#silk knee replacement

[littleprinces]

Dirty Little Secret

Miyawaki Sakura x Male Reader

Stepcest

Anal Sex

I'd been sneaking into the house next door for weeks now, my cock aching for Sakura, my stepsister. She was a petite Japanese girl, her brown hair cascading down to her waist, her almond-shaped eyes always curious and inviting. At 26, she was a legal temptation, and I couldn't resist her any longer.

One evening, I found her in the bathroom, soaking in the tub. Her eyes widened in surprise, then a sly smile spread across her lips. "You shouldn't be here, big brother," she teased, her voice like silk.

"I couldn't stay away, Sakura," I growled, my cock already tenting my pants. "You're fucking irresistible."

She bit her lower lip, her eyes flicking to my bulge. "What are you going to do about it?"

I didn't need to be told twice. I was on my knees beside the tub in an instant, my hands cupping her small, firm breasts. Her nipples hardened under my touch, and she gasped, her back arching slightly.

"Fuck, Sakura, you're so goddamn sexy," I muttered, my thumbs brushing over her nipples. She moaned, her head tilting back, giving me access to her neck. I took the invitation, my lips and tongue exploring her soft skin, my hands never leaving her perky tits.

Her hands found their way into my hair, guiding me, encouraging me. I moved lower, my hands trailing down her sides, her stomach, until I reached her pussy. She was shaved, her lips smooth and inviting. I ran a finger along her slit, feeling her wetness.

"Oh, fuck shithh" she moaned, her hips bucking slightly. "More, please."

I obliged, slipping a finger inside her. She was tight, her pussy gripping my finger like a vice. I added another, scissoring them, stretching her. She moaned louder, her hips moving in rhythm with my fingers.

"Fuck me, big brother," she panted. "I need your cock."

I stood, unbuckling my pants, freeing my cock. It sprang out, hard and ready. She reached out, her small hand wrapping around my shaft. She stroked me, her thumb brushing over the head, spreading the pre-cum.

"Fuck, Sakura," I groaned. "You're going to make me cum."

She smiled, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. "Not yet," she said, her voice sultry. "I want you to fuck me first."

I didn't need to be told twice. I grabbed her hips, lifting her out of the tub. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck. I lowered her onto my cock, her pussy stretching to accommodate me.

"Fuck, you're so big," she moaned, her head thrown back. "Fuck me, big brother. Fuck me hard."

I did as I was told, slamming into her, my hips moving in a steady rhythm. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the bathroom, our moans and groans mixing with it. She was tight, her pussy gripping my cock like a glove.

"Harder," she panted, her nails digging into my back. "Fuck me harder."

I obliged, my thrusts becoming more forceful. She moaned louder, her body tensing as she came, her pussy contracting around my cock. I kept fucking her, my cock sliding in and out of her wet pussy.

"Turn around," I growled, pulling out of her. "I want to fuck your ass."

She complied, turning around and bending over the tub. I ran a finger over her asshole, feeling her shiver. I spit on my finger, rubbing it over her hole, preparing her. She moaned, pushing back against my finger.

"Fuck me, big brother," she begged. "Fuck my ass. Make my ass yours"

I replaced my finger with my cock, pushing into her asshole. She was tight, her ass gripping my cock like a vice. I pushed in slowly, giving her time to adjust. She moaned, her body tensing, then relaxing as I bottomed out.

"Fuck, Sakura," I groaned. "Your ass is so fucking tight."

I started to move, my hips thrusting slowly at first, then faster as she moaned louder. I reached around, my fingers finding her clit. I rubbed it, my fingers moving in time with my thrusts. She moaned louder, her body tensing as she came again.

"Cum in my ass, big brother," she panted. "Breed my ass."

I couldn't hold back any longer. I came, my cock pulsing as I filled her ass with my cum. I pulled out, my cock still hard. She turned around, her eyes on my cock.

"Clean me up," I ordered, my voice hoarse.

She dropped to her knees, her tongue darting out to lick my cock clean. She took me into her mouth, her lips and tongue working in tandem to clean every last drop of cum from my cock.

"Fuck, Sakura," I groaned, my hands fisting her hair. "You're so fucking good at that."

She pulled back, her eyes meeting mine. "I want more."

[skelly-words]

Pt 2. of Bring Your Tentacle to Work Day

Okay, here you go… same tags as before + some girl-on-girl

Part 3

NSFW, no minors 18+, no children, go away

You don't expect this, your coworker's shyness quickly melts away. Replaced by curiosity as she watches cum drip out of you, obscenely splattering on the floor and dribbling down your legs in thin blue ribbons.

"Where do I get one of those?" She points a shaky finger at your cunt, at the thin tentacle that takes forever to slide out of you.

A low whine leaves your throat as your pussy squeezes around the suckers. they are dragged along your sensitive insides until you're left completely empty. Satisfied with itself, the tentacle begins to wind comfortably around your hip and thigh.

You turn around, avoiding her sparkling eyes as they greedily take you in.

"Um, i-it's work issued. For productivity," you say softly, still looking at the floor. Her shoes shuffle towards you to make the tight stall seem even smaller.

She softly strokes your cheek, trailing a less innocent hand under your skirt to feel at the monster wrapped around your thigh.

"Can you use it on me?" You can feel her hot breath against your face as she leans closer. Her touches are so gentle, waiting for you to guide her, teach her.

You look up at her between damp lashes, her pretty blushing lips are pouting until you say, yes, and start to kiss her. It quickly turns to a messy makeout as your hands crawl up her skirt. She moans into your mouth as her black panties come down around her stilettos.

You can feel how wet her pussy is as she grinds against your thigh, leaving stickiness glossing your skin. The tentacle smells her arousal and loosens on your thigh, shifting and readjusting to bump her clit better.

She pulls away from your lips with a pop as the blue appendage skims up the curve of her ass. She looks at you, a lewd look of excitement flashing across her features as you hear the tentacle pop into her butt. She pants, heavier and quicker than before and clings to your hips for support.

"What? Is it too much?" You tease.

Her hands tighten on you as the thing starts to figure out how to make her squirm. She hides her soft noises in your neck with her drool pooling in the dips of your collar bones. You begin to undo her blouse. The black buttons come undone, one after the other.

She can't let you go, so the silk hangs around her elbows. Her cute little moans and the slick sound of the tentacle filling her up are making your pussy start to throb again.

She gets too loud as you play with her nipples. Your cool touch is torture on the brown buds, stiffening as you roll them back and forth between your fingers. Her perky tits get pinker as you pinch at them and her moans pitch higher. You can feel yourself getting warmer too, abandoning one of her breasts to roll a palm against your cunny.

She's on her knees as soon as your hand drops, pushing your arm and panties aside to nose at your clit. Now you're the one being too loud, whimpering into your clean hand as she shoves her tongue into you.

"I'll cum soon-," she gasps against you, cut off as you try to catch up, hand tangled in her hair to press her closer. She looks up at you, eyes going in and out of focus. The brown fabric of her skirt is bunched around her waist. You can't see the tentacle except for the bulge in her tummy as it fills her up. Two fingers begin to stretch you open. You're so easy to push into, so she forces them as deep as she can reach. She knows what to do when your breath comes faster, latching her perfect lips around your clit as she milks your g-spot.

"Please." It almost hurts, but you're so close to orgasm that you can't seem to care. "I can't squirt again."

Her nods tug at your clit and her fingers are insistent. The digits fuck your pussy into a creamy mess. A third slipping into you makes your thighs start to shake. You cry out as you cum, gushing down her lips and chin as she sucks you through it.

A single tear traces down her cheek, falling into the crease of your thigh. "It's not letting me cum." She leans back to show you her twitching cunt. The tentacle has stilled in her stuffed pussy, leaving her needy and begging.

"That's because it's mine, baby. You'd need to get your own for it to do that." You laugh softly and start to pull your pet out of her. A parting kiss on her puffy lips leaves your mouth wet from her juices.

You straighten your clothes and clean up before leaving the bathroom, fixing any smudged makeup as you hear her desperately trying to cum in the back stall.

Those who asked to be tagged- @mishaglass @gummie-soup + the anon ask

I saw someone comment about eggs on the last part and it kinda had me thinking... I have like no time to write anymore but drop me some inspiration anyway

[floatyflowers]

Dark Platonic Mother! Cleopatra x Reincarnated Reader

Getting Reincarnated as the daughter of Cleopatra was the last thing you expected to happen to you.

The woman had you with a lover and decided to pass you off as the daughter of her first husband, Ptolemy XIII.

Let us get one thing straight, you were proud to be Cleopatra's daughter, as you saw her intelligence and chrismatic nature.

Being her first child, her overprotective attitude showed as you grew up.

She seduced Julius Caesar and Mark Antony to secure your safety.

There's no denying that you are her favourite child.

You tried to convince your mother to take different paths to avoid her demise.

But in the end, the paths still led to her demise.

However, the last female Pharaoh of Egypt decided to take you with her, refusing to leave you in the mercy of Augustus Caesar like the rest of her children.

Cleopatra’s gaze burned with a frenzied intensity as she clutched the your trembling hands, her voice trembling with emotion.

"My dearest daughter," she whispered, her tone a mix of desperation and conviction.

"Rome’s chains will not touch us. If Augustus dares to take us, we will not give him the satisfaction of parading us as spoils of war. You and I are above such humiliation, we are divine!"

Her grip tightened, her nails pressing into your skin, and she gestured toward a small, ornate chest on the table.

Within it lay the deadly asp, coiled and waiting.

Cleopatra’s eyes shone with determination as she drew the you closer, her words laced with a terrifying calmness.

"Together, we shall ascend to the gods. You belong with me, forever."

You stumbled backward, your heart pounding in terror as Cleopatra’s words sank in.

"No! I don’t want to die! Please, Mother, we can escape! There has to be another way!" You pleaded, tears streaming down your face.

The idea of experiencing death once again, a foreign, unimaginable concept for someone pulled from a different world sent you into panic.

Cleopatra, however, dismissed your protests with a soft, almost pitying smile, as though the your fear was a child’s naivety.

"Hush now," she murmured, stroking your cheek with a tenderness that only deepened the dread in her heart.

"You don’t understand yet, but you will. This is the only freedom left to us. The gods will welcome us as one."

Desperation clawed at you as Cleopatra reached for the asp, her movements slow.

You fell to your knees, clutching Cleopatra’s skirts, your voice breaking as you begged,

"Please, don’t do this! I’m not ready, I don’t want to leave, I need to be here for my siblings"

For the first time, Cleopatra hesitated, her hand trembling as she looked down at the your tear-streaked face.

For a fleeting moment, something human flickered in Cleopatra’s gaze, doubt, perhaps, or sorrow.

But it was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by the unyielding determination of a queen who believed she was saving her beloved daughter from a fate worse than death.

"You don’t need to be afraid," Cleopatra whispered, pulling the reader into a suffocating embrace.

"We are leaving this world together. You’ll thank me when we are free."

However, when the asp bites you then Cleopatra...you miraculously and barely manage to survive.

𓅁 𓅂

When you woke, the oppressive weight of Cleopatra’s arms was gone, replaced by the cool silk of Roman linens.

The air felt heavy, and the low murmur of distant voices sent a shiver down your spine.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, your body weak but alive, and saw a figure seated beside your bed, his presence radiating authority. Augustus.

His smile was unnervingly calm, his piercing eyes watching her as if you were a prey ensnared in his trap.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Augustus said softly, his voice like honey laced with venom.

He leaned closer, his hands clasped as though he were greeting an honored guest, not a survivor of a tragedy he orchestrated.

"You’re even more exquisite than I imagined. Cleopatra spoke of you so often, a divine child, she called you, her most precious treasure."

His gaze darkened slightly, a possessive edge creeping into his tone.

"And now, you’re mine." Your heart raced as you struggled to sit up, your body shaking under the weight of exhaustion.

Augustus reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a mockery of Cleopatra’s tender touch.

"You don’t need to fear me, I will protect you, as she couldn’t. No harm will come to you… so long as you remember who owns you now.”

[huntfeld]

A Jealous Heart in The Neon Glow

Pairing: Jinx x Reader

Summary: In the neon-lit chaos of Zaun, Jinx grapples with her growing jealousy as the reader's bond with Ekko stirs possessive feelings she can no longer suppress.

———

The dim glow of Zaun's neon lights filtered into the small hideout, casting the room in a flickering array of pinks and blues. You sat cross-legged on the couch, a makeshift workbench cluttered with mechanical scraps sprawled out before you. Jinx was perched on the armrest, twirling a wrench in her fingers like a baton. Her signature manic grin was nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a peculiar tension that made the air feel heavier than usual.

"So," Jinx began, her voice lilting like a razor sliding across silk. "You and Ekko seem real chummy these days."

You froze mid-tweak on the contraption in your lap, the question catching you off guard. "Uh, yeah. I guess. We've been working together on that glider project for a while now."

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the wrench stopping mid-spin. "Oh, glider project. Sounds riveting. Is he, like, your new bestie now or something?"

You set the tool down and glanced at her. The playful edge to her voice was thinly veiled, barely masking something rawer, sharper. You knew Jinx well enough to recognize it: jealousy. It clung to her words like oil to water, a dangerous undercurrent you couldn't ignore.

"Come on, Jinx," you said carefully. "You know it's not like that."

She leaned closer, her face now inches from yours. Her cerulean hair framed her features, the usual mischief in her eyes replaced with something more vulnerable—though she was trying hard to hide it behind a cocky smirk.

"Not like what, exactly?" she asked, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "'Cause from where I’m sitting, looks like you’re getting all buddy-buddy with him, leaving little ol’ me out in the cold."

Before you could respond, a knock at the door interrupted the moment. You glanced over, recognizing Ekko’s voice calling out from the other side. You stood, feeling Jinx’s eyes burning holes into your back as you opened the door.

"Hey," Ekko greeted with a grin, holding a toolbox. "Thought I’d swing by and drop these off for the project."

"Thanks," you said, stepping aside to let him in. The tension in the room shifted palpably as Jinx remained on the armrest, now glaring daggers at Ekko. She didn’t bother hiding her displeasure, the wrench in her hand tapping rhythmically against the leather.

"Hey, Jinx," Ekko said with an easy smile. "What’s up?"

"Oh, y'know," she replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Just watching my best friend here get all cozy with someone else. Super fun."

Ekko raised an eyebrow, his gaze darting between the two of you. "Uh, okay? Didn’t mean to intrude."

"You’re not," you said quickly, shooting Jinx a warning look. "Ignore her. She’s just being… Jinx."

Jinx scoffed, crossing her arms. "Yeah, ignore me. That’s what everyone does anyway, right?"

You sighed, turning back to Ekko. "So, about that glider prototype—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Jinx was suddenly in front of you. Her hands grabbed your collar, yanking you down just enough for her lips to crash against yours. The kiss was anything but delicate—it was desperate, raw, and filled with an intensity that made your knees weak. The world seemed to blur around you, the only thing grounding you being the warmth of her mouth and the tight grip she had on your shirt.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes locked with yours, burning with a mix of defiance and vulnerability. "There. Now you know," she said breathlessly. "You’re mine. Got it?"

You blinked, your heart pounding as you tried to process what had just happened. Unable to help yourself, you smirked and replied, "Yes, ma’am."

Ekko let out an awkward cough from behind you, clearly unsure of where to look.

"Uh, I… should probably go," he mumbled, quickly retreating to the door. "Catch you later."

The door closed, leaving you and Jinx alone in the electrified silence. You stared at her, still feeling the lingering heat of her kiss.

"Jinx," you started, your voice shaky, "what was that?"

She crossed her arms, her bravado faltering as she glanced away. "What do you think it was? I… I can’t stand watching you with him. It’s like… it’s like my chest is gonna explode or something. I hate it."

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in her words. You stepped closer, gently placing a hand on her arm. "Jinx, you don’t have to feel like that. There’s no one else. Just you."

Her eyes snapped back to yours, wide and searching. "You mean that?"

You nodded, your thumb brushing over her wrist. "Yeah. I care about you. A lot. More than anyone."

For a moment, she looked like she might cry, but then her signature grin slowly crept back onto her face. "Well, duh," she said, though her voice cracked slightly. "I mean, who wouldn’t fall for this?"

You laughed softly, pulling her into a hug. She stiffened at first, then melted into your embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around your waist. The faint smell of gunpowder and oil clung to her, mixing with something uniquely hers.

"You’re not getting rid of me now, y’know," she mumbled into your shoulder. "I’ll blow up anyone who tries to take you away."

You pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes, your hand brushing a strand of blue hair from her face. "I wouldn’t want it any other way."

The two of you stayed like that for a while, the neon glow painting your world in shades of pink and blue. For once, the chaos of Zaun felt far away, and all that mattered was the girl in your arms and the unspoken promise of what lay ahead.

———

[comatosebunny09]

nuisance | sylus

summary: sylus doesn't get drunk...does he? warning(s): mentions of alcohol, pet names, cunnilingus, somno, language, oocness, blue balls of the female kind music inspo: i wanna know - joe notes: @muvaginger i'm sorry.

Sleep won’t find you tonight.

So you’re not at all upset when you’re shaken out of bed by the ruckus in the hallway. And as you pad closer to the front door, you hear what reminds you of a hit dog hollering.

Or someone trying to sing.

The beginnings of a migraine throb in your temples. You throw your door open, and isn’t he just a sight for sore eyes?

There’s a familiar shock of white hair. Drooping, sunset eyes fixed on you, and he’s singing his heart out—or so he thinks.

“I want to know what turns you on,” Sylus croons, a hand on his chest and a finger pointed at you. “So I can be all that and mooore.”

You sigh at his impromptu dance routine. It’s cute. Really, it is. But he sounds like a metal pipe being dragged across the sidewalk. Regardless, you don’t discourage him. Just cross your arms with a quiet smile, leaning against your doorframe to take in the show.

His voice crescendos after the second ‘I’d like to know,’ and you wince, waving your hands frantically to get your boyfriend to keep it down. The last time he pulled a stunt like this, you received a discrepancy letter for the noise from the front office. One more incident, and you’re sure you’ll wake up to an eviction notice.

A sweat-drop beading on your temple, you grab Sylus’s arm and snatch him inside, all the while hissing for him to shut the hell up. He laughs like the inebriated, lovesick idiot he is, and you lock the door behind him.

“Hey, sugar,” Sylus slurs, propped up against your entrance. He tugs on your wrists, luring you in for a sloppy kiss just shy of your lips.

The door thumps when you shove him back against it. Wanna run your fingers through his tousled hair, stroke his reddened cheeks, and unfasten the last few buttons of his shirt. Instead, you raise a curious brow, hands on hips, foot tapping.

“Sugar?” Of all the pet names, you’ve never heard that one come out of his mouth. Either he’s spent some time down south, or someone’s replaced your Sylus with a doppelganger. “Oh, you’re drunk drunk.”

No, you didn’t stutter.

“Honey,” he drawls, all silk and satin. There he goes again, talking like your mama. He folds his arms over his chest, mirroring your haughtiness. “I don’t get drunk.”

On cue, his knees buckle, and the oaky scent of whisky on his breath fills your nostrils. He nearly crumbles to the ground, catching himself at the last moment. Your hands perch on his hips, helping steady him.

“Drunk. You’re drunk, Sy,” you chastise, your voice strained, and brows knit with the effort of helping his heavy ass stumble to your couch.

He falls unceremoniously onto the cushions, wearing a stupid, smug grin. You’re breathing hard and trying to quell your heart when he makes grabby hands at you. And, of course, you fall for them, snatched down to his level until his breath fans over your lashes. And you’re slowly wondering who, exactly, is drunk at this moment.

Sylus studies your hands propped on his quads for leverage before peering into your eyes, straight into your damn soul.

“Bet this drunken fool could still make you feel good.” His voice bleeds sex as he runs a languid knuckle down your neck towards the divot between your clavicles, driving his point home.

You shiver. Won’t deny how your stomach hiccups from the thought of it. From the prospect of his voice all muffled between your legs, and the lewd sounds of him eating you out staining the air.

You swallow down your fantasy, hauling yourself back to reality. Swat his hand away, fixing your nightgown.  

“Sylus, baby, need I remind you you’re drunk off your ass? I don’t get down like that.”

He leans back in an easygoing slouch. Gives you a look that borders predatory, blinking slowly with furled lashes like the cat who caught the canary. You feel the low gravel of his voice pooling between your legs, and you hate yourself for growing all hot like this.

“What,” he purrs, tone coy as he disrobes you with his eyes. “We’re two perfectly consenting adults, right? Nothing wrong with having a little fun.”

You heave a sigh. Reluctantly back away from him, ignoring how the frown on his lips makes your chest pinch. You tear through the thick haze of desire that inhabits the air to pinch your nose.

“We can be two perfectly consenting adults in the morning when you’ve slept this shit off, Sy.”

Tonight is one of those rare nights you’ve seen him visibly pout.

“Boring,” your boyfriend whines, hugging one of your decorative pillows to his chest, and collapsing onto his side amongst your couch cushions in the fetal position. You contemplate fighting him for not taking his shoes off.

Instead, you roll your eyes, fishing a throw blanket from your lift-top coffee table. Toss it over his curled-up body, and he kicks it down to his feet like a haughty child.

You bend down to kiss his forehead, to which he flinches away like he’s been burned by cinders. Can’t act like that didn’t hurt a bit, but—

“You’ll love me again in the morning,” you say over your shoulder on your way to your room. Shut the door behind you, slipping beneath your sheets.

You feel a pang of regret for leaving him out there by himself. Despite your body thrumming and your head spinning, you did the right thing. You’d kick yourself if you took advantage of him like that, whether he thought he wanted it or not.

On your back, you scrutinize the textured ceiling through the dusk of your bedroom. He probably won’t even remember this, you muse, turning onto your side to watch the door.

You’ve never moved quicker when a sudden spark hits you, and you comically wrestle out of the sheets to dart towards your bedroom door.

It clicks soundly when you lock it, and you’re unsure if it’s Sylus you don’t trust or yourself.

—

Of course, why the hell did you expect a locked door to stop him?

A gasp is torn from betwixt your lips, sticky in the haze of your room as dawn breaks over the horizon. Your back arches involuntarily, and you scramble for purchase of your sheets, mouth curved around a whimper.

There’s a hot pressure between your legs. Flat, textured, and wet, easing up the span of your pussy, pushing your lips apart in search of the pulsating treasure between.

You bite back a sound, drawing the sheets back to meet a set of carmine eyes glowing in the dimness. You thread your fingers in his hair, unconsciously pulling him closer, and he chuckles huskily, nuzzling against the fat of your inner thigh.

“Mmmm, told you I could make you feel good.”

Your lips work around a response, but he swoops in between your thighs again to lick you good, silencing any objections, and making your body convulse.

TBC on AO3.

international | masterlist | off the grid

[eupheme]

Your best friend Wade who always jokingly flirts with you the way he flirts with everyone - and you hate it because you have a real genuine crush on him and the flirting doesn’t mean anything… does it? It has to take a mutual friend to be like “oh my god he’s in love with you and doesn’t know how to tell you, so that’s why he’s always joking about boners” (please and thank u ilu 😌)

omg avo this kicked my ass, the amount of pining for Wade as he (jokingly, you think) flirts with you would be off the charts 🥲💖 I wrote a little drabble with how that might go, I love you and your ideas - thanks so much for sending this to me!!!

— cause every time we touch (i get this feeling)

best friend!wade wilson x mutant!reader

<1k | flirting, dirty jokes, heaps of pining

Blow job. Leg Spreader. Slippery Nipple. Liquid Viagra. Sex on the Pool Table. Pink Silk Panties.

Each time Wade comes into Sister Margaret’s - which is four or five times a week - he asks for dirtier and more obscure drinks.

"Wishful thinking", he tells you, each time.

Even with the roll of your eyes, you have to admit that it keeps you on your toes. That you look forward to seeing your best friend so often - tamping down the jolt in your belly, night after night.

Reminding yourself that yes, he got you this job, but he's not here to see you.

That this always was his spot.

It had been an easy sell. Used to working overnight shifts - security, back then. After the disaster with Weasel, they had been desperate for a replacement. Wade had come to you immediately, dropping to his knees as you opened the door.

Winning you over with a "you could literally get paid to hang out with me. How is this not a win-win-win? How is this not your dream job?"

And here, you didn't have to hide what or who you were. Reading feelings and intent were a bonus, when a handshake could tell you everything you needed to know. Their feelings spilled as easily as they were written, when you were negotiating contracts.

It also helped in-house. A human lie detector. Able to break up fights, settle arguments. A party trick, when things got slow. The regulars trying to get things past you - tales based in truth spun tall, seeing when you'd catch them.

Wade never plays, but you think that's because you know him so well.

And what seems like a sell, quickly evolves into more. Warping, as days pass. Spending more time with a crush sounds tempting, on paper.

The reality is something else.

Yes, there is a seat saved for him at the bar. Literally saved - his name scrawled across the vinyl, and you still haven't been able to scrub it out. Stopping by at all hours to chit chat.

Teasing you - how he's "so glad he doesn't have to stalk you at your old job anymore". An over-the-top sigh about being relieved that you're safe now - in your new job, surrounded by mercs.

Begging for the best job. Puppy-dog eyes. Fake coupons for favors that would make a sinner blush. Crossing his heart that you could have anything, and he means anything you wanted, if he could only get "that thing involving the murder clowns".

It's enough to make you hope.

Later, at home - in the early hours as you're pulled under. Replaying his comments. The filthy jokes and the shameless flirting - wondering if that's all they were.

Wondering if he'd be waiting for you tomorrow, perched on his stool.

But there's the downfall.

You see him - but you also see him with everyone else.

The charming smiles. Head thrown back in a laugh as he works the room. A friend to all, and as you watch him - perched on the knee of a goddess of mercenary as he yaps away, you can't help the swift current of jealousy.

Of foolishness.

It's enough that you're almost regretting agreeing.

Your mood is sullen, as you wipe down glasses. Trying to ignore the ache when you see him flirt. That realization that the something special you thought he had with you, might just be a part of his personality.

And when Dopinder shuffles from the back with more ice for the chiller behind the bar, it only takes one look at you before he's sighing.

"Not again. Please, I am begging you. I cannot take more of your yearning.”

Your lips quirk. Hadn't realized you'd become that obvious. He'd become your go-to, in the long hours you spend together behind the bar. Pinkie-promising not to say a word - but you always thought you'd had a decent handle on your expressions.

"We don't have to talk about it." Your hands raise, placating, "Just let me yearn in peace. I'll get over it."

"You know that almost half of what DP makes a month is funneled back in here, right?" He gives you a long look, "Before you, I saw him once a week. I had to beg him to come get his paycheck."

Doubt still lingers.

"Doesn't mean anything," You shrug - eyes dropping, as you help him restock.

"You do not think Mr. Pool worships the ground you walk on?"

The intensity of his question has you side-eying him, "I mean... I don't think he sees me that way. He acts the same with me as he does with everyone."

“Sure.” He huffs, leaning against the bartop, just as Wade plunks down in the seat in front of you.

“God, I haven’t been over here in like-,” Wade checks a fake watch, “Fifteen minutes? Feels like longer. Felt like a fucking hour.”

Pivoting back and forth on the stool as he adds, “Is it possible for people to get separation anxiety? Or is that just dogs? Is this how Dogpool feels when I’m gone?”

You just manage to catch the last bit, as Dopinder slips away.

“Exactly the same.”

Tonight, Wade is the first person that sits down in front of you for the game.

A frown, as you peel off your gloves - your barrier, to the outside world.

His own already bare - sliding back-and-forth over his suit-clad thighs. You'd mistake it for nerves, if you weren't so sure Wade had never been nervous in his life.

"What's your story, Wilson?" You ask, "Hope you brought something good."

"Oh, it's a whopper. A real fucking doozy. Apparently, you're not gonna believe it. " His laugh is a little too loud, and your eyes narrow, "But let's give it a whirl, okay?"

There's a flicker, behind the bar. A sideways look towards the bar, where Dopinder's hands cover his face. You don't need to touch him to read the guilt written across his features - the way he almost flinches, under your glare.

You're going to fucking kill him.

The sound of your name brings you back.

“Ready to play?”

Wade's hands rest face-up on the table - an offering. For once in his life he almost looks serious, and it’s enough to bring you back.

A breath - before you align your own. Letting them drop down, skin mapping against skin for the first time.

It floods through you.

The lick of heat that almost feels like a caress. A deep yearn that causes your own heart to twinge, layering with the feeling of need. Desire. Want.

It's familiar. It mirrors something deep inside, something that’s become as much a part of you as flesh and bone.

Oh.

A laugh slips from you, breaking the beat of silence. Relief tinged with disbelief - your smile stretching wide.

“Yeah?” You breathe, softening.

“Yeah.” He laughs, “Thought I was being obvious. But you are pound-cake dense, apparently.”

Hands flipping over, to entwine between yours. Letting that feeling inside him linger, settling warm and comforting over your bare skin.

“But I like that about you.” Another huff of a laugh, “Like all of you, really. Always have.”

It makes your heart ache. In a way that finally feels full, feels right - instead of the near-agony you’ve been bearing for weeks.

Only you could be such an idiot.

thanks for reading! 💖

[1920sladydectective]

Mhhhhh, maybe

-Ambessa x Babett's "Worker"

Or

-A captuered War Prize 😌

But also

-A Servant of Hers

Please dont feel forced to write anything, Just saw your request and wanted to give Suggestions.🙊💕

Hello darling! Thank you for the ideas, whilst I may visit them all I have done a captured war prize for now. It was supposed to be short and sexy but then it became..this? She plays the slow game and conquers the reader in other ways.

I hope you like it, thank you for the support <3

I haven't proof read it much because I am literally exhausted lol

MDNI 18+

Warnings - Manipulation, Mind Games, Captive, Degradation, Pet names, Reader doing accidental voyeurism, Oral, hair pulling.

Her Prized Possession - 3.8K NSFW

They’d come through like a tornado, ripping apart your entire life and feasting on the rubble. People had fled, terrified of the swift and unforgiving invasion. Those who remained were rounded up and tossed into carts. The ground shook, frightened by the fury of Noxus and at the heart of it all was her. Ambessa Medarda was renowned for her cruelty, her efficiency and most of all her greed. 

You were the perfect example of that. 

You had been pulled from your apothecary’s hut, cotton dress filthy from your attempts to hide. They raided you of your life’s work, people throwing you into a pile of frightened villagers. The air shifted, the soldiers straightening as certain steps commanded their attention. Without looking up you knew it was her, and fury burned bright. This self obsessed, pompous woman had destroyed your life and for what? She lingered a step away, sword raised lazily as if taunting farm yarn animals. You only had a few seconds, and even if it was fruitless you had to try. 

As others cowered, obeying her cruel words, you slipped your fingers around the knife in your sock and shot forward. Somehow it made contact, slicing a gash into her leg, trailing down her leg. 

“Monster,” You snarled.

You were risen into the air by your hair, a pained yelp leaning you as you stared into the eyes of a hungry beast. Golden eyes gazed at you, surprised and amused. You were going to die now, and she was laughing in your face. 

“She’ll do,” She said easily, throwing your body at the ground behind her, before wandering off with no sign of injury. Confusion had eaten you until two lean Noxian soldiers had appeared, spears in hand. 

Their touch was uncomfortably gentle, ushering you like a scared dog from the village into an imposing, structured tent. Fear licked at your bones, a fate worse than death settling on you like a thick cloak. Maids with pretty eyes and practised fingers removed your dress and replaced it with a soft red silk slip. Oh. You were a prize, an object like the towering pile of goods in their camp, to be used and discarded. 

It didn’t take long for them to chain you to a small post next to a large, velvet armchair. There you sat, resting on your knees on cold marble. You felt ornamental, your humanity dripped away as you merged with the surroundings. You could only be thankful that it was warm in the tent, for the winter winds howled outside as afternoon beckoned. 

When she entered you refused to look up, muscles tensing. 

“Sulking, are we Dear?” It was honeyed, as fabric dropped to the floor, “I wouldn’t, it was a good hit, if you’d gone up slightly it might have even done something,” 

Your cheeks coloured with frustration. You hated her, hated how small she made you feel, how effortlessly she had crushed you. Worst of all you hated the beauty she wielded. Like a serpent, blinding you with glittering scales as she wound around you, squeezing you till you burst. 

“Don’t tell me you’re ignoring me now,” She pouted, summoning your eyes instinctively, “There she is, brave warrior,” 

You frowned, “I suppose it’s not enough that I’m here, you have to mock my only agency,” 

Ambessa moved forward leisurely, in only black underwear and a robe, settling into her armchair, “I never mock a bold manoeuvre, little one, no matter how fruitless,” 

She tugged you forward slightly, your head forced to rest on her thigh as she poured a cup of tea. You grunted, staring at the rug between her legs as she intertwined her fingers in your hair. Her touch was kind and repetitive, caressing your locks as she picked up a book and began to read aloud. Adrenaline was drowning you but your anticipation garnered nothing. She stayed like this for hours, muttering to you. The fire and her touch forced you into acknowledging your exhaustion. Occasionally she would offer water, fingers wielding a crystal glass for you. It took five tries for you to accept, your throat aching from dehydration. You were rewarded with a scratch under your chin as her voice continued to wash over you. In another life this would have filled you with contentment and it grated at you. 

Moments later you were being moved again, picked up as though a feather to rest on her silky thighs. The hand she reattached to your head pushed you into the crook of her shoulder, her smell potent and warm. Iron and sweat clashed with spices and sea air, leaving your flagging mind woozy. You couldn’t escape and you had no way of harming her, so sitting in her lap became your only option. 

You hadn’t noticed your fluttering eyelids and heavy breath until your stomach growled, cramping at its emptiness. Her voice stopped immediately as the book slammed shut. Those eyes, now kind, surveyed you. With a melodic ring, a bell to her side beckoned two maids. 

“What do you wish to eat?” Ambessa asked, tucking a strand behind your ear, “I shall share whatever you have,” 

“Pork stew,” You muttered, desire for food and comfort outweighing your doubts. If she’d wanted you dead, you’d be a corpse. 

“A local delicacy, I’m told,” Her words are in your ear, lips practically against them. 

The food arrived faster than you’d thought possible, steaming and hearty in little gold bowls. Your stomach interjected again, eyes wide and desperate. To your immense surprise, she undid your shackles and allowed you to feed yourself. Though you were still anchored to her lap by a strong arm, this newfound freedom caused a rush of joy. The stew was exceptional, though more decadent than you ever would have had it. The chef must have had a heavy hand with the spices, no cares as to their cost, the heat flooding you. Ambessa seemed comforted too, her portion over double yours as you watched in subtle amazement at her appetite. It could have fed a family of four from your village with ease. 

Whatever plans she had for you, it seemed she would not be enacting them tonight. Your silk slip was a nightgown and nothing more, as she moved with you through the tent into an adjoining room with a large, fur covered bed. 

“Now then,” Her hand held your chin, “Shackles for bed tonight, wouldn’t want you wandering off until you’ve proved your loyalty,” 

Loyalty? That’s what she wanted?

The metal felt warmer than before, less weighted as she clasped it shut and bundled you up. Her form slid in next to you, though she mercifully did not insist you touch her. You did not speak, unable to give her the satisfaction after having to tolerate so much, though she wished you a tender goodnight. 

Your sleep was fitful, filled with slashing blades and burning embers. You awoke alone, furs wrapped tight. A slip of parchment was to your left in a sharp hand. 

I shall be away all day, 

There are clothes and some books on my armchair for you.

Mira will see to anything you need, 

A.M.

True to her word, a slight serving girl entered the moment you moved to the main space, trays of food and drink with her. She helped you dress, braided your hair and even undid the shackles. 

“Lady Medarda said this is a show of trust,” Her words were clear, as if dictating from a note, “If you attempt anything, guards will be on you before you can lift a scrap of the tent’s fabric,”

“Lovely,” You grumbled to yourself, “Her trust gives me the ability to lift a glass unaided,”

“If you behave she will bring your medical journals and allow you to sleep without restraint,” She said, a smile on her face. Of course she had predicted you’d complain. 

The book she had read to you yesterday was in the pile and after breakfast you found yourself wanting to learn its conclusion. Warm in the wool trousers and jumper Ambessa had provided you, you sat in the chair and finished it. If Mira had any opinions about you sitting in her Mistress’s chair she did not voice them, and the small rebellion quieted some of the caged panic that rattled in your chest. Her slowness to act just gave you time to think of an escape plan and then you could get away elsewhere 

The sun set quickly, your time wasted with dozing and books as you memorised each corner of the room. Though this was technically a tent, it was secured enough to act as a house, with the only way out being forward which wasn’t a way out at all. Lady Medarda ensured that. 

When Ambessa returned dinner had long since passed, and you had begrudgingly put yourself to bed. The curtain parted and her fatigued face came into view. 

“There you are,” She sighed, “I thought you would have dug a tunnel out of here by now,” 

“Cutlery’s too dull, no doubt a coincidence,” You found yourself quipping, observing the way her mouth creased into a grin. 

“No need for a sharp knife when your meat is tender,” She purred, moving to the other side of the bed and removing her outer clothes, “Did you have a restful day?”

She seemed genuinely interested, and not for the first time you wondered where the wolf had gone. Shifting your tactics in the hopes of softening her, you gave a muffled answer. Mollified, she curled up as she had the night before and fell asleep almost immediately. 

You were gloriously shackleless and yet if you fled now she would probably crush your throat before both feet hit the floor. It was expected this first night, and probably the second, a test of your resolve and patience. The only way to go would be when she genuinely trusted your obedience. 

Ten days and a camp change later you were beginning to lose patience. She was vigilant, but considerate and it left you now windows of opportunity. You weren’t a hardened warrior as she had joked that first day, you were an apothecary with nothing to do but lounge around and be read to by a infamous warlord. You were beginning to feel mad, a life of leisure so roughly thrust upon you. The conditions only improved with the move and her tent now had its own bathroom, a humongous glistening tub calling to you. Ambessa had begun to ask you for opinions on her expansion plans, seemingly wanting to preserve the charm of your land whilst overpowering it with Noxian glamour. WIth your input she kept the old churches and allowed your people to tend to their lands if they swore allegiance to Noxus. 

In a gilded cage, miles away from your home, you weighed the advantages of staying entangled against the bliss of freedom. The guards were becoming more lax, allowing you to wander through parts of the camp and make friends with Mira and the other maids. She had not harmed you, save pulling your hair that first day and you were well provided for. She’d even managed to tug more substantial conversations from you, even when they lacked a business element. You’d told her of your journey to becoming an apothecary, and she had explained the first time wore armour, clattering to the floor mid fight. 

At night, as rain slammed down and the wind chilled your toes, you would gaze longingly at the doorway and then find yourself tugged into warm, firm arms. Much like reading time, you were held and pressed into her, scent dizzying. She smiled, you had noticed, when she cradled you in her sleep. Each time it would wipe the door from your mind as you succumbed to a more contented sleep. Most confusing of all, she was showing no signs of tiring of you as a ‘toy soldier’ as she had affectionately dubbed you. Nobody seemed to understand why you lingered in her space rather than being given your own, perhaps not even her. 

On the thirtieth day things shifted. After dinner, a heavy dress floating around your feet, you slipped back into the tent and were met with breathy, loud moans. Not Medarda’s, though she was clearly the cause. Hidden by the thick curtains, a high female voice begged and cried the warlord’s name, the creaking of your bed audible. 

Your bed. 

Her bed, you corrected grimly, embarrassment sticky in your throat. The noise ceased almost immediately after you had entered, and your feet froze to the ground. A nameless, unknown girl slipped from the bedroom, meeting your gaze with a pleasure struck face. A vapid giggle left her as she slipped past you. 

Ambessa appeared moments later, robe loose around her, with an easy expression. It darkened imperceptibly in your presence, though you felt the subtle chill. 

“I didn’t realise you were back, Warrior,” She muttered, voice heavy, “That wasn’t planned, I-I shall notify you if I intend to use our space like that,”

Our. 

Wait, did she think you’d be jealous?

“How the mighty have fallen,” You scoffed, unable to meet her gaze, “Shouldn’t I be fearing consequences from you, as the captive,” 

“You’re not the one with a new leg scar,” 

Touche. She seemed to hold you on a pedestal for that act alone and you had yet to decipher why. 

It was made clear by the flurry of people that the bedroom was stripped and remade. It calmed you, the faceless woman erased from the space though you and Ambessa lingered. You didn’t care what she did with her love life but you decided you didn’t need to know about it. 

Unfortunately, it was hard to avoid. Trysts, people trying to charm their way into your her bed as you ate at the communal table and several conquests leaving that you had to face the next day. It made your stomach ache, fingers dancing with nervous energy every time she lay next to you, her scent changing every so slightly if she had had company. Almost another month passed with you on tenterhooks, stuck between the safety of your leisure with her and the stain of sin on your sanctuary. 

The worst of all had to be tonight though. You had awoken alone for the first time, colder than ever, when you heard it. Ambessa’s blissful sigh. She was actively being pleasured in her armchair whilst you fucking slept. Through a crack in the curtain you could see tan legs kneeling just as you had that first night, between her thighs with their head on her skin. The notable difference was how they devoured her, pulling dark moans and filthy words from her gravelly voice. It was hard to ignore, her scent drenching you in the bed you shared as she used another’s body. You tried to stifle the noise, covering your ears and burrowing into the bed. This made the scent issue exponentially worse, especially when the mattress dipped and her still sex slicked body curled against your form. Her lips kissed your forehead, the burn of her skin scalding you. 

Her pleasure haunts your dreams, lurking shadows and echoing noise. Close, but just out of reach. For the first time you wake before her, skin muggy and unsettled as you dressed in a robe and wandered into the morning dew. The grass was beginning to have that telltale icy crunch, cracking under your velvet slippers as you slipped out of the camp unnoticed. Your thoughts sit like damp coffee grounds, thick and grainy as you fight the memories of the night before, choking what they make you feel. It was not jealousy, it was anger to be sure.

There was no direction to your wandering. The treeline called to you with its snowy arms reaching high, animals dancing through the dense white landscape. Not too far in the distance there stood a frozen lake and a childish part of you yearned to skate across it, your body moving you unbidden. It was larger up close, iridescent swirls of nature showing the loose water below. It reminded you of how you felt about your life now, about Ambessa. 

Fear and nostalgia sat steadfast as your ice, hardening your resolve and keeping your wit sharp, but beneath was the flow of her. In two short months she had managed to nurture your underfed body and mind, relishing in your rebellion and cherishing your input. The warlord existed so clearly to you, but you could not reconcile her with the reader who brewed you floral tea. One stirred anxiety and the other calm. Picking up shards of ice and flinging them across the lake, you attempted to untangle the Noxian web within you. Sparkles of sunlight grew higher as you stewed, beginning to blind you as you stepped closer to the edge, ice grunting under you. 

“I’m not sure you’re dressed for whatever this is,” Ambessa’s voice rang out, her body leaning against a tree. 

You had sensed her, though her movements were muffled, form tightening. 

“Something troubling you?” 

“Just fancied a walk,” 

“In a robe and slippers?” She snorted, “Some walk indeed,” 

“Did you need something?”

“You, Dear,” She muttered, at your back in an instant, “I woke up alone,” 

Your heart panged oddly, her presence fueling the rushing currents under the ice, as you lent into her warmth. “Here I am,” 

Her cloak engulfed you, dragging you under as her dulcet tones rasped in your ear, “Let’s get you home, Little one,” 

Home.

It occurred to you then as you stumbled back with her that perhaps you hadn’t been a prisoner in a while. Here you stood, free and yet wishing only to return to the warmth she had made for you. 

A bath was drawn and you crawled into it obediently. Her eyes were shut, though she cleaned your hair and muttered to you about her day to come. It was peace. It was bliss. It was your worst nightmare. Cold receded and you allowed yourself to slip into a warm lull. 

She left soon after, leaving behind new pyjamas and a sweetbread. You stayed in bed, as confused and dazed as those first weeks. 

That night you were awoken by the same wanton sounds in the living room and your nostrils flared, fingers crushing the softness of your sheets. Your emotions flopped again. You hated her. She was vile and infuriating and brutal and somehow constantly having fucking sex. 

When Ambessa slid into bed this time, sweet smells of pleasure wafting from her, you let out a growl. 

“DId I wake you?” She muttered, a smile etched on her lips. 

“You don’t touch me like that,” It slipped out, fury and turmoil.

“Pardon?” Her eyes had darkened, observing you curled and tense. 

“W-We do everything else, you treat me as an equal and give me freedom, but you use our space for cheap pleasures whilst I sleep,” 

“I was unaware it was a pro-”

“You don’t touch me like that,” It was a whine now, “Why?”

“You’ve never asked, little warrior,” Her voice was sin, soaking you and tugging you close, “I didn’t realise you were unhappy with me,”

“Please,” You croaked, gripping her forearm weakly, “I-”

Her lips were on yours, firm and rough, her tongue slipping into your mouth. Pretty girl, she thought, delicate and hers. You melted like butter, nuzzling close and stroking her grey curls. She was perfect, and you finally had all of her. Her fingers danced along your silk nightgown, cupping a breast with a firm hand. Leaning forward, she nipped at your neck as skilled hands massaged neglected flesh. You were keening instantly, eyes glossy and lips parted. 

Minutes drained away against her ministrations as your thighs rubbed together, the burn beginning to hurt as she teased your pebbled nipples in her mouth. Your nightgown was wet from her saliva, and the friction of the fabric with her tongue had you rutting against her thigh. Bruises were forming on your neck, your upper body ruined before she’d even undressed you. 

“Please,” It seemed the only word you could remember, puffy mouth slurring it at every opportunity. 

“Again,” She teased, finally ripping your clothes from you, “Louder,”

You pleaded and gasped, each word heightening your arousal, your desperation, as her fingers stroked your folds. She was kind, allowing you the pleasure you yearned for, slicked thumb rubbing circles on your clit as she stretched you slowly. 

Ambessa felt a swell of triumph. It had taken her endless hours of uncharacteristic kindness and stern patience, allowing you to cycle through defiance, anger and acceptance as often as you needed until you finally succumbed. You were drenched and mewling against her, sex drunk eyes stuck to her. It had been fulfilling, breaking you in, just as she had suspected when she caught eyes with a crazed, dirt covered woman with the audacity to wield a blade to her. 

Tugging orgasm after orgasm from you, cunt quivering and tensing as you drooled mindlessly, she relished in her victory. Her power was etched into you now. 

“Silly girl,” She cooed, voice a knife edge, “I knew I could make you mine,”

Her words cut through the tingling fog. You realised, with a dizzying stab, that you had always been her war prize, she just hadn’t conquered you till now. Each tender touch and measured interaction was to break you into her willing little toy and here you were, fucking yourself shamelessly on her thick digits. You would have been more hurt, a flare of resistance kicking in, if it weren’t for the unabashed love and satisfaction in her eyes. Well then, you guess you’d both been played. The mighty warlord may have broken you, reshaping your desires, but she had fallen in love in the process and you would relish that till your dying breath. 

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just use me months ago,” You quipped, starting a slow and methodical worship of her scarred body. 

“You wouldn’t have wanted it, warrior,” She muttered, amused by your acceptance, “I am many things, but I only fuck those who ask,” 

“I want it,” You sucked her nipple, humping her leg as her eyes slammed shut. 

“I know, doll,” Her hands pulled your hair, making you yelp happily, “You soaked my hand like a good girl to prove it,” 

For a moment, as you curled between her legs and began to eat like a woman starved, you wondered if this was the right choice. 

Ambessa let out a noise, confusing to your ears. It was nothing like the others you had heard in her time with others, it was delirious and light, happy pants slipping out as you sucked and fucked her with your tongue. She came quickly, face blank as she suffocated you with her cunt. Her touch, despite it all, was tender. She was yours and you were hers. 

There was nothing more right than that. 

[yourstruly-caycay]

A "Loving" Husband

Yan! Poseidon x reader

Woo! My first time writing a yandere version of a character, and for the first time in forever I post something ehe.

Warning: yandere behaviour incoming

Synopsis: Poseidon never have any intention to tell Atlas, his son, about the inside of the golden door under the deep sea within the darkness. But, out of impatient and curiosity, Atlas bound to uncover the secret.

....................

The curious little boy finds himself in front of a huge golden door, a shiny one as it shines by the glimpse of the moon. He checks his surroundings once more to make sure he doesn't hear any doorstep near him as the window shows a scenery of the darkness of the sea. He sighs in relief as he's ready to find the answer that his dad has been avoiding to answer, “If this door is in this deep underground, what could dad possibly hide?” 

He tries to push the door, he keeps pushing to the point his face and hand turns red. “I can open it!” He courage himself  as it finally opened a little bit, small enough to fit his size.  

“Ha! Dad must be proud if he knows that I can open a door this heavy.” He pat his back proudly as he goes through the door. The inside of the room is exactly as he questions it, a room full of old neat treasures and artifacts on the shelves. Out of all the treasure he saw, he spotted something bigger. A beautiful and shiny marble statue of a life-sized woman sitting on a couch with a lot of jewelry on her and white silk dress, but he notices that the clothes at the waist part are ruffled, as if that part has always been touched. 

"Hmm, why does the ring seem familiar?" To get a better sight, he climbed to her thigh and sat on her. Observing the ring closer, he remembered the very same pair of rings in his dad's finger.

“But why is it on the statue? I thought mom was supposed to wear this? Perhaps I should try to give it back to her.” Carefully, his eyes focus on taking off the ring from the finger without realizing that his feets slip from the statue's silk dress as he’s hanging by the ring finger. 

Unfortunately, the ring finger cracks as his head knocks onto the floor. He rubbed on his injured head, displeased seeing the gold blood on his hand from the injured head. However, the feeling of pain is replaced by panic as he closes his mouth when he sees the ring finger shatter from the statue. In a speed, he grabs the statue's ring finger and sprints all the way to his room.

… 

By the next morning-

"WHY DO YOU NEED TO BE ANGRY JUST FOR A MISSING PART OF A STATUE?" 

The boy jolted up from the sudden loud voice outside his room, he immediately opened the door. His heart beats fast and eyes go wide seeing his father and mother arguing in the hallway with Hades and some staff hidden in the corner or running away because they’re too scared at the sight of Poseidon.

"WHY? I'VE WARNED EVERYONE IN THIS CASTLE NOT TO ENTER THAT ROOM EXCEPT FOR ME, BUT A HIDDEN INSECT SEEMS TO HAVE BROKEN INTO THAT ROOM! I’LL FIND THE FOOL AND SHRED THEIR HANDS."

"BUT THAT DOESN'T EXCUSE YOUR SUDDEN OUTRAGE LIKE A MAD MAN." 

“You insolent women-” Before Poseidon’s trident even near Amphitrite, Hades held his wrist and said in a stern voice. “Poseidon, calm down,” His eyes now turn to glare at him, but Hades still has the stoic face and staring back at him, “It’s just a statue, I don't know what's so special about that. But, if you’re still determine to punish the culprit, do it, but don’t throw the blame to the wrong person.”

And so, he put his trident down, his breath steadier and turned back to his usual stoic face, yet eyes still glare at his brother, “Just a statue? That statue is a prize possession of mine, worthy of my time to care for it.”

Hades can only sigh and shake his head in disappointment, meanwhile Amphitrite opens her mouth to say something while holding in the trembling voice with knees getting weak pressing down her fear as she stares back at him. The trident might not pierce her at all, but the sharp wind from the trident is enough to cause a scratch of gold blood to flow from her face.  

"You've got to be kidding me, Poseidon, everyone already fucking know that you're protective of that precious little statue of yours. I don’t know what’s so special about it, it might be more special than me, but have you even spared a little heart for your poor wife whom you married by your own choice? Why do you marry me if you never treat me like a wife?"

"Amphitrite," Poseidon said coldly, "Since when gods married for love? Just do your own job as a queen." 

Poseidon is finally out of sight as Amphitrite clenches her fist, glaring at her husband's back. "Tch, what did the statue do to make you this crazy?" she mumbles. 

"Amphitrite, I do apologize for his manners." Hades pats her shoulder as he sees her in a trembling state, she gazes at him with tears spilling from her eyes. 

"There's no need to apologize," she wipes her tears, "It’s his fault… no, it's my fault. How stupid and naive I am to agree to marrying him in the first place. I thought that maybe… if I become a good wife; a good mother, then maybe he can at least show an ounce of love to me like any lover does… what did I do to deserve this?" 

"Don't say that, it’s his fault for being immature." 

"Immature?" she snapped at him, "No no no, it’s insanity. I saw it in his eyes, the possessiveness and madness when the part of the statue is missing, all for the sake of that? I don’t know how long I will have to bear this. I can slowly go insane too for centuries living in this lifeless marriage, Hades, especially when the son he so much loved is not my own blood-" She gasped and closed her mouth, Hades got caught off guard hearing it.

"What?" He holds her shoulder, “What do you mean? Didn’t Poseidon announce to the whole Greek pantheons about you bearing his child?” Amphitrite isn’t able to hold eye contact anymore seeing the confused but angry Hades. 

"Mom..."Her heart drops dead as she turns in horror to see him trembling, the familiar uncomfortable expression when he has to witness the familiar scene many times.

"Atlas!" She runs to hug him, "Did you just see the fight? Oh, I'm so sorry to have you see that." 

"Mom... what do you mean?" 

"W- what is it?" 

"So, you're not really my mom?" His eyes are getting glossier each time passed along with his red nose. "Then, where's my real mom? Did she abandon me?" The tears fall as his crying sound is getting louder making her feeling more guilty, she hugs him tightly and pat his blonde hair. 

“No no, of course not my dear… she’s umm… she-”

“I believe me and him deserve an explanation from you, Amphitrite.” He glared at Amphitrite like a predator caged its prey, unable to let her run away from the problem. After a long uncomfortable silence, she takes a breath first and stands up to glance at him. 

“You both deserve an explanation… but, promise me,” she continued, “Don’t tell Poseidon, at least not now, okay?” He nods as she leads them to Atlas’ bedroom and locks the door. She sits on his bed as she massages her head, trying to find the best words to explain while the two of them wait for her. 

“I already knew Atlas when he’s only a toddler, I still remember the sight of Poseidon holding him…”

… 

~The night before the wedding~

To her younger self when she was still a naive princess, who was once frightened by Poseidon’s first sight. The way he always ignores her or glares at her when she makes a mistake. Hundreds of insults and mockery threw at her, driving her to avoid him even more throughout years staying in Poseidon castle as his fiance because her father thought that it’s a “good thing” for her to get familiar with him before the marriage.

When she’s ready to go to sleep, relaxing her tense muscles before tomorrow's marriage, the sudden strange calming sound arouses her suspicion. She opens the doors and follows the sound. All the way to the bottom of the sea floors. She found the source of the sound from one of the rooms and opened the door a little bit. Her eyes went wide at such a beautiful sight of the cold tyrant of the sea showing a small smile toward the unknown baby, holding the sleeping baby with such a gentle touch while humming a calm deep lullaby with the moon illuminating him heavenly like an angel. 

“Impossible, how can he be so cruel, yet gentle at the same time?” She mutter

“Women, what are you doing?” She jumped at his sharp tone, once warm turned icy in a split second. She slowly opened the door, welcomed by his unamused face. She clears her throat to not feel pressured by the awkwardness, “My apologies, Poseidon, I just happened to hear your heavenly lullaby from my bedroom, I can’t help but listen to it too.” 

She glanced at the sleeping baby, a smile growing wide fighting the urge not to touch the cheek, “So, who’s this baby? He’s just as beautiful as you.” 

“My son.” 

Silence came again, as her mouth slightly opened and eyes wide in disbelief. Unsure what to even say, “S- so, you’ve married before, then?” she frowned when he kept silent, “Where’s your previous wife?” 

“Passed away.” He said in the usual cold tones, but she knew underneath that  there’s a slight crack and irritation as his gaze now turned to the moonlight. Of course she passed away, or else Poseidon wouldn’t even remarry. However, deep in her heart she knew there’s a small crack discovered he’s used to love a certain woman, and now the baby is the only thing left of that woman. 

“Sorry to hear that,” she continued, “What’s the name of the baby?”  

“Atlas.” 

… 

~the night after the marriage event~ 

It was a cold kiss, but she received it welcomely despite his expressionless face throughout the whole wedding, but it’s okay. “It’s really okay, he’s probably not used to me yet. One day he will!” She patted herself. Emerald eyes sparkled at the whole sea regions and the Greek pantheon of deities and nymphs congratulated them, isn’t this what she’s been dreaming of? Marrying a handsome prince and living happily ever after? 

During night time where everyone has a great time of feast, smiling and chattering. While Poseidon were discussing with his brothers and several gods, Amphitrite was accompanied by Aphrodite and Persephone having tea together as the both of them enjoyed their little chats while she quietly listened. 

“Dear Amphitrite sweetheart, may I ask why you would want to marry Poseidon? It’s clear as day that he’s hard to be swayed by love.” Amphitrie got caught off guard with Aphrodite's question, she rested her chin on her hand thinking the perfect way to explain it. 

“Well, I’m aware that a god like Poseidon is difficult to read and likes to close himself off from everyone. I’m aware too that this is a marriage for political reasons, but time itself is impossible to read too, who knows it’ll take time for him to open up to me, and maybe I can fix him.” 

Aphrodite giggled while pinching her cheek playfully, “Amphitrite, I hope you can keep your words, I’ll give you the best gift if you can win his heart.” 

“Haha, to be honest, I’m used to being scared of him too, but when I saw him holding his son gently in his arm it’s like seeing part of the real him open up. How can I not want to win his heart and show his other good side to me too ?”

“Son?” Persephone gasped and stood in surprise causing everyone to look at them, “What do you mean he has a son?” 

Suddenly, everyone is freezed, tons of eyes now peered at Amphitrtie who was surprised too at everyone’s new discovery. “I- I thought everyone know that he has a child-” 

Suddenly Poseidon touched her shoulder and leaned her closer to him as he announced to everyone, “Yes, I do have a son… with her.”

Everyone including his brothers and her families are elated by the news, congratulating the couple as they continued the feast. However, Amphitrite snapped at Poseidon who’s still avoiding her eye contact, questioning his suspicious act… head feels dizzy as she frowned at the announcement. Suddenly, Zeus wrapped his arm around Poseidon and Amphitrite in joyous, “Congratulations on having a child! So it turns out you guys already did a dirty thing before the marriage, huh?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Congratulations, I anticipate meeting my nephew by tomorrow.” Hades shook his hand while laughing, yet despite the wonderful news, Amphitrite got left confused all alone watching the crowd in line congratulate them, leaving her deep in thought of her mind.

…

“Poseidon, what’s with all of this? I thought everyone knew about your son.” Amphitrite sat on bed facing Poseidon who’s changing his clothes to something more comfortable, once again avoiding eye contact with her. She clenches her fist when he has the nerve to ignore her question, “Not only that, but you LIED to them about him being my son in blood? What about your previous wife? How would she feel about this?”

“Don’t remind me about Y/n, Amphitrite.” 

“Y/n? So that’s her name, huh? Don’t tell me that no one also knew about this Y/n.” 

Another silent response made her more convinced, knowing this, she slowly moved away from him, his unreadable expression made her stomach twist. “Poseidon, why would you lie?”

What are you trying to hide?

“All you need to know is that I did all of this to keep her and Atlas safe from the gods’ eyes. If they ever discover the truth about them, I’ll gouge their eyes and shred their bodies to pieces where their mouth wouldn’t spread all over to other realm,” Amphitrite shiver at his calm tone, she felt her heart skipped a beat at his eyes finally made an eye contact, the eyes that threaten her as if a trident ready to strike her if she made a single mistake, “This include you too Amphitrite, just do your job as a queen and a mother, and I’ll turn a blind eye on you. Remember that this is a marriage that’ll benefit your family.”

… 

“That’s all I know,” Amphitrite steady her breath as she lies her head down, feeling uncomfortable with the silence, “It’s true, ever since that, I wouldn’t dare to ask him about her. I- I don’t- I don’t know why my foolish self is still trying to love him despite his undying love for his previous wife.” 

Tears spilled from her eyes, words unable to be formed as she cover her cry from them. “Why did I even keep pursuing?” She thought, but a sudden heaviness on her caught her off guard, uncovering her face to see Atlas hugging her. 

“It’s ok, mom.” Amphitrite hug him back with more tears spilled, her heart melt knowing Atlas is still calling her mom despite the truth. However, Hades is still standing across from her as he Massages his forehead, still surprised yet angry, but at his foolish brother. 

“Atlas, can you please change your clothes and go have breakfast? Your mother and I still have to discuss about… this…further through.” Atlas nods as he changes his clothes and unlocks the door to go to the dining hall, leaving Amphitrite and Hades alone in his room. 

Hades approach Amphitrite to sit beside her as his hand tap on her shoulder, “I’m sorry to hear that… I never thought he would do that.” 

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is. As his brother, I shouldn’t have been too lenient on him, he’s just using you for his own benefit.”Amphitrite shake her head, “It’s partly my fault too for not refused it and being naive, I was too scared by my own father,” clearing her throat as she jump to different topic, “But, about her…” 

“Y/n…” Hades humm, “So she’s Atlas' biological mother, why does Poseidon hide her from everyone? Out of shame?”

“Shame?” 

“Poseidon is a pride god, if he loves her that much, what makes him want to hide her in the dark? Have you ever suspected her identity and background?” 

Amphitrite put her hand on the chin as she recalled her moment when she was in the library, however it put a frown on her face, “I have try to search about her in the library, yet no books have had a record about her, so for now I’m assuming that she’s not a goddess from this pantheon nor a nymph.”

“Not even a nymph? How did you come up with that assumption?” 

“From Atlas of course, if Y/n is a nymph from certain creatures, he will have the appearance or characteristic of that creature, however none of it are in him.”

“Fair enough.”

 “How about you? Does the name Y/n sound familiar?” 

“That’s… the problem, it’s new and unfamiliar within this patheon nor any other places, never for eons have I ever heard that name,” Hades massages his head and sighs as the mystery causes a headache to him., sick of his brother’s antics, he stand up, “I will ask him right now, he’s the only one who knows the truth.”

Hearing this, Amphitrite immediately stand and holds his shoulder as she shakes her head, “Don’t! If you ask him he will immediately know I told you and will slaughter me,” she continued after steadied her breath, “Please, I’m not stopping you to research about her, but don’t directly ask him.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him about this too. He has been hiding this far too long, I’m disappointed at his oddly obsessive behavior-” 

“Hades, your shoes.” Hearing her gasp, he looked down and froze, seeing the crimson blood seeping from under the bed all the way staining his shoes. He kneels, and looks under it to discover the missing part of the statue — the ring finger — feeling the hard rock texture, yet when he touches the bleeding part, he shivers from the soft rotten meat and bone texture. 

“There’s a dead body of a mortal hidden inside a statue, how is it under his bed?” He frown, “Moreover, the ring on that finger-“

“It can’t be, that’s the same pair of rings that Poseidon has.”

[reverieblondie]

Raphael ravaging Haarlep while the incubus is wearing Tav's form?

You all are going to give me heart palpations with all these Raphael prompts in my box. This...this is one had me feeling A TYPE OF WAY! when I was rereading it, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Mouse

Raphael x Haarlep in Fem!Tav form

Word count: 1,995

Raphael is getting tired of Haarlep's little games; Raphael knows they have been with someone sneaking through his house. It's been days since he felt what he did, but when he demanded to know who, Haarlep wasn't willing to give away their secret…

"Aww, still refusing to play with me…" Haarlep coos in Raphael's ear. 

Raphael rolls his eyes, closing his book. He turns to the incubus, smirking on their knees, tail wagging eagerly. Taking a long breath, Raphael casts his book aside. "From my understanding, you have been getting in lots of playtime."

"Still irritated by that? Raphael, jealousy is not a good look on you." 

"Not jealous; I just don't like when people go through my things. Or when my things won't tell me what they have been doing…" 

Haarlep pouts, "So I'm being punished all because I made her a promise…" Raphael's eyes widen at the slip; Haarlep shrugs, looking away with a smirk. "Oops…" 

Before Haarlep can slide away, Raphael grabs Haarlep's hair and pulls them close. "Looks like you slipped…and if it's who I think it is…you better show me."

Raphael let's go and let's Haarlep get off the large bed. Then with a glimmering flourish, Raphael watches as his form disappears in the bright light to be replaced with…hers, "Mouse…" He can't help but feel completely entranced by the view of Tav's body beautifully bare to him. Sliding off the bed, Raphael takes everything in; that feeling, that sweet shiver of arousal, was from you. Little mouse… running around his house. Was she looking for him or something else? Raphael feels his heart racing at every thought, but then there is an unfamiliarity with the circumstances of what this means. A storm swirls through him: anger at you sneaking into his house, jealousy that Haarlep got to taste his mouse before he could take a bite, and excitement at what he can do for payback that will make you stir. 

Haarlep sees the storm brewing behind Raphael's brown eyes; they feel so satisfied with themselves, watching Raphael crumble from seeing your form.

"What's the matter? Surprised Raph-"  Raphael's hand is covering their mouth before they can finish. 

"I want you to talk like her…What did she say, do?" 

Raphael removes his hand slowly, and Haarlep lifts a brow before clearing their voice and speaking, "Well, this is a change, Raphael…" 

Raphael feels a shiver of heat go down his spine, It's that sweet voice he has been playing in his mind on a loop. It's like you're actually here, with him in his house of hope. All he can think now is how much he wants to ravage your body, to make Tav feel like he does…

Like Haarlep could read his mind, they reach out to him, your soft hands running up his silk robe, tracing his chest. Fingertips touching the hair of his partly exposed chest. "Feels like a man…" Haarlep drops their hands to pull the robe's tie, letting the silk material slip off him. His cock already stiff making Haarlep chuckle, "But I know what lies underneath."

A deep growl can't help but rumble deep within Raphael's chest. A burst of bright flames surrounds him, changing him into his cambion form, now towering over Tav's body. Raphael's large hand cups your face so softly and delicately, making the fantasy feel even more real to him. Leaning down, he whispers in Tav's ear, warm hand caressing their skin, Breathing hot in their ear, "Tell me what happened, every detail…" 

Haarlep grins and wraps their arms around Raphael's neck, "She was blushing so beautifully. Your sweet little mouse, she wanted to know how your kisses felt, sweet really…" 

Raphael slowly moves his hot hands down, tracing your delicate neck, "You cruel thing. You probably laughed at her…" 

Raphael brings his lips to kiss along your jaw, pulling your form closer to press against his erection. Closing his eyes, he focused on Haarlep imitating your breathing; it's perfect… It's like you're really here. 

"Of course I did; the way she pouted was quite pathetic. I, of course, kissed her with all kinds of passion; little mouse's toes were curling from that alone." 

Raphael grabs Haarleeps face and presses his hot lips to Tavs glossy soft ones, Haarlep plays the part perfectly imitating how timidly you had started in the kiss till finally Rapheal is pushing his eager tongue through the seam of your lips letting himself guide and get drunk on the feeling of your tongue against his. Breaking from the kiss, Raphael looks down at your smirking form. Raphael starts roaming his hands over your curves, his lips kissing and sucking against your skin as he slowly descends, listening to Haarleps hums. 

“You really like her…don’t you…” Raphael pauses, his lips pressed to your hip bone. He darts his hot tongue to taste the sweat on your skin before speaking, "Shut up…" 

Haarlep caresses Raphael's cheek, "look at you… You're practically on your knees for her…a mortal…" 

Raphael lets out a growl before tossing your body to his bed. Haarlep giggles as they bounce against the bed, eating up the rise they are getting from Raphael. Sitting up on their elbows, they watch as Rapheal crawls to your body, glowing eyes looking like those of a predator. Before Haarlep can say another taunting word, Raphael grabs your ankle, flipping Haarlep around to their stomach. Haarlep adjusts to their knees as Rapheal enjoys the view of your ass in the air and your cunt so slick. Raphael groans to himself, mouth watering at the sight. "I intend to devour her…"

"Oh, I bet…" 

Raphael lets out a small chuckle before leaning into your puffy cunt, placing a chaste kiss on your clit, letting his tongue slip to your dripping entrance gathering your want on his burning tongue. He relishes in the taste for a moment before pulling back and swatting your ass, making Haarlep jump. 

"Can she feel me…" 

Haarlep arches their back more slightly, swaying their ass, "I'm sure she is trembling as we speak…" 

Raphael smirks, amused, as he slowly strokes his cock, groaning at the thought of you currently at your camp, hiding away in your tent, touching yourself. Leaning over your form, his hot cock nudging between your slick folds as his velvet voice whispers in your ear. "Show me how she sounded…" 

Haarlep mickes your soft moans, “M-more…Please…I want to feel it AH~” 

Raphael moves his cock faster between your folds, getting coated in the beautiful cyprine weeping down from your cunt. The tip of his cock kissing your clit with every mind-numbing nudge, his precum sticking to your cute little clit mixing in with your arousal. Raphael takes his thumb and gathers the sweet release before he pulls Haarlep up by your hair and slathers it to their lips, feeling Haarleps eager tongue licking and sucking on Raphael's thumb, moaning for more, and they rub your ass further on their master's groin. 

Raphael pushes Haarlep back down; they mimic your panting breaths and your soft moans while they shove two fingers into your pretty little slit. Raphael swats away their hands before slipping his cock in you in one swift motion. It's so fucking wet and snug, his mouth waters at the thought of you right now…so full of him and so frustrated…are you rubbing your cunt on your pillow? Fingering yourself with two fingers trying so hard to reach those deep spots…Poor mouse, he would help you; you're his favorite, after all. 

Rapheals rolls his hips as he digs his nails into your waist, pulling to his tip and then slamming you back down, relishing in how Haarlep gasps for air every time. Their cunt squeezing him with every thrust. "R-Raphael, ah~ I'm so so full!"  

Raphael smirks as he leans down, keeping his pace, "Mmm, My mouse said that?" he questions Haarlep as he places kisses down your spine, his hands moving to your breast to pinch your nipples and tug roughly to get Haarlep to answer. 

Haarlep chuckles and bites their lip, "Well, substitute the name, but yes…I fucked her tight cunt stretching it to your cock, S-she st-studders, and ah~ Ah~ cries when F-fucked!" Rapheals rhythm speeds up, and his grip tightens. Your noises, your voice, he wants it for himself; he wants to witness your flushed face, your bouncing breast as he reclaims you for his own. Haarlep had you; now it's his turn; he will make the incubus watch from the side, then make them lick up your messy cunt when he spills his seed in you. 

The thought of your puff cunt dribbling out his thick seed is all he can think of as he keeps slamming his cock into your gummy walls. He wants to go deeper, abuse your cunt till your womb is opened for him so he can fill you up, "Gonna fill you up…fuck my spawn into your tight cunt…keep you full forever." Your pussy has his cock in a vise grip as his cock throbs his rutting driving deeper into you. Though he is pounding your pussy,  his hands turn to more caressing. His hands roam over your perfect form, your skin like silk, your sweet smell he wants to always have lingering on him, then your voice, crying out his name and moaning so cutely, it's better then any composition he's heard before.

Raphael feels his cock nudging against your would-be cervix; he brings his hand around to your stomach, where he feels his cock. Pressing on it, he groans from the feeling and your fucking mewing. That's when Haarlep starts to feel Rapheals veins pulsing on his cock, the sensation warming your velvet walls and threatening the release of their arousal to flood against his cock, though Haarlep knows better than to cum before Rapheal wants it…

As Rapheal's pace gets sloppy, so does his breathing, and so does his mind…

“My Mouse…you feel like perfection…” He licks against your neck, littering it with kisses and nips as his fingers come to rub against Haarlep's swollen clit, so sticky from your fluids flooding over them. 

"Rapheal, M-My devil…Ah, please..ah, please!" 

Raphael growls at the sounds of your begging, fuck, he wants to hear it endlessly, your sweet submission as he finally ravishes you fully. "Cum for me…let it wash over you…let me feel it…"

With a loud cry, your fucking your hips back onto him as you feel the overwhelming heat rushing through your veins of your orgasm.  Raphael cums right after you, his cock throbbing as it pushes out his thick cum deep into you. He groans and steadily tries to catch his Breath as his length stays buried within you. Whisper praises are sung into your skin before he slowly pulls out of you, his hand rubbing your stomach tenderly as he does. 

Raphael wraps his arms around your small form and brings you to his chest, his nose buried in your hair as the smell of the sex slowly starts to dissipate from the boudoir. In this moment of peace, he begins to feel your body shake, followed by a familiar laugh. It's still your body but no longer your voice from the vessel. Haarlep smirks, looking up at the devil, "So tender for the little mouse… I'm sure she would be very receptive to your…cuddling." They can hardly get through the sentence before bursting with laughter. 

Raphael goes to say something as he pushes Haarlep away when he senses something…a visitor? Haarlep goes to continue their teasing when Raphael slams his massive hand over their face shhing them. 

Everything is quiet for a moment before the sound of loud crashing and slamming doors comes from the halls. "Where are they!" your voice yells through the house. Haarleps' eyes widen in delight as Raphael watches the door in anticipation…his tail slightly swaying in excitement…. It looks like they made you hot and bothered, perfect.

[pbelfz]

Title: Warm Hands Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x Reader Includes: roleplay, abuse, miscommunication, degradation, domestic violence PB's Masterlist

Smack!

The first time Izuku hit you, you begged him for it.

You wriggled, bent over his knee as his palm warmed the silk of one of your cheeks. You arched a bit, pushing your ass further into his hand. He was gaping down at you, stunned that you just took that.

“Please… Baby, you can go harder…”

Izuku’s cock twitched against the denim of his jeans, painfully hard and neglected. You were so whiny and naked, right here on his lap. He bit the inside of his cheek, his hand stroking your ass once more before pulling back.

Smack!

That one had you yelping. He was still holding back, though. You felt him stroke your hair briefly, his rough fingers coming to wrap themselves around your neck. He held you in place by your throat, while his other hand spread your ass open, revealing your tight pucker.

“Oh, fuck…,” you heard him mumble, as his fingers traveled lower, spreading your pussy in the same manner. He sucked in air through his teeth, and you recognized it as a habit to try and calm himself down. A finger was inserted inside of you, and you let out the most delicious sigh of relief.

“Again, Izu… Please…”

Izuku was so fixated on your cunt, on how quickly you swallowed a second finger, he hardly heard your request. You wiggled your hips back against his hand.

“Spank me again, please…”

Izuku glanced at the back of your head, his grip on your neck readjusting. He honored your requesting, quickly bringing his palm down on your ass once more, mesmerized by the ripples it made. This one was quick and swift, full of intent and less hesitant than the first two. He was getting comfortable. You moaned, a sweet purr to Izuku’s ears. He plugged your cunt up again with his fingers, and you squeezed around him as his thumb teased your asshole.

Izuku fixates. Once he knew you liked something, he suffocated you with it. When you pointed out how beautiful the white lilies in the flower shop window were, he returned the same day with a bouquet of them. He’s made it a habit to give you white lilies every Sunday morning, placing them in a vase on your kitchen counter, replacing the previous ones he gave you last week.

You adored him for it.

Izuku’s touches were always so timid, so sweet. Temptation lingered between you two, the way it often did newlyweds. He liked to test boundaries, though. It was a bad habit he picked up from his U.A. days; first, on his own body with training, then with his work by getting himself involved with investigations he hardly knew any details about – and now, with you.

That’s why when he suddenly yanked your arm back when you wandered too far away from him at the fair, you almost gasped at how rough he was.

Izuku caught himself, quickly releasing your arm like it was hot to the touch. “I’m sorry… You were just walking too fast. I couldn’t keep up with you.”

You rubbed your arm where he grabbed you, confused. You could’ve sworn he wasn’t too far behind you, but you did become entranced by the prize stand at the ring toss. Maybe you did get a little far ahead of him.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Reassurance – weak, but reassurance, nonetheless. It was what he needed. He’d never grabbed you like that before, and it surprised himself as much as you.

You and Izuku were out on a double date with Todoroki and Yaomomo. You didn’t exactly know them too well, since you didn’t go to high school with Izuku, but you knew they were good friends of Izuku.

When Izuku learned that you liked it a little rougher, he became more comfortable with testing the limitations between you two. There could’ve been better communication, sure, but you were the one to beg him for it to begin with, right? Izuku was laughing about something Todoroki said, and you were sipping your drink, smiling at Momo. Even as you sat at the table next to Izuku, he kept his hand on your thigh. It felt a little dominant and out of character for him, like he was claiming you as his in public, and you liked it. He has historically always been shy about PDA, so you appreciated the development.

“Don’t worry, ma’am, you’re safe now. I won’t let any other villains harm you ever again.”

“Oh, thank you, Mr. Deku! How could I ever repay you?”

Izuku smiled. “Your safety is more than enough of a reward for me as it is.”

“No, no. I must do something for you, Deku! Please?” Doe eyes stared up at him.

Izuku enjoyed roleplaying.

The second time Izuku hit you, it was pushing the limits.

He especially enjoyed roleplaying when he was the hero, and you were the citizen he had to save.

Izuku smiled deviously down at you, as he kneeled on his haunches. He had his hero costume on, while you were half-naked on the bed below him. Something he noticed about himself is that he loved having control more than he was willing to admit. It’s always been the same since he was young: the way he’d replay All Might videos to the exact second to watch the same clip, or how he’d organize his bedroom, dorm room, and now apartment to ensure every piece of memorabilia had a specific spot and was displayed appropriately, or even how he maintained a strict workout routine that he never, ever deviated from.

“I… do know something you could do for me…,” Izuku muttered, peering down at you.

“I’ll do anything for you, Deku!” You beamed.

Izuku paused and stared down at you for a dramatic effect. His gaze made your gut stir, and you shifted on the bed.

“It’s… awfully lonely being a hero sometimes,” Izuku sighed, casually picking his nails. Your heart beat a little faster.

“What do you mean?” You asked innocently.

“I mean exactly that. It’s lonely. No one to share company with.”

You pouted. “I’m sure. You’re so busy saving everyone, but who’s saving you? Is there anyone taking care of you at home?”

Izuku laughed bitterly and licked his bottom lip, rolling his eyes. “No,” Izuku eyed your breasts before quickly averting his gaze. “The only one taking care of me is my right hand.”

Your cheeks burned at his confession. “Um…”

“You still want to repay me, don’t you?” Izuku asked, his tone suddenly quite direct.

You stared back up at him, hesitating before nodding. Izuku’s eyes flickered to your side.

“Lend me your hand,” he ordered.

You were reluctant. “Deku, I don’t know that I should–,” he cut you off.

“What? You asked how you could repay me, and this is how you can repay me. You said you’d do anything,” he began unzipping part of his hero costume.

Shaking your head no, you began to sit up on the bed, watching Izuku reveal the print of his partial erection in his boxer briefs. He shrugged off the upper half of his costume and gently reached for one of your hands.

You pulled it away from him, but not fast enough, as he grabbed ahold of it and brought it to his groin. He cupped your fingers around his clothed shaft, guiding your hand up and down himself, as his hips thrusted lightly into your touch. You gaped at his actions.

Izuku then pulled down his briefs, allowing for your skin to meet his.

“Deku–! You’re so big…,” you were mesmerized.

He sighed, obviously relieved by your touch. Izuku’s erection quickly hardened to its fullest, and his other hand worked to undress you. With his hand over top of yours on his cock, he helped you stroke him.

“God, have you ever done this before?”

You watched as your hand and Izuku’s hand moved up and down his shaft together and shook your head.

“Let me use your throat.” You looked up at him at that. He wanted to face fuck you.

He didn’t give you time to deny him. He crawled over top of you, straddling your face. He smacked his cock on your cheek, precum creating a string between his cockhead and your jaw.

“Deku, wait–!”

Izuku shook his head. “What do I have to wait for? You said it yourself, didn’t you? You owe me, right?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Izuku took the opportunity to plunge his cock between your lips. You moaned immediately, his hands coming down to hold your head still between his thighs as he carefully thrusted into your mouth. Your brow furrowed at the sudden intrusion, but you dutifully and meticulously curled your lips and positioned your tongue so that you wouldn’t choke or bite him.

Izuku thrust slowly at first, relishing the wetness of your spit. He threw his head back, moaning.

“Ahhh, fuck…”

He repositioned his hands, one cupping your jaw, opening it further to give him more room to move. He looked back down at you and sighed; the view before him made it difficult to control himself, especially as you gazed up at him so pathetically.

He shifted a little and pushed forward until he felt his cockhead touch the back of your throat, then he paused. He felt you cough a little, but you didn’t protest any more past that. His hips moved forward more, pushing past the last ring at the back of your throat, and Izuku cursed under his breath. You swallowed around him.

His balls brushed your chin, and he knew he was as far as he could go. He settled there for a moment and ran his fingers lovingly through your hair, as he gazed down at you. He decided he wanted to drag this out for as long as he could.

He began pulling out slowly, and you gagged. He paused, and you continued gagging.

“Be good for me,” he commanded softly, pulling your hair up away from your face. Not for any particular reason. He might’ve just wanted to do something with his hands, but he also knew it comforted you when he played with your hair when you sucked him off.

Izuku pushed back into your throat, and you coughed. Your face was turning red, despite you breathing through your nose. You closed your eyes so you could concentrate better.

Izuku pulled out once more, gently. “Shhh,” he cooed. He pulled out further this time. You used that moment to breathe in deeply.

“Fucking whore,” he uttered.

That made you open your eyes. A look of perplexity flashed across your face, but Izuku must not have noticed. Izuku began thrusting into your mouth at a smooth, even pace. No deepthroating this time; he would pause right before his cock hit the back of your throat. You were grateful.

“All you’re good for is for me to fuck and make me cum. Useless cumdump,” he spoke under his breath, but you still heard it. You were about to pull your safe word, but Izuku was enjoying himself. You’d feel bad to ruin his time, so you endured it.

Izuku fucked into your mouth, one of his hands gripping your jaw, holding you in place. His other hand came up then and slapped your cheek. It wasn’t hard, but it was shocking, and it definitely wasn’t something you two had discussed beforehand. You closed your eyes at the impact, and Izuku must not have realized that he made a mistake by how taut you went underneath him. He continued his thrusts, even picking up the pace.

“You’re finally putting your mouth to good use,” he moaned. He was close. His gentle fingers in your hair turned into a tight grip, as he held you in place. Yellow, yellow, yellow.

Izuku thrusted one, two, three times before he pulled out of your mouth and finished on your face. He panted, and just like that, he was the Izuku you recognized again; however, you felt vacant.

Before Izuku could even part fully from you, you shoved your way off the bed, placing your hands under your chin so that Izuku’s cum didn’t drip onto the floor. He got some in your eyes, so everything was blurry.

“(Y/n), wait, let me help,” Izuku insisted, quickly following after you to the bathroom. You sat on the toilet seat, as Izuku wet a washcloth, carefully wiping his mess off of your face. He saw the redness on the cheek he slapped.

“… Thank you. That was amazing,” he smiled softly.

You didn’t say anything for a moment. “It was good for me, too.”

Give a man that’s never had control over anything in his life a taste of what it’s like to be bigger than someone, and he’ll swallow handfuls.

Izuku became comfortable.

The third time Izuku hit you, it was out of anger.

It didn’t just stop with the sex. It became a need to push boundaries both in and out of the bedroom. He tracked your location whenever you were out and kept tabs on the friends you spoke to. You didn’t necessarily mind that part. He insisted that it was to ensure you were safe when you were out with your friends, so you understood.

Maybe you didn’t see the signs – or you did, and you didn’t care to address them. Izuku’s always been an attentive person. He had stacks and stacks of notebooks filled with critical details of all of the heroes he’s ever met, so you didn’t think it odd when Izuku began writing about you in a notebook. It felt natural.

Izuku had more control over his life than he thought he did, like what he ate for breakfast, or whether he helped a civilian or not. He bound himself to a moral code that only his heart beat to.

But you.

You were a woman who just willingly let him take more and more.

You listened to him. When you both entered a crowded room, he knew your eyes were only lingering on him. It gave him a sense of power that he’s never tasted before.

So, when Izuku casually mentioned how you shouldn’t be texting one of your male friends so late at night, he didn’t expect you to dispute the issue.

“He’s my coworker, Izu. He’s just asking for the email address of one of our higher-ups,” you told him.

Izuku frowned, eyeing you.

“You guys have other coworkers that he can text. He doesn’t have to text specifically you,” he argued. You sighed, still texting.

“Well, I can’t decide when someone texts me, now can I?”

Izuku didn’t like that answer.

“No, but you can decide whether or not to respond,” Izuku shot back, staring at you as you sat on the couch in the living room. Izuku had just finished washing his dishes from dinner and wanted to enjoy a nice, quiet evening with you, but having you on your phone instead of paying attention to him bothered him.

You sighed, shaking your head. You continued to text despite Izuku’s comment.

Izuku walked up to you and snatched your phone out of your hands. You immediately shot up from the couch, yelling at him.

“IZUKU! Stop, what are you doing?!”

Izuku held the phone out of reach of you. “I told you to stop texting him, and you didn’t stop,” he said simply. “So, it’s mine now.”

You stared at him. “You’re being childish. It’s my phone, I pay for it,” you were firm, trying to remain calm and not let your anger show.

Izuku scoffed, “Childish?” He put your phone in his back pocket. “What’s childish is continuing to do something I specifically asked you not to do.”

You rolled your eyes, “Okay, whatever, Izuku. Keep the fucking phone.” You turned and walked away. Izuku hated when you wouldn’t fight back.

He pulled your phone back out of his pocket and unlocked it – he knew the passcode. “Okay, so I can just delete your coworker’s contact and block him, then?”

You paused, glaring back at him. “Sure.”

“Alright,” and Izuku did just that. “Matter of fact, who else in here should I delete?” Izuku nonchalantly scrolled through your contacts.

“Izuku, stop,” you pressed, stepping back toward him. Izuku leaned away from you, thinking you were reaching for the phone.

You were an enabler. An accomplice.

Izuku hadn’t always been so insecure, so jealous – or maybe he had been, and you just gave him the means to explore deeper into this side of himself. Sometimes, it became too much of a burden for you to bear. You longed for the innocence of your immature relationship, even greater nowadays, as you reminisced about the Izuku that was hesitant to even grasp your hand in public.

You glared at the man in front of you.

“Give me your phone, then, if we’re doing this,” you stated simply.

“No,” Izuku laughed oddly, as if you were crazy to even suggest such a thing. He was scrolling through your phone, which wasn’t out of the norm of him to do; however, right now, it made you feel dirty and wrong.

It was a brief moment of silence before you lunged for him. Izuku was a professional hero, so this was objectively an idiotic decision, but perhaps he would see how passionate and upset you were by this situation and decide to heed.

Izuku quickly outmaneuvered you, stepping out of the way and seizing your forearm, holding you in place. His anger must’ve been simmering even hotter than what you’d originally thought because you felt a harsh thwack on your cheekbone, as Izuku backhanded you with the phone in his hand.

Your eyes were closed out of instinct, and your right ear rang from the sudden shock. Izuku was still grasping you, and he yelled something at you, but you could only catch the tail-end of it.

“–and I decide when this conversation is over!”

[spider-stark]

A CONVERSATION BETWEEN OLD FRIENDS

Gwayne Hightower x Septa!Reader

Summary - Devotion will never be enough to make the Gods forgive you for the sin of your existence. They will keep finding new ways to punish you.

Warnings - fem!reader, bastard!reader, septa!reader, mostly edited, heavy religious themes & guilt, angst, yearning, *slightly* ooc gwayne but mostly cause he's drunk and bitter lmao

Word Count - 1.3k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Dark obsidian walls glisten like the night sky as you enter the Starry Sept from the motherhouse. Towering statues stand sentinel around the round-altar, carved in the likeness of the Seven. Forever repenting for the sin of your existence, you often acknowledge them as you draw close—with a nod, a prayer, an offering. 

But not tonight. 

Even with his forehead pressed to the altar, you recognize Gwayne by his tawny hair, shimmering like bronze in the candlelight. His tunic is wrinkled, half-untucked from his trousers. The sharp scent of alcohol burns your nose, strong enough to smell it from across the Sept.

For a moment, a smile touches your lips. You think of lost nights spent by the Honeywine river. Skipping rocks on the water and drinking from a bottle of arbor gold, snagged from his uncle's cellar.

But nostalgia is all too fleeting, soon replaced by deep worry for an old friend. 

Cavernous and austere, the Sept echoes your every footfall. Consumed by a drunken haze, Gwayne remains oblivious to your presence, even as you sink to your knees beside him. 

It’s only when you speak that he looks up. 

“I’m reminded of a verse from The Warrior’s Edicts.” Armed with sword and helm, the God's stony eyes seem to peer down as you recite His wisdom: “Drink muddles the sensible mind. ‘Tis the duty of knights to remain sober-minded, to pave a path of rectitude so that all men might follow.” 

Gwayne’s voice is unusually hoarse, wavering slightly as he tells you, “You won’t find a sober knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“Perhaps that’s why there are so many indecent men,” you turn your head to him with a soft smile, “because none are willing to pave a better way.” 

Altar candles flicker, bathing his features in dim warmth. You note the faint stubble along his jaw, the dull shine of sapphire eyes. When was the last time you sat this close? It feels like a lifetime ago, now. 

He swallows, looks down at his lap. “How did you know I was here?” 

“Septon Halleck saw you come in,” you tell him. “Thought you looked in need of a friend.” 

In the years since swearing your vows to the Faith, the aging Septon was your only blessing. Between services, he spins tales about his life before coming to Oldtown—of a youth spent north of the Neck, about a pale castle surrounded by frigid waters. 

You tell Halleck stories about your life, too. He pretends not to notice that Gwayne Hightower is at the center of them all. 

Softly, you tease, “Though if he had known you were drunk, he might’ve sooner tossed you onto the streets.” 

Gwayne scoffs. Starts fiddling with his fingers, picking at them. “If the Septon’s life was half as grueling,” he grumbles, “then he would understand my need for a drink.” 

“And what’s so grueling about the life of a trueborn son?” 

It’s not meant as a slight, though a certain bitterness seeps through. 

Raised in the shadow of trueborn siblings, you know well of the luxuries they’re afforded. Watched as your sisters were swathed in silk and coddled with gold, freely given all which you were made to claw for. 

You recall a quote on envy that Halleck recited during your novice years, when your blood still ran thick with resentment: He who sits at the head of the table will still covet crumbs off a beggar’s plate.

But what if you’re the beggar? If the Gods gave you nothing but crumbs. Would envy still be a sin? Or a sign of injustice. 

Gwayne shakes his head. Mutters under his breath, “You’ve never understood.” 

“Understood what?” 

“What it’s like to be shackled by your father’s name,” he answers, frustrated. 

His thoughtlessness is a fist around your heart, squeezed tight. 

If he was sober, he would apologize. If he was sober, he wouldn’t be here at all. 

You suck in a calming breath, interlacing your fingers and resting your elbows upon the altar. Heat from the flames caresses your forearms as you utter a wordless prayer to the Warrior, asking Him to keep your voice from wavering. 

“You’re right. I don’t understand.” Images flash in your mind. The hazy face of a father who didn’t want you. You clear your throat, say, “But I know it is to be nameless, and I can’t imagine the shackles of a noble-name hurt any worse.” 

“Better to be nameless and free,” he says, “than noble and in chains.” 

You fight the urge to laugh, instead citing a relevant phrase from The Book of Reflections. “Those bound in chains oft discover they were forged by thine own hands.” Gwayne’s head tips back, groaning. Your lips briefly twitch. “It’s not your fate to be nameless,” you tell him. “But, even if it were, the shackles are of your own making—you would bear them all the same.” 

Drunkenness exaggerates his expression. Pulls his brows together, tugs his wine-stained bottom lip into a deep frown. “If I had known you were just going to quote scripture at me,” his words slur slightly, “then I wouldn’t have come.” 

You don’t let yourself wonder at the implication there. That maybe he had come to see you. 

“Why come to a Sept if not to receive wisdom from the Gods?” You ask. 

Gwayne’s stare shifts upwards, settles on the scales of justice clutch in the Father’s stone fist. Sapphire eyes begin to blaze like searing flames. “For forgiveness,” he answers slowly, without inflection. 

Hesitant, you ask, “So that’s why you’re here tonight? To ask the Gods for their forgiveness?” 

His head shakes. His fingers never still, never stop tearing at his cuticles. 

He holds the Father’s stare and, with a voice like death, says, “I’m here so they can beg for mine.” 

The pressure in your chest grows tighter, his words resonating with a part of yourself long since buried by the Faith. The angry, bitter part of you—the nameless, the beggar, the bastard. 

Instinct tightens your fingers, still interlocked. You look to those stone Gods. Feel an old weight settle on your shoulders as they look back. 

Strained, you ask, “For what reason?” 

Gwayne doesn’t answer. Asks his own question, instead. “Why did you join the Faith?” 

You think of the Honeywine. Of the last time you sat this close. 

Of a boy born with such honor, cherished by his Gods. 

Of a girl born with such shame, scorned by them. 

You think of the Faith. Of the passage that led you away from his side. 

A Bastard's life is a testament to the reach of sin. 

Tainted and tarnished, all they touch will come to rot. 

Tears sting the back of your throat. Unsure of a better answer, you tell him, “Because we all bear our own shackles.” 

As if comparing wounds, Gwayne offers up his own answer, too. “There was a feast tonight,” he tells you. “My father announced that I am to be wed.” 

There’s such hollow silence. Obsidian walls wrap around you. Starlight burns your skin. 

“To who?” 

Something tells you that you won’t like his answer. A soundless voice, a whisper on a phantom wind. 

Quietly, voice wavering, he tells you, “One of Lord Mullendore’s daughters.” 

A stone drops in your stomach. 

“Lord Mullendore…” Your mind begins to reel. Images flash. A hazy face. Silk and gold and clawing clawing clawing. “One of his daughters…” 

All at once, the air is sucked from the room. As if oxygen is yet another thing denied to you in the name of repentance. As if all your devotion still isn’t enough to purge the rot from your existence. 

Both soft and resentful, he murmurs, “She has your eyes…” 

You keep your fingers interlocked. Gwayne picks his bloody. The Gods watch. 

The path of devotion is fraught with pain. But fear not! Trials endured in Faith shall always be rewarded with Light. The Seven are just. The Seven are wise. The Seven are merciful.

a/n - Honestly, I just wanted to explore the internal conflict that might come from a bastard going the Faith of the Seven considering that, while they're welcome to become Septons/Septas, they're still viewed as being sinful and treacherous by nature. Additionally, the idea of a bastard being so in love with a pious, honorable man that she turns to his religion just feeds something inside of me?? like, her turning to scripture to communicate with him?? him beginning to resent the gods that 'cherish' him?? neither of them ever getting what they want??

anyways--all thoughts/opinions/feedback are welcome and very very appreciated!

[shalomniscient]

How does alpha!Feixiao act when her omega is in heat?

[nsft utc]

oh good heavens… the moment feixiao steps into the house and is bombarded with your heat-scent, thick and cloying as molasses, she’s instantly fishing her phone out of her pocket to fire off a quick text to her retainers, saying she’ll be indisposed for the next two or three days. after that, she’s beelining to your bedroom, nearly panting as the scent of your pure need coats the inside of her throat and lungs with each breath. aeons, she isn’t even in the room yet and her cock is already straining against her shorts.

she’d be a little embarassed, if you weren’t the exact same when she nearly kicks down the bedroom door. feixiao’s fangs ache when she sees you, curled up in bed, bare as the day you were born with only a spare coat of hers clutched tightly in your hand. the other is buried between your legs where your thighs are painted with your own slick, glossy against your skin as it drips onto the sheets. a ruddy flush has settled almost permanently on your body, from your neck down to your chest. you whine as she steps closer, no doubt smelling her own scent now hot and heavy with her own need. you release her spare coat in favor of grabbing directly at her, fingers winding in the fabric of her qipao as you tug her down, desperate babbles spilling from your lips nearly bitten raw.

please, you whisper, hoarse and needy, please, fei, need you, please it hurts, hurts so bad—

she shushes you with a soft coo then catches your lips in a gentle kiss. she draws the hand buried between your thighs that had been hopelessly drawing circles on your stiff clit, and laces her fingers with it. your slick is warm on her already heated skin. it webs between her fingers like threads of glossy silk, smearing over her palm until it’s shiny. aeons, she needs to be inside you, feel it coating her cock instead—

—but she restrains herself, swallows thickly, and uses her other hand to replace your own. you throw your head back, exposing the damp column of your neck as a breathy moan escapes you. your lashes flutter, wetting your already tear-streaked cheeks with fresh tears. you’re tight around her fingers, just the two she has up to the knuckle inside you. her fingertips massage your inner walls, their movement creating obscenely wet noises that echo around the room and reverberate in her ears. feixiao kisses the corner of your mouth as you arch your back and cum with a sob of pure relief, your free hand clawing into her broad back. she makes you cum once more, then again, before switching out her fingers for her mouth.

she eats you—or rather, drinks you like she needs you to survive. her tongue laps at your soaked labia, shivering as the taste of you blooms on her tastebuds. she sucks on the soft flesh, lips smacking before using her tongue to part them. she kitten licks at the tender, blush-pink skin, soft under her ministrations. her chin is smeared with gossamer slick. her fingers dig into the plush of your thighs, marking them with delicate crescents. she groans right into your cunt as your fingers tangle in her long, platinum hair, blunt nails scratching at her scalp by the base of her ears. and she moans when she plunges her tongue into your willing and wanting entrance, more of your taste spilling into her willing and wanting mouth. she noses against your pussy, inhaling the scent of you as you cream so prettily. the cloying sweetness coats her throat and lines the walls of her lungs as she breathes in, diffusing into her bloodstream and setting her veins on fire with need. she tongue-fucks you almost ruthlessly until you’re squirting all over her face, utterly brain-dead and messy with your orgasm, and even then—even then she isn’t done. her hands trail down the softness of your thighs to the curve of your ass, then she’s lifting; up and up and into her greedy mouth. she throws your knees over her shoulders, vaguely aware of the way your legs kick out. her cock—still clothed—presses against the small of your back in this position. she doubles her efforts this time around, alternating between sucking on the painfully hard nub of your clit and fucking her tongue deep into your slick hole. she bobs her head almost as if she’s blowing you, making a complete and utter mess but neither of you are in any real headspace to care. you cum again, predictably, with a howl of her name, heels digging into her back and pulling her impossibly closer still.

it’s only then, once she’s satiated her hunger for your taste, does she finally give you her cock. she slips in with no resistance at all, your entrance needily sucking her in. her body molds against yours as she takes you flat on your back, your legs rising to lock your ankles around her lower back. it’s a little basic, but feixiao prefers to take you this way for the first few hours after your heat begins, when the haze in your brain is the thickest. like this, she can kiss you whenever she wants, and watch the way your expressions blossom in ones of pure pleasure and relief—pleasure and relief that she gives you. she is less harsh with her cock, fucking you slowly but deeply, ensuring you feel every ridge and vein against your fluttering walls. her teeth worry the mating bite on your shoulder, tongue lapping at the skin there as if trying to taste the scent that bleeds from it. her hips meet yours with a wet smack with each languid drive.

you whimper and whine into her ear—feels good, ‘s good, don’t stop, don’t stop—and she rumbles low in her throat in response. you feel like velvet around her, so warm and tight that feixiao might never want to leave. the way you squeeze her has her groaning into your sweat-slicked shoulder, her breathing turning into ragged pants. she can feel the base of her cock swell; her knot forming rapidly as her balls tighten. and you must feel it too, the way she twitches inside you, because you lift your arms to wrap around her back, tugging her down into your chest, close enough as if you want to feel her heartbeat against yours. your hands cradle the back of her head as you kiss her, sweet as honey, breathing your need into her mouth. she swallows greedily, desperately, letting it settle low in her gut and making her buck her hips a little harsher.

knot me, please— please, feixiao, alpha, please—

and for all her strength as arbiter-general, chosen of lan, hunter of hunters, and merlin’s claw, she is nowhere strong enough to ever deny anything you ask of her. she bites down on your shoulder, fangs breaking skin, and pushes her knot into you with a slick pop. there’s no stopping it, then. she swells inside you, locking wholly and truly within you, and cums until she feels dizzy. her hips stutter and jerk, as best as they can with how her knot keeps her in place, and she fucks her seed deeper into you. you keen in response, clenching down around her, milking her dry as she fills you up with each stroke. a frothy ring of white forms around her base, and she feels another spurt of cum shoot from her tip at the sight. your heat starts to soothe as her cum paints your walls, the raging, angry fire dimming down into a gentle warmth emanating from your abdomen.

you hold her close in the afterglow, both of you lightheaded with oxytocin. feixiao rests on top of you, and you purr softly at the feeling of your alpha against you, the lines of your bodies molding into one. and in a few hours, she’ll take you again, and again, and again until your heat fizzles out and all that’s left is tenderness and soft whispers of affection.

[nebulaafterdark]

At The Pleasure Of The Crown (Part 3)

Summary: Aegon and his wife regularly visit the silk streets. One night they happen upon Aemond behind one of the curtains, the rest is history.

18+ ONLY MDNI Targcest, smut, polyamory

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon (Strong)! Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon (Strong)! Reader

Part 1 | Part 2

Over the next weeks Y/N finds herself in Aemond’s arms rather than the rooms of the pleasure house.

True to his word, he beds her and sends her off, with a kiss to her brow. “Good evening, your grace.”

Y/N hesitates at the open door. “How did you stop?”

“Stop what?”

“Caring for me, how did you stop?”

“Are you not well tended?” Aemond cocks his head to the side.

“I am.”

“You are in want of a friend, not a husband.” Aemond reminds her, “unless you’ve had a change of heart.”

“I have asked the gods for a sign, so they might guide my hand. My heart has changed, my mind has not.” Y/N swallows, brushing past him to the hall. She makes for her rooms, calming her nerves with a bath.

That is where Aegon finds her, dropping to his knees at the tub side. “I need to speak with you.”

The princess nods, bringing her face closer to his. “What is it?”

“I love you.” Aegon tells her, “and I have not behaved as such.”

“In what way, my love?”

“I want to help you in court.”

“You do not need to.”

Aegon shakes his head, “I do. It is no secret that I would be just as happy living with you as farm hands. Happier even, than I am here.”

Y/N nods.

“But I was not born a farmer. I was born a prince and you were born heir to the throne. You have such ambition, I may never understand. I wish rather to be here with our children.”

“I do not fault you for wanting to father our children. It is noble of you and I love you all the more for it.” Y/N assures him.

“I have left you so often alone in this.” Aegon passes his hand over her hair. “I will study the histories, not because I enjoy them, but because it is what you deserve.”

“I am moved by this, Aegon. Truly.” Y/N’s face softens.

“And if it is Aemond you want to stand beside you in these matters, I welcome him. You know, the Conqueror had two wives.” Aegon presses kisses to her fingers, curled round the lip of the tub.

“I will shower you in fine jewels and clothing from every corner of the realm.” Show you the sweetness of undying love, “bear you a hundred children.”

Aegon chuckles, “and I shall adore each of them.”

She nuzzles his nose with her own. “I’ve no wish to change you, I need you to know that. Aemond is not, nor will he ever be a replacement for you. You are my first love, you always will be.”

“And you are mine.” Aegon murmurs, “I did not know I was capable of loving, until I loved you. I still grapple with it at times.”

Y/N understands, pecking a kiss to his lips.

“Almost as though we were one before we were two.” Aegon laments. “My cock does not get half as hard for any lady. I’ve raised this matter with the maester.”

Y/N cannot contain the sound that escapes her, the both of them dissolving into laughter, until their sides ache. Foreheads knocking together as they attempt to catch their breath. “The m-maester-” she can’t even get the word past her lips without cackling.

“Hush, you.” Aegon smiles.

Before anything else, Aegon is her dearest friend.

————————————————————————

Weeks later, Aemond is asked to join Y/N in her chambers, he is not expecting to find his brother there, pacing behind her chair.

“I am with child.”

Oh.

“Do not look so surprised, brother. Surely you know how the act is done.”

“I…” Aemond trains his gaze on Y/N.

“I told you I asked the gods for a sign.” Y/N breathes, wringing her hands. “There is no clearer a sign than this.”

Aemond kneels before her, taking her hands. “This child will be just as much mine as Aegon’s?”

Aegon narrows his eyes, “that is the idea.”

Y/N nods. “We spoke about it at length, we would prefer Aegon tend the children while I am performing my duties, with you at my side. If you so desire. He is better suited than any maid. He is their father, their blood.”

“An honorable proposition.” Aemond agrees, “our children should be grateful for it.”

“Yes then?” Y/N asks.

Aemond purses his lips, “mayhaps I should allow you to wonder a while.”

“Rightfully so, if you do.” Y/N agrees, “I have made a mess of this.”

His eye flickers about her face, “I trust you will find a way to make it up to me.”

She smiles, “of course.”

Aemond pecks her once on the lips before rising to his feet and returning to his rooms.

————————————————————————

The ceremony does not take long to organize. So long as Aemond is good to her, Aegon is content. When you truly love something, there is little desire to tear it apart.

The children do not fully understand this new arrangement, but they are happy to have a second pony for rides and a spare shoulder to cry on when they are hurt. Aemond’s presence is a comfort to them.

He regularly reads to their eldest daughters, Dahlia and Visera, as Aegon and Y/N attend their young sons, Laenor and Aegon IV. Who are too little to appreciate such knowledge.

Aemond closes the book as they reach a stopping point. It is nearly time for dinner and his head begins to ache. “That is all for now.”

“Just one more, Aemond?” Visera pleads, clasping her hands together.

“On the morrow,” he promises, lowering his leg until she slides off his lap.

The little girl huffs, setting off to join her parents. Aegon welcomes her with open arms, catching her nose between his fingers and pretending to steal it.

Dahlia turns to Aemond, watching his family with a grimace. “I quite like having two fathers.”

“And why is that?” Aemond wonders, pressing a finger to his throbbing temple.

“Papa is the fun one and you are the stern one.” Dahlia begins toying with the strap of his eye patch.

Aemond hums, moving her hand away. “Is that what you think of me?”

Dahlia squishes his cheeks between her little hands. “You are always scowling.”

“Not always.”

Dahlia smiles and Aemond returns the gesture. “Now with your teeth.”

Aemond bares his teeth to her.

Dahlia leans away from him, “never you mind.”

Aegon grins at his girl, “Dahlia, let us ready for supper, my dearest love.”

Dahlia jumps down, wrapping around her father’s leg like some sort of animal.

Aegon smiles, lifting her and his leg with some difficulty.

“I’m going to lie down a while.” Aemond excuses himself, past the giggling children.

Laenor points to his mother’s rounded belly, “a babe.”

“That’s right, my love.” Y/N smiles, “should you like a brother or sister?”

The corners of the boy’s mouth turn down as his brows raise, in an expression so like his father’s. “Brother.”

“A brother,” Y/N passes a hand over his silver hair. “That would be very nice, wouldn’t it?”

————————————————————————

Y/N knocks once upon the door of Aemond’s apartments.

“Who goes there?” His voice carries out toward the hallway.

“Me.”

“Come.” Aemond purrs.

Y/N makes her way into his rooms, finding him in the tub, shrouded by soft candlelight. “We missed you at dinner, I thought I'd look in on you."

"I apologize for my absence, I am not feeling well."

"It is no issue, husband. Although the children did ask for you." Y/N tells him, "Aegon was forced to give pony rides alone."

"And he survived?”

“He was quite sore after. I slapped him once on the behind, like a true steed and rubbed his back until he fell asleep.”

“I am sure he appreciates your efforts.” Aemond drawls, “I hope to be half the father he is.”

“Even I am not as good a mother as he is a father. It is a learned skill for most of us, Aegon was born with it.” Y/N runs her finger along the length of his scar. The sapphire long removed in his discomfort.

“Come to this side. I want to see you.”

Y/N shuffles to the opposite side of the tub.

“I hope I have not repulsed you with-”

Y/N huffs, “I would lave it with my tongue, if you allow me.”

“There are many places I’d rather be laved, wife.”

Y/N leans into his hand as it comes up to the side of her face.

“Join me, I wish to say hello to our little dragon.”

“Surely that is your motivation.” She arches a brow, tugging at the laces of her gown.

Aemond cocks his head to the side. “If you were wed to the fairest princess in the Seven Kingdoms, you would understand. You are not a want, you are a need.”

Y/N sighs, climbing into the tub. “So long as you do not touch my breasts, I will not complain. They are terribly painful.”

“Mayhaps the water will help.” Aemond makes room for her, between his legs. Resting with her back to his chest, he lies one hand upon her belly, the other stroking her hair.

“Nothing helps.”

Beneath his splayed fingers, Aemond feels the child stir against his palm. “You need no more heirs.”

“I should like to bear you a child.” She admits, with a hand over his.

“You are.” He assures her, “if it is Aegon’s or mine, this child is all I need.”

“I do not foresee an absence of love making in my future.”

“There is always moon tea.”

“You do not wish for more children?”

“I do not wish for you to suffer.” He brushes the underside of her breast with his thumb, and she hisses. “Turn around for me.”

Y/N shuffles around, straddling his hips. Tracing gently along his scar, “is this what troubles you?”

“It aches from time to time.”

She rubs lightly at his temples, “when my head aches, Aegon does this for me. I find it helps.”

Aemond hums, allowing his eyes to close, she kisses along his brow. Dulling the throbbing pain, until he chases her lips with his own.

The princess smiles against his mouth as his hand moves lower, past her belly to cup her sex.

He slips a finger inside, his cock standing at attention.

“Please.”

“You will have everything you want.” He vows, lifting her hips carefully to position himself at her entrance.

She takes him to the hilt, stinging at the stretch. “Fuck.”

“I know, sweetling.” Aemond breathes. “Must be torturous; so loved by anyone to ever know you. What magic are you made of?”

Y/N leans toward him, panting into his mouth, brows furrowed as she rocks against him. “I do not know.”

He traces her parted lips with his thumb. “We’re going to be a proper family. Like the conquerors, the three of us together. All this child will know is love. Mine and Aegon’s.”

“Thank you.”

“My only request is that you visit me more than one night to his ten.”

Y/N huffs a laugh, “you will be no Visenya. Sooner than late, it will be our story they tell. Mayhaps we should join our beds together, make room for all of us.”

“So long as Aegon does not touch me,” Aemond agrees, “I will surely heave.”

“His thoughts are much the same.”

Droplets of water cling to her skin, falling from her nipples so sweetly Aemond finds it a crime not to feast upon them. “We must renegotiate the terms of your breasts.”

She whines, allowing him to cup them in his hands. “Please, Aemond.”

“Shh,” he draws her nearer, taking her nipple into his mouth.

She claws at his shoulders as his tongue flicks over the hardened peak. “I will die.”

Aemond hums, low in his throat, feeling her come undone. Wailing as her cunt pulses sinfully around him. “Mērī mirrī morghon syt ao, dōna riña.” Only a little death for you, sweet girl.

Y/N brings an arm across to cover her breasts, after returning from her voyage to the stars. “They hurt, you awful man.” She frowns.

“I could not help myself.” Aemond uses his hold on her hips to keep her moving, until he empties his spend.

When he is finished Y/N reaches out of the tub for her dress.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I brought you something,” Y/N remembers. Catching the jewels between her fingers; an emerald and a ruby, shimmer against her palm. “This is all they had for now, but I have requested a diamond and there is also a purple stone, I can’t recall the name of.”

“For me?” Aemond blinks at her.

“All custom cut, of the finest quality.” Y/N tells him. “I thought you might like to try something new.”

“Do you not like the sapphire? You never wear your necklace.”

“I love the sapphire and my necklace.” Which Aegon went to great lengths to repair. “This is merely a gift, to show love and appreciation for you, my lord husband.”

“Love?” Aemond’s eye finds hers.

Y/N nods.

Series Taglist : @oh-you-mean-me @callsignwidow @iliterallyhavenoideawhattosay @cluz1babe @visenyareads @kiwibaekie @niyahnotnia @janelongxox @captainlunaxmen @prettyduckling22

[caladblog]

A BASIC GUIDE TO VICTORIAN CLOTHING, FOR FANDOMS

wherein VICTORIAN CLOTHING is understood to mean "common clothing from the 1830s to the end of the century, in fashion as set by London and followed to a greater or lesser extent in the rest of the British empire"

This is very much meant as a starting point or a cheat sheet, not a comprehensive historical essay, for people who want to know what the Fuck is happening under that morning coat and/or dress the size of a kitchen table. I've also included a little bit on likely materials and colors so you can add some texture to your fics.

Here's the rule of thumb: Victorians loved LAYERS, BUTTONS, and DECORATIVE SHIT. When in doubt, slap several layers of clothing on your guy, button 'em all together, and flourish the hell out of the top layer. Congrats, you have dressed a Victorian.

Read on for details! And check my reblogs for a note on trans characters. A Part 2 on Mending/Laundry is in the works, because it had a much bigger impact on Victorian dress at all levels of society than it does on modern fashion and I think it's worth talking about.

UNDERWEAR FOR MEN:

a warm and comfortable and easily washable undershirt (typically called a vest) with sleeves that went down to the wrist

drawers, also warm and comfortable and easily washable and covering the whole legs, fastened with buttons or ties at the waist and ankles

pair of socks

If you cover your whole body in this base layer made of undyed, unfashionable, who-cares-if-it's-stained fabric, the sweat and dirt of your body stays on this easily-washable layer and spares the outer layers of clothing that would be damaged by hot water and soaps, or at least that was the philosophy.

The most common fabric for this underwear was flannel, as it was cheap and fairly soft. Bands of cotton could be stitched to the inside of the wrists, ankles, waists, and collar if you found the wool itchy. Socks were almost always knitted wool, holes or thin spots mended with darning whether you were poor or rich.

UNDERWEAR FOR WOMEN:

the chemise / shift: a simple, short-sleeved cotton tube that fell to the mid-thigh

other underwear requires a bit of a history lesson, sorry. At the beginning of the century, you wore like 85 petticoats and no bloomers. Then crinolines--a sort of metal cage skirt that held your dress away from your body to obtain the fashionable wide silhouette--were invented in the 1850s. It was great, because they replaced 30lbs of underskirts, but also inconvenient, in that hoops of steel are inherently bouncy. To preserve modesty (and also warmth) women began wearing bloomers, open in the middle and buttoning at the waist and either at or below the knee. These were also made of plain cotton and only occasionally decorated with a bit of lace-- for all your underthings, male or female, you wanted to be able to 1) make a bunch of sets quickly and cheaply so you could change every day without needing to launder as often and 2) use cloth that could be laundered easily.

stockings were longer and more decorative than men's socks, made of wool, cotton, or silk. White was popular at the beginning of the century, but bright colors and patterns became fashionable in the middle, and conservative black stockings dominated the end of the era. Wool fabrics were the most common, warmest, and cheapest; silk stockings were for very wealthy and fashionable women as they required the most care. Near the end of the century stockings were suspended from the corset, but up til that point stockings were held up by garters tied above the knee.

MIDDLE LAYERS FOR MEN:

shirts, with much longer tails than the button-up shirts we're used to, with a buttoned slit that only went about halfway down the chest rather than all the way down the front of the garment. Lots of volume in the sleeve around the armpit, buttoned up at the cuff. At the beginning of the period, rich men's shirts were checked or patterned while working men's shirts were white(ish), but this swapped over the course of the century as colored fabric became cheaper. (It hides stains better.) The gentleman's shirt from midcentury onward was a crisp, bright white.

As a middle layer, parts of it (like the cuffs and front) could be seen in public, but you absolutely could not go out without a waistcoat and jacket. You only removed your jacket and showed your shirtsleeves at the end of the day, amongst your family.

Trousers were held up by braces / suspenders that went over the shoulders, not belts that fastened around the waist, and you did NOT let them show. They were meant to be covered entirely by waistcoats.

MIDDLE LAYERS FOR WOMEN:

As a very carefully tailored and shaped garment that couldn't really be washed, corsets went over the shift. All women wore them, even laborers, even prisoners and people in workhouses as part of their (institution-provided and deliberately demeaning) uniform. They were viewed as necessary armor to support your weak internal organs, and the physically upright posture they created went hand in hand with moral uprightness in the Victorian mind. They could lace up in the front or back, and the boning could be made of steel (cheap and sturdy) or whalebone (springier and therefore a bit more comfortable) or wood (if you are truly broke AF) or even just stiff cord (mostly for young girls, in which they were called stays).

camisoles (also called vests or corset covers) were tailored shirts worn over the corset, and could be either extremely decorative with embroidery and lace or plainer and made for warmth.

then you've got the crinoline, tied at the waist, a skirt made of steel hoops as already described.

then a couple of petticoats, decorated at the hem for fashion, layered for warmth and to hide the crinoline's hoops.

OUTERWEAR FOR MEN:

trousers, made of cotton or wool. The big differences between Victorian trousers and today's are 1) zippers hadn't been invented yet, the flies were buttoned and 2) the modern waist sits around the hipbones, while the Victorian waist was at the bottom of the ribcage.

jackets, made of thick heavily felted wool that was decently wind- and rain-proof. Darker colors in jackets and trousers lasted longer, so light-colored cloth was mostly worn by the young and rich (or those who wanted to look rich) and flashy.

waistcoats were where the fashion REALLY was. As the back was always made of plain cotton not meant to be seen, even poor men could often afford the cost of the fabric needed to make a neat waistcoat. The front could be made of embroidered silk for luxury, wool for added warmth, or printed cotton making full use of the brilliantly-colored (and relatively cheap) dyes that had just been invented. It's a little bit like people today wearing simple suits and shirts paired with wild socks.

OUTERWEAR FOR WOMEN:

and here you finally get to the f*cking dress. I couldn't possibly go into all the variations on dresses in this era, but I can say that bright colors and patterns were common for women of all classes (but were also part of the ever-present anxiety about people acting "above their station", if a maid dressed too fashionably). The design of the sleeves and the decoration of the hems changed regularly with fashion, as did the precise shape of the feminine silhouette, but the bodice was always tight and the skirts were always full. The average woman would spend more money on flourishes--ribbons, lace, other trimmings--than the dress itself, largely because the average level of skill in sewing was so high that they mostly bought the fabric for the dress and cut & sewed it themselves.

ACCESSORIES FOR MEN:

the collar was not an integral part of the shirt! It was detachable and had to be washed, starched, and ironed separately. Laborers didn't wear them, just a loosely-tied cloth around their neck, but a stand-up collar was necessary for anyone working in a business setting whether you're rich or making really terrible clerk's wages. Turned-down collars like the ones on most of our shirts today were informal and for wealthy men at leisure.

a stock or necktie, ideally black silk. Modern neckties weren't around yet, but the century moved slowly towards that and away from cravats.

gloves. Especially when status was a concern, so, men outside the home not engaged in business and servants waiting on their masters. These were tight-fitting, pale in color, and damn near impossible to launder and mend.

ACCESSORIES FOR WOMEN:

a shawl, often. Your lower half would be covered in stockings and plentiful skirts, while your upper half would only have a few layers that were usually made of cotton, so freezing your tits off was unfortunately common.

gloves. Like men's gloves, these were also status symbols worn when visiting your acquaintances or waiting on your masters. The vast vast majority of servants were women, and the rough labor of washing and cleaning fell to them, so these gloves also covered the evidence of that rough work.

HATS/BONNETS:

Everybody wore a hat when out in public. It's just what you did. The type of hat varied based on fashion, occupation, and social standing, but you had SOME kind of thing on your head when you left the house.

SOME SPECIFIC CLOTHES:

Fishermen wore knitted jumpers instead of jackets. Laborers out in the country (muddy when it rained, dusty when it didn't) wore gaiters, which were basically just rectangles or tubes of cheap-ass sacking that tied around the ankle and below the knee to keep the mud / dust off their trousers. Surgeons and people who worked a lot with ink (clerks, stationers) had sleeves, which were tubes of canvas that tied around the wrist and elbow to protect their shirtsleeves. The advantage of sleeves and gaiters is that you can remove them, toss them in a bucket of water, and beat the shit out of them to wash them without worrying about rips or tears OR getting the stains (mud, ink, blood, etc) onto your other clothes.

Maids and other laborers didn't wear crinolines, but they did wear a corset and a couple of petticoats under their dress.

More prosperous laborers might still own a collar / crinoline, but only wear it to church on Sundays or other occasions that called for nice dress.

When at home and not working or entertaining visitors, both men and women would wear slippers that could be super fancy or very simple or your kid's first sewing project, etc etc. Depends on your preference.

Men would sleep in long, loose nightshirts and women would sleep in long, loose nightdresses. Practically speaking there wasn't much difference between these garments; both might be decorated a bit with embroidery or lace. Rich people would have finer fabrics, fashionable people would have more decoration, poor people might just sleep in whatever combination of day clothes is the most comfortable. Fairly straightforward.

TO RECAP

MEN: vest + drawers + socks > shirt > trousers + braces + collar > waistcoat + stock or necktie > jacket + shoes or boots > hat

WOMEN: shift + bloomers (optional) + stockings > corset > camisole > crinoline > petticoats (minimum 2) > dress > shawl > shoes + bonnet

===

SOURCES

How to Be a Victorian, by Ruth Goodman

Inside the Victorian Home, by Judith Flanders

Episode 342 of Antiques Freaks, Historical Costuming for The Terror (2018)-- the first ~8 minutes talk about men's clothes in general, then they go into naval uniforms until minute 15ish.

[starcrossed-lov3rz]

The Vow Spoken Through Time - Part 7

Daemon x Rhaenyra x Wife!Reader

Series: Series Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, FILTH, SMUT, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving), praise, degradation, slight d/s vibes, spanking, thigh riding, bondage, ropes, Slight!Brat!Reader, Dom!Rhaenyra, Dom!Daemon, Daemon has a rope collection bc I said so

Tags: marriage, poly relationship, Daemon being hopelessly in love with his wives, Queen!Rhaenyra

Words: 2.1K

Description: Y/N is having a rough morning. She's fired. She's hungover. She's in a stranger's bed. She's waking up in a new world? She's married?!

Rhaenyra and Daemon's day started normal. Waking up next to their darling wife before tending to their duties. The difference? Their wife is speaking in riddles and has no memories of them.

Check out more works in my Masterlist!

“If you didn’t make such lovely noises, I would gag you for that comment, issa jorrāelagon?” Daemon hums humorlessly. [my love]

“Daemon please,” you beg, pulling uselessly against the soft hemp ropes. Daemon had waited for you to finish your bath before ordering you to kneel on bed. He tied a silk blindfold around your head, cutting off your sight before tying you up. You could barely pick out his deft steps as he flitted around the room to find the softer rope in his collection. The ropes wound around your torso, and although you couldn’t see them, you could feel the grounding pressure from each intricate knot. Your arms were only bound at the wrist, giving Daemon the freedom to move you around and tie them where he wished. Right now, he had the rope rigged to the ceiling above the bed, forcing you higher on your knees with your arms stretched above your head.

“Be patient,” he orders with a swat to your thigh. 

You moan at the sting, head dropping back. “Daemon, please just touch me-”

“And why would I do that?” Daemon teases. “I said you were to wait patiently for Rhaenyra. This performance does not seem patient to me.”

“But, it’s not fai-”

“How about I give you something to keep that needy cunt busy?” 

You hear him move on the bed and feel the bed dip as he sits in front of you, sliding a thigh between yours. A groan of frustration escapes you as you realize that the ropes holding your arms up are keeping you from seating yourself fully on his thigh. “Daemon, baby, love, zaldrīzes, prince, please-” [dragon]

Daemon has mercy on you, loosening the rope holding your arms up. He leans in, nipping at your ear. “Go on, give me a show. Rub that needy cunt on my thigh.” The words barely leave his mouth before you grind down onto the hard, corded muscle of his thigh. You moan at the friction against your clit, and start a steady rhythm. Daemon’s hands rest at your hips, guiding them as he occasionally flexes his thigh up to add to the friction. 

“Gods, you’re making such a mess,” he purrs. “You just cannot help but cause trouble at every turn.” You whine, a blush lighting up your cheeks. The slide against Daemon’s bare thigh is smooth from the slick coating him. “I should make you clean the filthy mess you made.” He slides a hand down from your hip to swipe some of your slick. 

Daemon slides his coated fingers into your mouth. “Suck.” You slide your tongue across his fingers, eagerly following his direction. “That’s my filthy girl,” Daemon praises. 

You nibble at the tips of his fingers, and he pulls them out slowly. Daemon replaces his fingers with his thumb, holding your mouth open. Your hips still and brow furrows in confusion until Daemon spits in your mouth. “Don’t swallow yet,” he murmurs, rubbing at your tongue with the pad of his thumb. “Did I say to stop?” Daemon growls. “Keep those hips moving until I tell you to stop.”

“Yes my prince,” you garble out through his thumb. 

“You’re so beautiful like this issa jorrāelagon. Tied up and chasing whatever I give you like a desperate bitch in heat.” Daemon’s thumb pulls your jaw down again to spit into your mouth once more. “I’m giving you what you begged for. Use your words, what do you say?” [my love]

“Thank you.” You attempt to form the words, but you can feel a mixture of drool and Daemon’s spit dripping down your chin. 

Daemon moves to swipe it up with his thumb, popping it back into your mouth. “Swallow.” He leans down to kiss you after you swallow. You’re panting into his mouth, hips speeding up. “Are you close?” he asks.

You nod.

“Good,” Daemon purrs. “Stop.”

“Bu-” your hips stutter, but don’t stop. 

Daemon’s hands grip your hips, halting your movements before laying a spank on your ass. “I said stop.”

“She does have the hardest time listening, but she’s so beautiful when she writhes like that and begs for release.”

“Nyra,” you gasp as you hear your wife from across the room. How long had she been there? “Nyra please, Daemon is being unfair.”

“Oh, really?” Rhaenyra hums. “From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re quite enjoying yourself.”

“But Daemon didn’t let me cu-”

“What did she do to deserve this?” Nyra asks, and you can hear the conspiratorial tone of her voice.

“Nothing!”

“Keeping secrets.” You and Daemon answer at the same time.

“I was not asking you,” Nyra says as she spanks your thigh. “But please share what secrets you have been hiding.”

You whine, refusing to answer. Rhaenyra takes the bait, gripping your hair and pulling your head back roughly. “Either tell me now, or I will have Daemon spank that pretty ass red until you wish you had told me.”

“Nyra-”

“That’s not my name right now.”

Your eyes roll back. “My queen, please.”

“Now, jorrāelagon,” Daemon purred. “That’s not true.” His thigh grinds up into your cunt. “Why don’t you tell Rhaenyra the truth. Exactly like we practice.”

“Shi-shijetra issa, issa dāria.” Your voice shakes and you pull at the ropes circling your wrists in an effort to concentrate. [Forgive me, my queen.] 

“Say it,” Daemon says, hands sliding up your chest to pinch and tug at your nipples.

“Ny-nyke should emagon ivestretan ao.” You stutter out. [I should have told you.] 

“You’re forgetting something.”

“Don’t make me say it,” you whine. “It’s embarrassing.” 

Daemon answers you with a sharper pinch at your nipple, and your choke out a moan.

“Nyke aōhon, issa dāria.” [I’m yours, my queen.]

“And? What else, my desperate little rene?” [slut]

“Kostilus gaomagon issa. Nyke jorrāelagon ao naejot fuck issa needy orvorta.” [Please use me. I need you to fuck my needy cunt.]

Rhaenyra is silent, her grip on your hair drops and you feel her untie the blindfold. It drops from your face, and you find yourself staring up at her. “Fuck,” she breathes out, cupping your face. “Issa jorrāelagon, skoros emagon nyke gaomagon naejot gūrogon ao?” [My love, what have I done to deserve you?] She kisses you deeply, pulling back to plant kisses across your cheeks, placing a final one on your nose. 

“But Daemon is right,” Nyra says with a wink. “I think you’ve earned a punishment for keeping this from us.” She stand up straight, turning to address Daemon. “I think our naughty little love should start by cleaning up her mess, don’t you?”

Daemon grins wickedly, reaching up to untie your hands with a quick motion. Nyra catches your wrists, tying them behind your back with the silk blindfold. She pulls you back a bit as Daemon shifts away. With one hand at your bound wrists and the other knotted in your hair, Rhaenyra pushes you down until you’re level with Daemon’s thigh.

“Lick it up,” Daemon growls. “Clean your mess off my thigh and I might reconsider your punishment.” 

You lap at the slick coating Daemon’s thigh, letting Nyra’s grip guide your motions. She pulls you back as you try to kiss up Daemon’s inner thigh to his cock. “Are you really so desperate for cock that you cannot finish a simple task?” Nyra tugs at your hair.

“My queen-” you whine. 

“Finish.”

Whining, you redouble your efforts licking your slick from Daemon as they both whisper filthy praise. “You can stop now, jorrāelagon.” [love]

Rhaenyra pulls you back up to your knees, “you did such a good job for us. But you can take more, can’t you? How many strikes do you think you deserve?”

“Ten?” 

Daemon snorts a laugh, flipping you on all fours, facing away from him. “Twenty it is.” 

“Bu-”

“Hush,” Rhaenyra chides. “You’re going to take twenty strikes and count them out for us. If you miss one or forget to thank Daemon for each hit, we will restart the count.”

You let out a yelp as Daemon lands the first spank on your right ass cheek. He rubs at the stinging skin. The tinge of pain has your core dripping, and you arch back into his palm, “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” He teases.

“One, thank you Daemon.”

“That’s not the proper way to address the prince consort. I know that you know better.” Nyra purrs. 

“I’m sorry,” you squeak out. “Thank you my prince.”

“I’ll forgive you this time,” Daemon responds with another swat. This strike lands on the opposite cheek, but it is harder than the first. You squirm away from the hit, but Daemon reaches a hand to grab your bound wrists and push your chest down to the bed. The sheets feel rough as they rub against your sensitive nipples. 

“Two, thank you my prince.”

“What a good girl,” Daemon purrs, moving his hand to rub at your cunt. “You’re a dripping mess. This is supposed to be a punishment.” His hand pulls back to deliver three hard swats on the same cheek.

You jump, but Daemon’s other hand has you locked in place. Your breathing is heaving, and you pant as you try to regain your composure.

“What number, jorrāelagon?” Rhaenyra asks. “I don’t hear you thanking your prince.”

“Five, thank you my prince.” 

A gasp falls from your lips as Daemon again moves to rub your slick folds, this time sliding two fingers into you. “I might just leave you like this after we finish. Helpless, needy, wet, and begging for someone to fuck this desperate cunt.”

Your hips move back of their own according, trying to fuck back onto his fingers. Daemon pulls them out quickly, spanking your ass and thigh with two swift smacks.

“Ah!” you yelp. “Six-Seven! Seven, thank you my prince.” 

“Our desperate slut cannot seem to sit still and take her punishment,” Daemon teases. “Why don’t you give her something to focus on?” His fingers slide back into your cunt, fucking into and rubbing at your walls. You moan, not noticing Rhaenyra slide the dress from her shoulders before she sits, thighs spread in front of you. Daemon pulls you up by your arms, and your shoulders ache slightly. “Put that mouth to use,” Daemon orders. “You’re going to be a good girl, and make your queen cum.”

“I need my hands, my prince” you whine. 

“You have a tongue. Use it.” Daemon growls.

You begin lapping at Rhaenyra’s cunt in earnest, her gasps and moans encouraging you. Daemon lands another three hard slaps on your ass, all on the same cheek. You gasp into Rhaenyra’s cunt, your noises muffled. Daemon’s grip on your hands pulls you back up long enough for you to choke out the count and thank him.

“Fuck, that’s it jorrāelagon,” Rhaneyra moans as you suckle at her clit. You flick your tongue across the bud before sucking it again with earnest. You lick and suck your way down, fucking into her with your tongue, nose bumping at her clit with each thrust. [love]

You’re so focused on trying to make Rhaenyra come that you don’t notice the next few spanks. A hand pulls you away from her, and you whine at the loss of contact. “My poor little slut,” Daemon purrs. “Trying her best, but just can’t manage to do one simple task.”

“Looks like we are going to need to restart the count,” Nyra sighs. “And she was so close to being done.”

“Wait, that’s not fair,” you protest.

“Really, what number are we on?” Daemon asks.

You try to remember how many spanks Daemon had landed, but you truly hadn’t been paying attention. “Fourteen?”

Daemon laughs cruelly, spanking your sore ass. “Now we are at one. What do you say?”

“One, thank you my prince.”

NOTE: One thing about Daemon and Rhaenyra? They’re always gonna find a reason. One thing about Y/N, she shamelessly loves being manhandled. Is it really bratting if Y/N almost immediately gives in? Probably not, but in her defense they’re both kinda intimidating. Anyway, another chapter will be up later this week. Also, there are some ppl who I can’t tag, so if you’re listed and the tag list and not receiving notifications, please check that your settings are on “allow this blog to appear in search results” or message me if I messed up the spelling! ~ Lacie <3

Taglist: @syraxnyra , @avalyaaa , @angeliccss , @clocksonthewall79 , @sia2raw , @forma-lina , @lorarri , @imoonkiss , @ba6ysworld , @abaker74 , @aniisbavk1, @different-tale-student , @cruelladevil4,  @ronswhoree, @Lbl252003, @18dmlk, @beca2468 , @hnm-mika , @brocomegetyobitch, @pendejalian , @xoxoluvs-world, @lexasaurs634 , @jaydemon99 , @lovelyy-moonlight , @lavender2ari, @katiemars, @waitaminuteashh , @Judgementdayfan1, @shadyloveobject, @winterrnight , @malfoycassimalfoy , @Gracielacie, @serenitytomothings,

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[jobean12-blog]

His to Keep

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob!Bucky AU)

Word Count: 3,626

Summary: You've been working for Bucky for almost a year and although you know there's so much more to him than just owning the club, you can't help but be drawn to him as he's drawn to you.

Author's Note: Just more mob!Bucky because I love him so! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: light mentions of v-i-olen-c-e and angst, but mostly sweetness and softness, tension and flirting, and d-o-m and obse-ssi-ve Bucky.

The piercing shot rings out, and before the echoing sound even dies, Bucky’s running. Your high-pitched scream pierces the air and he silently prays for your safety, his long legs moving so fast time seems suspended.

When he reaches the hallway, there’s a small group of employees gathered by the doorway, their expression filled with shock and horror.

They part without question as he approaches, rushing into the room and ignoring the violence that so blatantly fills it. His blue eyes search for you and finally his heart starts beating again when he sees you unharmed.

You’re crouched in the corner, eyes wide with terror as you take in the slumped over man in the chair, his tailored and expensive suit now stained red.  

Bucky’s men immediately follow his orders to handle the situation but his attention never leaves you.

With slow steps he approaches you, holding his hands out and speaking your name softly. When your eyes lock with his the first tear slides down your cheek and he nearly crumbles to his knees, his heart shattering.

He gathers you into his arms with such a gentle grace, as if you’ll break and ushers you toward his office. With a nudge of his toe he opens the door and sets you down in his large leather chair. Carefully he takes off his suit jacket and drapes it over you, tucking it above your shoulders.

His eyes are laser focused on you as he fills a crystal glass with whiskey and forces it into your shaky hand.

“Drink this.”

You glance at it unseeingly, lost in your head, replaying what you just witnessed over and over.

He lifts the glass with a gentle touch and when it reaches your lips you drink reflexively. He waits until you finish all of it.

Taking a silk handkerchief out of his breast pocket, he kneels down in front of you, his hands moving with slow trepidation, but still you try to intercept it.

“Let me,” he orders. “Please doll.”

The second set of words come out softer and your hands fall to your lap.

He cleans your face of tears, his touch delicate and reverent and you can feel his warm breath fan your cheek as his thumb chases a stray tear that slips toward your mouth.

“Doll,” he whispers roughly, emotion clogging his voice.

Your wet lashes lift and you meet his eyes, your breath catching at what you see. You’ve never seen him look so vulnerable. His usual façade of unrivaled power and unrelenting dominance gone, replaced by a haunting look of dread.

“James?”

At the sound of his name on your lips his jaw clenches, his controlled restraint slowly slipping away with his mask and every moment he spends so close to you. He needs you to feel you. Your warm and soft skin, your pulsing heartbeat, your lips, every curve…

But he would never take advantage of you, especially after what just happened.

“Let me take you home.”

You nod and easily fall into his embrace, resting your head against his chest as he escorts you toward the exit.

When your soft sheet hits your shoulder you sigh, snuggling closer to your pillow as Bucky tucks you in. You had argued lightly when he told you to shower but now that you’re warm and clean you feel marginally better.

He pauses at the door as you fall asleep, knowing he can’t leave you here alone, instead sinking into your make up chair in the corner of the room, watching vigilantly as you succumb to slumber.

A week later you’re determined to leave your house, wanting to get back to work, even if it means facing the demons of that night. And you want to see him again. You’ve missed him, even though you know he’s never very far away.

He watches from his hidden vantage point as you close your car door and start the engine. He doesn’t need the GPS tracker he had installed on your car to tell him where you’re headed, but he turns it on anyway.

His own car starts, black and sleek in a nondescript way. He easily catches up to you, maintaining a safe distance behind you so you don’t notice him.

He phones Steve who’s working the back door of the club. “She’ll be arriving soon. Escort her in.”

Steve makes a small sound of acknowledgement and hangs up, promptly moving outside to wait for you.

Once Bucky is satisfied Steve has you covered he makes a sharp turn off the main road and takes the back streets toward his club. He needs to be there before you. Ready and waiting.

Before you even turn your car off, Steve is at the door, opening it and guarding you with his body.

In his office, Bucky waits, checking the crowd through the one-way glass that overlooks the floor. Security has been upgraded, covering every inch of his club to ensure nothing like what happened last week ever happens again.

Everything in the club looks to be running smoothly…not that he would have it any other way. All his endeavors are done with the utmost care and cunning precision. He wouldn’t be able to run this club any other way let alone the whole damn city.

He scans the floor until his eyes land on you and as if you can feel his gaze, your eyes glance up to the window where you know he’s standing.

The connection that’s been growing between you two for the past year has only been solidified since the unfortunate event that took place last week. He knew in that moment that he would do anything for you. Die to protect you.

Since the instant you walked into his club to apply for the job as manager he knew you were special. And having you work for him has been the sweetest torture. Day after day he watches you excel at your job, handle everything thrown your way with ease and professionalism, even the scummy clientele that try to lay hands on you.

No one touches what belongs to him and only the ones that don’t know who he is try. But they soon find out how big of a mistake they’ve made.

Steve alerts Bucky that you’re on your way up to his office.

The knock on his office door makes his heart skip a beat and even though he’s dressed impeccably he smooths his hand down his chest, adjusting his tie in the process.

“Come in.”

You crack the door open and peek in.

“Hi James. Steve said I could come up?”

At your questioning tone, Bucky smiles.

“You never have to ask to see me doll. You’re welcome to anytime.”

You smile softly and walk in, shutting the door behind you. With a slow saunter you move toward his desk and perch yourself on the edge near his chair.

He finds it hard to concentrate the moment you’re close. Even though you try to keep a cool demeanor, your body is inviting in its posture and your eyes devour every inch of him.

“Thank you for seeing me James,” you start. “I wanted to…”

Before you can finish he leans closer, a gentle interruption with his consuming presence.  “First of all, call me Bucky. I’m only James to everyone else. And as I said before, I would love to see you anytime you want doll.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning toward him as if you’re pulled by some invisible string. “That’s actually why I’m here. I wanted to thank you.”

“For?” he asks, his eyebrows raised as a small smile pulls at his lips.

Your eyes drop to his mouth before your lips part to speak again.

“Taking such good care of me last week and rescuing me.”

“I hardly rescued you doll. I’ll never forgive myself for putting you in that situation and the fact that I wasn’t there to protect you will haunt me forever. I never wanted you to see this side of my…business.”

You pull your gaze away from his mouth and study his face. He’s beautiful. His large blue eyes framed by dark and long lashes and his perfectly shaped jaw surrounding a mouth with lips you dream about tasting.

“It’s ok…”

“No.” he says, his tone harsh.

His face crumples when he sees your eyes widen at his gruffness.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly recovers. “That’s not meant to be toward you…if anything had happened to you…”

You tentatively reach up to cup his cheek, your thumb softly brushing over the dark stubble that lines it.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I know you would never hurt me.”

His eyes are locked on yours, the tension between you palpable. You unconsciously trace your lips with your tongue, drawing his attention. He moves closer, closing the distance and resting his elbows on his spread thighs.

“Anything you want from me. Anything at all. You need but to ask and it’s yours.”

“Jame…Bucky, thank you.”

He visibly preens when you say ‘Bucky,’ and it makes you smile, triumph alight in your eyes.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do…?” you ask, looking at him from under your lashes.

“Nothing. You’re perfect. However, I’d like to ask you something.”

His words peek your interest and you inch closer, knowing after today there’s no turning back from this. From him.

“Dinner. I want you to have dinner with me doll.”

“That wasn’t a question,” you say teasingly, even as you drag your teeth over your bottom lip. “More of an order.”

“Mm, you’re right,” he winks. “Either way, I think your answer is going to be yes.”

“Like a date?” you question, your grin widening.

“Yes. A date.”

“What will everyone else say when they find out you’re dating your employee?”

Your question has his features hardening ever so slightly, but not at you.

“No one will say a word about it. I can assure you of that.”

You audibly swallow as you take him in, focusing on the way you feel about him, not what he’s capable of.

“I’d love to have dinner with you Bucky.”

He visibly relaxes and a genuine smile graces his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes in such an endearing way you nearly swoon off the desk.

“Good. Then let’s eat.”

You giggle. “Now? I thought you meant you were going to pick me up, you know, I’d get all dressed and then you take me out.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to give you time to reconsider.”

Reluctantly, but with a smirk, he pushes on his heels and rolls his chair away from you, grabbing his cell. He orders a spread of food from one of his restaurants, then sits back down.

“Sit,” he says, motioning to the chair across from him.

When you do he slides closer, framing you with his spread legs and caging you in with his thighs.

“So now that this is dinner, tell me something about yourself that I don’t already know.”

“Hmm,” you muse, tapping your chin.

You fall into easy and comfortable conversation, sharing more about your past. Bucky listens intently, hanging on to every word and prodding gently with well thought out questions.

A knock at the door surprises you both and you can see Bucky’s body tense. He was so immersed in you he lost sight of any possible dangers, forgetting his surroundings. He mentally berates himself, tucking that away and vowing to be more mindful, if only to keep you safe.

Thankfully, it’s only the dinner delivery.

He takes the food and moves to the casual seating area of his office, placing the food down on the coffee table. You follow him and sit on the floor.

He stares at you for a moment, his eyes wandering over your form before he follows suit with a light shrug.

“Have you ever sat on the floor to eat dinner?” you ask playfully.

“Not that I recall,” he answers, serving you food.

You both laugh and dig into the delicious dinner.

After your impromptu dinner date you and Bucky continue to dance around each other at work.  The connection is strong, the pull between you taut with intense heat and longing. You can always feel his presence, his eyes on you, but it’s not uncomfortable at all, in fact, it makes you feel safe.

Later that week as you’re leaving your yoga class you feel someone following you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end but when you hear the instructor’s familiar voice you relax slightly and turn to say hello.

“Hi Matt.”

He greets you warmly and falls into step next to you as you walk toward your cars. The conversation is light at first but then he starts to complain about his girlfriend and how their relationship is failing. You begin to feel uncomfortable and as if sensing it, Matt drops his head.

“I’m sorry. Enough of my drama. I just need to move on I think.”

You take that as your cue to leave and start to say your goodbye but he keeps talking, chasing after you as you move toward your car.

“Hey, how is work going?”

“Uh..good, really good, thanks.”

Matt continues firing questions at you and your eyes dart around the darkened parking lot, quietly searching for Steve or one of Bucky’s other men.

“You’re really beautiful, you know that?” Matt says, the words pulling your from your spiraling thoughts.

You step back to gain space and before you can answer, there’s a loud clanging noise as the door of the gym next door slams shut.

A big and broad silhouette comes into view and both you and Matt automatically look over.

Steve’s large frame moves closer and you sigh in relief.

“Hey Steve,” you chime, taking a step toward him.

Steve respectfully keeps his distance while also always keeping you protected.

“Ready to go?” Steve asks as he glares at Matt.

“Yes,” you answer, waving at Matt.

Matt blinks several times, clearly confused at Steve’s arrival but grudgingly says his goodbye and shuffles off to his car.

“I was looking for you Steve,” you say once Matt is out of ear shot.

“I’m sorry it took me longer than usual. I was on a call,” he apologies.

“It’s ok,” you say with a soft pat to his shoulder. “Just glad you’re here.”

“I always am.”

When you look at him with curious eyes his own go wide. “Well…not always of course. Bucky would have my head, but I just meant…”

You throw your head back with laughter. “I know Steve. The first few months I thought I was just crazy but when I realized it was just you trailing me and keeping me safe I felt better.”

Steve gives you a more relaxed smile and opens your car door.

“Um Steve,” you say softly as you sit. “Do you think maybe…we could keep this just between us? Matt’s not really a bad guy. I think he’s just having a rough time. I’m sure everything would have been just fine.”

Steve’s mouth turns down in a frown. “You know I can’t do that.”

With a sigh you reply, “I knew you were going to say that.”

Steve’s lips lift into a wry smile. “When it comes to his girl he wants to know everything.”

“Is that so?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “Should I start keeping a diary so I can report in every second of every day.”

“Well, you probably don’t need to go that far, but…”

Your lips purse but when you see his expression morph into one of sheepishness for the second time that night you decide to let it go and take it up with Bucky himself.

Back home, Steve walks you to your door.

“Do you want to come in? Need a snack or drink?” you ask.

He doesn’t take a single step closer and shakes his head once.

“He’s on his way now.”

“Bucky’s on his way?” you squeak. “Shit. I need to change and tidy up!”

At your use of ‘Bucky’ Steve genuinely grins. The action catches you off guard but you realize that Bucky wasn’t lying when he said no one calls him that but you. With another flurry of thanks and goodnights you bid farewell to Steve, even though you know he’ll just be sitting outside in his SUV until Bucky arrives.

You prepare for your shower, determined to keep your head once he gets there and get some definitive answers from him.

At his knock, you open the door with a tentative smile.

“Doll face,” he greets, his voice deep and intense.

“Bucky,” you echo. “Would you like to come in.”

“Please,” he answers and brushes past you.

Just the delicate touch of his hand as he walks by sends goosebumps skittering across your skin.

“I’m sure you already know about what Steve did tonight,” you say as you walk into your living room.

“Of course,” he answers.

You look over your shoulder and narrow your eyes.

“Want something to drink?”

“Do you have whiskey?” he asks.

“No whiskey, just red or white wine and water. Take it or leave it.”

At your sassy tone his eyebrows raise every so slightly.

“Water is fine, thank you. And want to tell me what that sassiness is about.”

After you get two glasses of water you sit on the couch across from him, leveling him with your best glare.

“How long have you had Steve following me?” you ask him.

“You’re very observant,” he states.

“That’s not an answer,” you continue with sass. “And I’ve been paying attention. You know I have. But mostly to you.”

Your confession satisfies him. You can see it in the way he lifts his chin and his eyes glitter.

“I want you to fill me in Bucky.”

“On?” he asks as his arm falls over the back of the couch and his fingers ghost over your shoulder, mostly bare in your thin tank top.

“Bucky.”

You mean it to come out more demanding, but it’s breathy and your body shivers at his touch.

“Are you sure? You were pretty freaked out by what you learned last time you got a glimpse behind my curtain. And rightfully so.”

“Tell me. I trust you and I want to give us a chance.”

He takes a deep breath and shares as much as he can without putting you in any more danger.

“Why do all of this though? Do you have men following everyone that works for you? Why did Steve call me your girl?”

“Two of these questions have the same answer. From the moment I saw you I wanted you to be mine and after the incident earlier this month and I almost lost you, it became an overwhelming feeling.”

His fingers press into your skin as he glides them down your arm.

“And no. I don’t have men on anyone else that works for me. I keep them safe of course. But just you. Always you.”

His hand leaves your arm and he strokes his thumb along your jaw. You lean into his touch and sigh out his name.

“I’ve been patient,” he murmurs. “Fuck doll, I’ve been so patient.”

He presses the pad of his finger to your lips, tracing their softness.

“But with every breath I take, I think of you. Every beat of my heart, I want you.”

The moment stretches in sweet torture before you place a hand on his cheek.

“I want you t…”

Before the words are fully out of your mouth he’s on you, dragging you into his lap and grinding his hips up as he grabs the back of your neck and steals your breath.

You press closer, needing to feel every inch of him. Your arms wrap around his neck and you lightly scratch your nails over his scalp before your hands fall to his chest and you start to tug at his tie.

Your lips leave his and you trail kisses along his jaw, stopping just below his ear before tracing the muscular column of his neck.

He hisses out a curse and tightens his grip. You smile into his skin and loosen his tie. You’ve barely gotten it undone when his large hand lands on your ass cheek. The sting makes you moan and rock your hips but in a flash your eyes are on his, your chin caught between his thumb and forefinger.

You take in his appearance as he stares at you. His usually pristine shirt now wrinkled, the buttons at the top hanging open and his loose tie dangling messily. His normally untouched hair is tousled, wild from your fingers and his control is clearly wavering with every heaving breath he takes.

You don’t waste another second and this time you kiss him, pressing your softness against every hard plane of his body, maximizing every bit of contact as you try to pin him to the back of the couch. You nibble into his bottom lip and then swallow the sound of his satisfied growl.

“Doll,” he starts, and you hear the questioning tone of his voice.

“Fuck me, Bucky. Fill me and make me yours.”

For a split second you see surprise flash across his features but he instantly recovers with a smirk.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for his, how many times I’ve dreamed of you saying those words to me,” he murmurs, his body rigid with his restraint. “And remember, you asked for this. I’m going to give you everything.”  

His words are a dark promise, one you hold onto with every fiber of your being.

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