by claiming you as theirs.

feeling tomas’ cock on your abdomen, he loses his mind, and the last logical thing in his mind is to go easy on you as he makes his way to filling your empty hole.

“pff,” he hears bi han’s scoff mocking his cowardly acts; still holding himself back from waiting until you cum and relax a little bit. he looks into your begging eyes when bi han adds, “just fuck her already. I can say that she’s a step ahead of begging even from this far,” then, he chuckles lowly, “oh maybe you should stay a bit longer brother. her begging is pretty delightful to hear. isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

closing your eyes, a tear drops onto your face but it stops on your cheek when kuai liang puts his palm on your face, cleaning it with such tenderness that you open your eyes again. not crying because of bi han’s words, no, they only add more pleasure, you let kuai liang put a few kisses on your forehead, assuring you that it will be fine – it will be euphoric and you believe him.

nodding, you turn your face to tomas after saying, “do what you want with me baby. I can take it.” to kuai liang.

leaving yourself at his mercy, you put your hand on tomas’ chest again, feeling his heartbeat under your fingertips, tickling the skin because of how fast it is going up and down in sync with his cock that can break you into two if he wants to. “fuuuccckk – yes, yes!” you scream in joy, evoking wildness in them without knowing, too occupied with yourself and tomas’ cock that keeps hitting your sweet spots over and over again after he earns the most beautiful sound out of you. “there! fuuucckk tomas – so good, please, please, baby – keep aggghhh keeeep fucking me like that!”

“of course, of course, my goddess –“ tomas sounds as if he’s at the edge of crying thanks to your own pleasure. the man under you flying in the sky not only because he’s fucking you, but also because every part of your body shouts out that he’s very good at it. he finds a greater saturation with your delight. “anything for my favorite lady – agghhh – anything for you!”

after a time, you can’t tell how much because the acknowledgment of time has stopped working, you feel kuai liang’s lips touching your ear, his voice gets under your skin as he says, a hand on your back, pushing you onto tomas’ chest, “I am so sorry,” you don’t understand the true meaning behind his speech, you just arch your back slowly, hands position on the sides of tomas head, hardened nipples touch his chest, and a curse with loud whimpers escape from the man under you. “I tried to hold myself but I can’t help but be a slave to my itching desire to hear you moan my name as you did for tomas.”

realization hits you when your whole body connects with tomas’, making his cock go deeper and reach the places neither of you can expect. two of you are a mess like that; slow thrusts, moans, sweats, and looking at kuai liang’s eyes, having orange colored flames in them.

tomas’ breathes on your neck, chest to chest, you watch kuai liang’s fingers disappear behind you, and you arch your back when they get into your empty hole. putting your forehead between tomas’ neck and shoulder, you bite your own lips, a painful moan comes from you, making tomas look at you worriedly. “brother!” he warns his older brother, palm capturing the side of your face, caressing it so that you can relax between his arms that he wraps around your smaller body – he’s the most protective one among his brothers. “you’re hurting her – you should stop –“

“it’s okay tomas,” you say, kissing his chin to show that you mean it, and kuai liang is already gone, fingers never stopping, adding another one to get you ready sooner. the pain is more receivable now, mixed with the excitement of taking kuai liang behind. new tears appear on your face after kuai liang takes his fingers out of your now wider hole, hands on your hips, positioning you to stay still as his tip gets into you slowly. “I can – aggh! I can take him – too!”

“shhh –“ tomas says, trying to hold you still to help his brother. there is no selfishness in tomas’ heart for sharing you with his older brothers. he knows how they need you like they need air to breathe – and at some point, he believes they need you more than that to keep themselves alive – to keep living. “everything will be fine, pretty lady,” he puts kisses on wherever he can reach; cheeks, forehead, nose, chin, shoulder – wherever your body need to calm down. “just a bit longer to get used to.”

you trust in him more than you do for yourself; and his words’ rightness comes into life after kuai liang thrusts in and out of your hole, making it get used to his thick length, and in the end, you find yourself begging him – begging them to go harder, deeper, and rougher.

bi han’s mocking can be hearable that you can’t care less, “told you how a slut she really is, taking both of your cocks that gladly.” you’re focused on taking them so good that an unspoken fact fills the air completely; they will never get rid of you – this – yes, both tomas and kuai liang love the sincere and tender bond they have with you, yes, they love you entirely and this is beyond their strength of staying away from you for your own good – no, they cannot even spend a minute without you being there for them after this. they will carve for more; bi han isn’t the only one who will do anything to have you beside him.

you don’t know whose name is leaving your dry, half-opened mouth; you don’t care either. nonetheless, it’s obvious whatever you say is enough for them to fuck you deeper, rougher, and harder because when your back connects with kuai liang’s chest that burns with the hottest temperature, hands holding tomas’ thick arms, they begin to thrust into you at the same time rather than going in and out one by one, one of the lin kuei brothers’ cock filling you up as the other one is leaving its place so that you will not break into pieces.

and you swear it feels better – not better, no, the best in this way; they leave your holes alone, aching for another thrust, and as if they can hear your holes – your pussy and ass begging loudly, they thrust into you back, filling you up fully.

kuai liang whose palms stay on your hips fucks you rougher than tomas, having an animalistic wildness with his fucking, growling and moaning into your ear lowly, biting your shoulder from time to time; sending overstimulation over your body and taking a branch to hold on to so that he can stay as rational as he can – it’s just that his own fist wasn’t enough, as he realizes, and unlike your mouth, your hole that clenches around his length something else – and he cannot imagine how your pussy would feel. he has pure envy over his younger brother but tomas needs to be the first one after bi han as kuai liang proposed when bi han told them that you would be ready for them, and he could never be more right.

tomas is sky high – its marks are on his focused face that lightened up with lust and sin, and a great amount of love. his hands on your thighs, holding them tight, probably leaving red marks like how kuai liang’s hands will on your hips, wanting to act normally but can’t; his cock is intoxicated with the taste of your pussy that creamed it like his entire body that is intoxicated with you fully. it’s beyond his own imagination – and he will have this moment in his mind until his last breath. the cute lin kuei brother has a habit of daydreaming about you and the memories you have shared; every detail is in his mind.

tomas’ obsession over you is not a joke, and being pathetic – a mess for you proves it right – his love is no less than his brothers and he can say you witness it when he begs for you to let him cum inside your womb.

“my goddess, please, please, let me – aaaghh I – I – I need it – ohhh, hmmpp! let me cum i-inside!”

before you reply to his begs, you hear kuai liang saying the same thing as he holds you by the chin, fingers pushing down the flesh under them, taking a lick from your neck, “yes, princess, will you? say yes, please, pretty love, let us cum inside – agggh – gggh – need it! right, tomas? we need it.”

“tomas – aggghh k- kuai liang – I –“

you are stopped by the oldest lin kuei brother whose presence is beginning to know by all three of you when you turn to the side and see him standing up with all his glory; the mask is no longer on his face, a hand on his belt, furrowing down at you, eyes directed at yours, sending vibration of danger, “haven’t I teach you to ask for it? I know my brothers are too lost to think straight but, you,” his fingers touch your chin, turning your head to him entirely, taking all of your focus on him as his younger brothers keep fucking you without stopping even for a second – they simply can’t, you suppose.

“my beautiful slut,” he humiliates you by making you clench around two cocks you are taking and sending a jolt to the owners of them, “isn’t it enough that you cum undone without my permission that you will let them cum inside without asking for it?”

“w-what?” you question, spending some time to understand it and looking down, you see your cream–wetness shining on their cocks. when you cum undone? fuck, how much your brain fucked up by them?! “I – I am so sorry bi han, I didn’t know – aggghh – fuck – I didn’t –“ words of forgiveness go into deaf ears as bi han lowers his head, and without a second thought, he begins to kiss your lips as if he tries to prove the rightful owner of them – and your aching lips asks for more, tongue darting inside his mouth, and he lets you – his cruelty vanishes for a moment as he makes love with you by using his cold lips that get warmer within yours.

“mhhhhpp – bi han – aahhhh –“ coldness hits your breasts when he cups them and plays with each one of them attentively.

“well, one of your holes is still empty, right?” he leaves you, unzipping his belt and taking his pants off until it reaches his thick thighs, showing his hardened cock as it hits his abdomen. he smirks when you open your mouth wider even though he doesn’t ask you for it – it’s like an instinct now. you watch him put his knees on the bed, not looking at how pathetic his brothers look as they wait for you two to be done.

“good girl.” bi han praises you when your lips wrap around his length, mouth taking it so well as always and he keeps his praising after you begin to work on his cock, a hand gripping his thigh to pull him closer, to have it all inside your greedy mouth. his right-hand finds your hair, caressing it firstly, then pulling it roughly, “fucking good girl – taking my cock like that –“ he then chuckles at the sight in front of him; tomas fucking crying under you as he keeps edging himself, eyes beg for a release, and kuai liang losing the last crumbles of his mind as he pounds into your mercilessly.

looking down at you, he sees your shining eyes looking at both his cock full of veins and leaking your salvia mixing with his precum, and he curses underneath his breath; you’re his obedient slut as he tells but in addition to that, you belong to him – long before you have fallen for his brothers. it boosts its ego. “taking my brothers’ cocks as well. tell me, are they good, hm?”

“y-yes,” you say, moans low, strong, audible, “they’re too good – I – fuuuuck – I want them to cu-cum – into me.”

“oh, is that so?” he questions, knowing there’s only one thing he needs to do; so, he does it. shutting your please by filling your mouth again, this time rougher than before, he fucks your mouth with the way his brothers fuck your other two holes; “then, let us all cum into you at the same time. after all, you are made for me,” he adds, “for us.”

humming, you nod, sucking, licking, and drinking him off, and at the same time, you cum again – alerting for them to cum as well and it seems that it happens all of sudden – they cum in sync after a few more powerful thrusts that they send to your very core and hole – and wasn't it hold of them on you, you would collapse into the void after you tomas cum into your pussy, kuai liang explodes into your ass, and bi han filling your mouth fully.

with the last rope to unite you with reality, you drink every drop of bi han’s semen, lin kuei’s cum fills your womb beautifully.

collapsing into tomas’ arms, your whole body aches, exhaustion hitting, mouth dry, and except that, every place on your body is covered with wetness. you don’t feel any regret, contrary to that, it seems you have made the right decision of your lifetime.

the fear that is not acknowledged by you vanishes in thin air as tomas speak into your ear, “my goddess, you did so well for us. now, rest, and don’t worry, we will take good care of you.”

and with that promise and the trust you have for lin kuei brothers, you fall into his chest closer as the sweet ropes of sleep cover your body. the last thing you remember is how much you find yourself lucky to have them.

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