#that word makes me feel unclean

[eemamminy-art]

Oh..... ): today I learned, even if you have a word in your filtered tags or filtered post content, if someone puts that word in tags on a reblog you'll still see it in your activity feed...

[the-maddened-hatter]

Just for funsies:

Bonus: Tell me in the tags what YOUR autism traitor trait is if you have one! :D

[elliesbff]

“i need you.” — abby anderson

hi hi! sorry it took me so long to get to this second part, i’ve been going through a lot mentally and have just been trying to get my head around things. i genuinely hope this teeters to your satisfaction ♡ thank you for all the likes on pt 1 !

summary: after tending to neglected needs, it takes 5 words to turn the tables. notes: nsfw, scissoring, oral sex, (r!receiving) fingering, (r! receiving) slight dacryphilia, a bit of hair pulling, softdom!abby, sub!reader. wc: 2,793 | tags: none

read pt 1 of " i need you " here!

moments prior,

abby’s braid slid graciously past her shoulder as she pulled away from your short lived embraced, already missing the warmth of her sun kissed skin. it seemed like she was in a hurry, scurrying out of the gym in the blink of an eye. as you took a moment to gather yourself, you realised that she’d left her bottle behind, and her bench remained uncleaned. you stood there dumbfounded, what could she have planned that was more important than gymnasium hygiene? after all, it was her that taught all you know.

when you were nothing but a baby wolf, abby took notice of you as a new recruit and instantly saw potential in you, taking you under her wing and training you like hell to fulfil your true abilities. although you were nowhere near as burly or as experienced in combat as her, you were quite good with weaponry and crafting, as well as adapting to your surroundings, making do with what you had on you during critical times.

she calls you ‘the scavenger’ when you were not present. it was her unique way of honouring how far you’d come since joining the WLF, how she paved the way for the indestructible soldier she firmly believes you’ll grow up to be one day. it’s also just her adorable little nickname for you that she beckons nobody uses in her place.

she has the upmost faith in you. growing closer with each patrol, each gym session, and sometimes just casually hanging about the FOB or at each others rooms. your friendship was something others envied; it was pure, full of trust and built upon mutual respect. but those closest to you knew it meant more than what first meets the eye.

abby was out of sight in the blink of an eye, you look around in a suspicious daze, trying to follow her whereabouts. she was quick, but not quicker than you.

you had a long-overdue session to finish, but abby looked relatively… uneasy. something was wrong, and you could feel it. the line between instincts and curiosity began to blur as your feet developed a mind of their own, your duffel bag and towel long gone as you’d already turned the corner outside the gymnasium.

maybe you were overreacting, maybe it was overkill to automatically assume the worst was happening to her. but if something was really up with abby, you wouldn’t live it down if you didn’t initiate help.

the look on abby’s face as you stared at her through the firmly rimmed glass, her beautifully arched eyebrows furrowing only ever illuminating her intense eyes — a million thoughts a minute ran through your mind, instinctively charging for two heavy silver doors and up a random stairwell. you could smell the scent of pine and sweat — that was definitely abby.

all reasoning for your unexplainable shenanigans flew out the window as you approached abby’s room, a series of shuffles followed by a supposed muffled voice echoed from the opposite side.

your hand hesitantly reached up to knock, only to realise the door was never locked to begin with. abby could never be that careless, — maybe manny, but regardless — she would sometimes recall times where she’d have to remind him to lock up before leaving during your sessions at the gym. she’d never make a mistake she so harshly scolded people for.

your face inches closer to the door, the cool solid wood sending a kiss of shivers across your exposed shoulders as it welcomingly swayed open.

with each step, the unintelligible noises grew much clearer, and it was becoming more palpable as to what that was entailing.

you’re heart only dropped to your gut at the sound of your name, uttered by a helpless, whining mess.

“please… please.”

the door conditionally, and gently swayed closed on its own behind you, a little clck locking the door in full as you took a couple steps closer. was this a figment of your twisted imagination? the soft whimpers and subsequent cries of your name begged to differ. it was no secret now. abby had a thing for you. you were almost too afraid to move as each whine only grew more vehement.

with a couple more stalled footsteps, you froze at the sight of abby, completely ruining herself at the fate of her own hand.

your eyes widened instantly, the warm air prickling your eyes as would salt water. seeing her all ruined over the thought of you was enough to lift your hands over your mouth in keen disbelief.

you attempted to gather yourself, debating whether or not confronting her on this was the best idea — but no normal person would just walk away and forget this ever happened — forgetting the image of abby anderson, issac’s top scar killer, ramming her slick-covered fingers inside her wet cunt all while repeating your name under a dumbed spell? it’s not something that can just leave your mind at the drop of a hat. it certainly wouldn’t later, neither.

while lost in your thoughts, your tense arms dropped to your sides as your feet followed closer, the sound of your boots shuffling against the smooth concrete floor not catching her attention,

“abby?”

you watched as her oceanic eyes shot open, the abby you once believed would simply chuckle and brush off the idea of this, now scurried to find something, anything to cover her herculean figure, freckled arms still just poking out the sides.

it took more than an ounce of self control to not let yourself run wild at the fact that the abby anderson had a rather strong fancy for you, not to mention she was fucking herself to the thought of you.

as your initial astonishment subsided, your body beamed with want. seeing abby flushed and heated clouded your acclaimed critical thinking.

“…can i have a turn?” slipped from your lips after tending to abby’s own neglected desires.

and here you were, moments passing almost at the speed of light. you laid flat on your back, tits perked up from the arch of your back with abby towered over you. her estranged braid slid off her shoulder with her eyes staring you down. your neck generously splayed with bruises and bite-marks, only reminding you that she’s been wanting this for god knows how long. unbeknownst to her, you did too, you just never believed you’d live to ever experience it.

her hand lightly grazed over your tit, meticulously attending to your swollen nipple. her thumb teased at it, rubbing the area in circles to provoke a much anticipated and equally expected reaction. with her hand on your chest and her lips returning to attack your already purpled skin, you stifled a whine, bottom lip bit between your teeth. she kissed along your throat, from the point of your jaw to the crook of your neck.

she continued toying with your body as her tongue traversed to your waist, laying another round of sloppy kisses to your hip bones and abdomen.

it was like your skin grew ten times more tender whilst under her touch, each breath of hers against your skin feeling like a gentle tickle, accompanied by her large and surprisingly delicate hands palming your tits, it was growing to be too much, too much being your style, anyways.

her hand left your chest to firmly grip onto your hips, pulling you closer to her lap. she took her already soaked fingers, prodding at your pussy like you’d done previously. your breaths grew shakier with each flick of your clit.

her eyes returned to that intense, fiercely glare from back at the gym, so that’s why she was so concentrated, or rather in her own dreamland.

her tongue laid a generous coat of saliva along her lips, staring at your pussy like the starved woman she was. for how long she’d ached for this, you had no clue. this was bound to be a moment to remember.

your cunts were practically hugging each other, the feeling of being so close to her pussy only added fuel to the fire that gleamed in your core. the longer abby stared, just taking in your breathtaking body, the stronger the feeling of being exposed grew.

her head dives below your eye view, feeling her nose bump at your clit. she savours it, her tongue peeling out at an antagonisingly slow pace as she glares at you through her arched brows. she could taste it all, her juices mixed with yours..

your hand gently took rest within her blonde locks, hooking into the back of her braid.

“abby,”

you huffed, sounding more like a plead than anything. with each soft, trembling breath, she’d drag her tongue along your cunt in sync.

her face would dig further into you, arms slithering to wrap themselves around your thighs. even if you begged for her to slow down, your needy hole that clenched around nothing, desperate to be touched, told her otherwise.

abby would stare at you longingly, finally able to die happy between your tensing thighs as she rapidly swabbed your clit with your tongue, dragging it along in circles and the likes.

your body jerked at the sudden change in pace, back arching instinctively off the bed. the whole lower half of your body fired up, tingly and numb. her muffled grunts sent you haywire, violently gripping onto her hair. she was like a leech that wouldn’t let go, sucking and lapping around that sweet spot like her life depended on it.

“stop squirming.” abby would demand as she shoved your hips back onto the mattress, not once detaching herself from you.

you could barely comprehend anything she’d say as she was practically suffocating herself between your thighs, and you’d both be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

abby teased your cunt with her fingers, carefully slipping her thick digits inside of you. your legs squeezed around her head at the sensation of feeling so full. her fingers, let alone hands, were thicker than yours. and they felt much more fulfilling.

your moans would blend harmoniously, both equally experiencing pleasure from the other as you climbed the ladder of your climax.

abby’s suppressed grunts would only ring through your ears. where was the abby that was so shamelessly call out your name moments ago?

your grip on her hair tightened, practically dragging her face along your cunt to accumulate as much friction as your body desired. her fingers would work wonders, unforgivingly pumping in and out of you as her tongue would rub against your clit. each time she would flick against it you’d jolt, back arched with a shy hand over your mouth.

in a matter of seconds, abby had pulled away — both her tongue and fingers. just as you were about to reach the peak, you’d tumble down with your high dropping in seconds.

“wh.. why’d you stop?” you breathed out, tears that rimmed your eyes beginning to dissipate.

as if abby could read your thoughts, she placed a leg over yours, dragging your helpless body closer to her. your cunts were mere centimetres apart, the slick that built up from your pleasure mixing with hers.

“wanted to rile you up..” she muttered, her beautifully eager smile spreading from ear to ear as she strategically began kneading her pussy against yours. abby let out a stifled whimper, her perfectly toned arms pulling your leg almost over her shoulder.

you whined as she slowly dragged her pussy back and forth. the only thing ruminating through your mind in the moment was how you wished you’d done this sooner. way sooner. if given the opportunity any earlier, you’d have jumped at it like an animal in heat.

tears generously coated your plump cheeks as abby picked up the pace, she muttered curses under her breath with each drag of her swollen cunt. it was evident she was close, her arms would needily latch onto yours in an attempt to pull you closer than you already were.

the sounds of timid whines and skin slapping echoed through the room. you hoped that nobody would mention a peculiar series of moans to you or abby the next day. but all you could focus on was her slick engulfed thighs, her chest and the hickeys that’d covered her tits. her neck that was equally as bruised, and her face that contorted into a smile once she noticed you were staring.

“this feel good?” she asks, a sudden grunt spilling from her lips a second after.

all you could do was nod. you were afraid once you spoke, you wouldn’t be able to stop. abby, abby, abby, abby, was all you could think of. how strong she was and how easily she could throw you around if she wanted to, how easily you could tug on her braid while she fucked you dumb. it drove you insane how she wanted you and nobody else. she fucked herself to the thought of you and nobody else.

she disapprovingly shook her head, slapping your thigh playfully.

“mm mm, i don’t take nods, use that pretty mouth,” abby grinned, her cunt grinding viciously fast against your own. you whined dumbly, the pleasure overpowering your body. you felt numbing tingles along each cell of your body.

you whined shamelessly loud, “it feels.. so good.” abby’s face enlightened, her hips picking up pace from your undying cooperation. anything for her to keep going.

she squeezed a handful of your thigh and massaged it, letting out her pent up urges that she was only able to let out now.

you dumbly mumbled a bunch of nonsense yes’, keep going’s and abby’s, initially climbing the tower of climax yet again. and abby was, too. as much as she tried to hide it, nothing could excuse how her hips would dig into your abdomen from how quick she practically humped your cunt.

abby held your thighs close to her, gaining the upper hand in creating more friction. her clit would bump against yours almost ever second. both your whines enveloped the air around you as the coil inside you snapped, your pleasure releasing out into a white pool underneath you.

but abby was far from finished.

she pulled your hips closer, with pussies rubbing against each other and whines echoing through the walls. you wouldn’t doubt for a second that someone could hear you.

with more than a couple grunts and calls for your name, abby came down from her own high, her hips faulting and slowly grudging to a stop.

you both panted relentlessly. you swore if she kept going you would’ve came a second time at the snap of a finger.

trying to regain your breaths, abby lets out a chuckle.

she doesn’t say anything, but she shakily pulls herself off of you, propping herself up by her elbow next to you.

a sudden wave of embarrassment washed over you as the reality of both your actions settled in. there was no hiding your attraction to one another now, none of this would’ve happened otherwise.

the never ending pining, hanging out one on one every chance you got and saying it was ‘just to train you’. you don’t know why you were surprised at the fact that abby would think about these things behind closed, or more so unlocked doors.

“..so?” abby’s voice was soft and meek, her hand fidgeting alongside her waist as her head rested on her other hand.

you hesitantly locked eyes with her, your previous shyness fading away as she planted a kiss to your forehead. something as cheesy and cute as a forehead kiss was enough to make you blush, subsiding all the things you both just did.

“..that was better than i expected.” you finally replied. abby’s eyebrow quirked, head tilting to the side.

“oh, so you thought it’d be bad?” she kids in a sly tone, that familiar smile returning once more.

you playfully punched her arm in response, the both of you knowing in reality, it felt like heaven on earth.

“does it look like it was bad?” you poke back, pointing to all the hickeys and bite marks along both your bodies.

only now did you realise how much of a mess you made. there was cum all over the bedsheets, saliva all over your cunts and what not — this place was really overdue for a cleanup.

you chuckle as you examine the aftermath.

“we should clean up..”

“we?” abby questions.

“i don’t mind, i made it too, no?”

abby couldn’t argue with that. she sighs, pulling you up and off the bed so you could both clean up. not without peppering your body with kisses first.

[heeseung64]

BAD HABIT

your best friend jay knows everything to do with you. your sleep schedule, hobbies, habits - and above all- he knows how to make you feel better.

bestfriend to lovers enha jay x fem reader. long (not proofread). reader is a cleanfreak! jay is in deep love, mental breakdown, angst to fluff to smut. | inspired by this one gojo fic on ao3 i cant remember its name but it was crazy af

"Pick up next time. Or maybe I will stop finding you." A wheeze of huffs and catching of breaths add fog to the air around you. The patter of rain stopped drumming at your crown from an umbrella shaded upon your shadow. You look up and see the look of concern grow on Jay as the light finds your face.

You were crouched upon the kerb, tears streaming down your rosy cheeks in the summer night. You don't spend your nights like this at all, in some random street crying, but today- the day where everything didn't turn out right? the day where you spot your betraying ex across the street- reminiscent of your worse days, the day you spill your coffee, the day you get told off for not doing things right; the day you start to feel the world has no longer any means for you to be here.

you decided that the kerb upon the side of the river's bridge was where the universe wanted your peace.

but of course, Jay had other plans. ㅡmore under the cut ♡。

He watches your pink nose and wet hair collide with his chest as you grapple him for a hug. You croak, contradicting your actions with your words, "You didn't need to find me."

"But I always end up finding you anyway." He scoffs, hesitantly stroking your back with his thumb, scared you'll hear his heart quickly thump for too long. It wasn't long til he dragged you into his car, the fan on blast in attempt to keep you dry. He watched silently in his peripherals as you tried to claw onto your skin, hearing you mumble how dirty and unclean you were.

Everyone knew you liked to stay clean, to them it felt like it was your way of keeping routine.

But Jay knew cleaning yourself was how you breathed life. He knew if you didn't apply your favourite scents, or if you didn't scrub til you bled- your whole year would be over. There were so many occasions where he knew you were crying over the smallest fact that you didn't apply your favourite lotion. Your ex didn't even know that you had a favourite lotion, but Jay had extra in his bathroom just for you.

You didn't think of it too much, you've done so much together with him and yet you lived both of your lives away from each other- having relationships to had relationships, complaining about school work to now college complaints, hearing about family gossip and being in each other's milestones. It wasn't weird for him to always be at yours and vice versa either. Jay was always there, and yet, why haven't you noticed?

"We're almost home." Jay whispered at the red light, pulling your arm away to make you stop scratching yourself. He holds your hand and grasps it close to his thigh as he continues to drive. Home? you wonder as you try to stop picking at your skin. Your memories can't even bring up the first time Jay called your place home, it's like he always said it. The spare key is always paired with his keys to his own place- and you call his home too.

"Home?" you breathe out, a rare word amongst the plethora of remarks against your own thoughts.

"Yes, silly. Home." He chuckles, making no more of your confusion. "I'm silly?" You pout at his mockery as he turns into your driveway, opening your door to yank you out. "Very." His breath ricochets on your neck as he takes out your seatbelt for you.

Since when was Jay so handsy? You thought to yourself. Jay was always an act over say man, but were you guys always this close? Not even any of your friends got this close. You turn away as heat rushes to your cheeks, yet it was still unhidden, caught by his eyes.

"Do you have a fever?" He asks, only for you to push away his hand that was going to touch your forehead. "N-no." you say, "Just filthy." You go back again, taking yourself inside with Jay.

You felt his stern look since the moment he saw you huddled up like a lost puppy on the side of the road. This time felt weirder, with his jaw tightening at every time you scratch, and his eyes narrowing every time you sniffle. It's like it was hurting him too, but you always believed it's because he was sick of you. This night, you knew he was mad. But it didn't stop him from doing what he does best.

"Sit there. I'll start the bath." You were instructed by the stern man who made you sit on a towel on your bathroom floor. He knew you didn't want to dirty your bed with the clothes you wore, and you didn't want to dirty your floor either. He rummaged through your closet, taking your intimates and your favourite set of pyjamas ready for you, placing them on the bed.

"I can do this mys-" "And if I lose you in the process?" He stops to look at you, softening his eyes as he kneels towards you, "Let me take care of you."

You didn't even get time to respond as he gently pulls you up, undoing your buttons and brushing your hair to the side. "If you're uncomfy, just say the word." He stops, holding your shoulders as he reads your face for an answer.

All you could do was look at his lips, glistening under the white light. Speechless at his service, waiting for him to utter another word out of his sweet lips. "Jay.." was all you could fathom. He watched as your eyes practically kissed his face with the way you stared back, yet he stood his ground, silently waiting for you (like all this time) to give him your consent.

You help undress yourself as a response to Jay, making him clear his throat, pulling himself back to the present.

He looks away as you take off your last pieces of clothing, taking your dirty clothes away from your sight. He leaves you for a second and you capture the mess in the mirror, causing tears to spill over the rim of your eyes and your breaths to be shaky. "Jongseong.." You call out his full name in times of trouble, and he hears your whimper, coming out to hush you and wipe your tears.

"I'm so ugly and dirty!" You cry out, only for Jay to shush you, squishing your cheeks. "You're beautiful." He says, touching the bare skin of your shoulders, gesturing you into the shower as he starts it, hot. Just how you like it.

"Can you stay with me please?" Your shaky voice echoes across the bathroom. Jay chuckles as he unbuttons a few of his from his white long sleeve, rolling it up to his elbows as he compiles all your favourite soaps and scrubs. "What happened to "I can do this myself"?" He asks you over the sound of the pouring shower.

"Because.. I'm silly." You blurt, crying out again. The shower door opens again, this time with Jay lathering all sorts of your favourite things on your bare back, with all the perfect ratios you put on yourself too. Vanilla bean and small jasmine musk, coffee bean.. Hints of flora.. The sweet salt.. and honey. It's all expensive, but they were all gifts from him, every one of them, and it made you content.

Jay admits he'd never wanted to eat you if you were dessert, but in the spur of things he blurts, practically confessing. "They say you know when a pretty girl walks into the room." He starts, as he massages patterns on your back, water dripping and staining his corporate uniform, decorating his belt and dress pants.

"You can smell her goodness before you see her." Jay says that as he looks into your eyes, soap running down your bare skin and neck. You blush, turning away as you palm your hair with shampoo. "That's bullshit." You chuckle, scrubbing at your scalp as Jay moves his way to your waist.

"Look at you. I don't think that's bullshit to me."

You stop your tracks as he continues to scrub away at your waist, gently working his way up and down and around your intimate areas, telling you that you can clean them yourself, but he insists on scrubbing everything else. His fingers are foamed as he massages your legs, mentally screaming and silently mumbling at how you should let him take care of you more. He moves up again, catching your eyes.

"Jay.." You start, done with your hair, watching his hands falter and reach for your face. "Mm?" He replies, drunk by your scent and the image of your body.

"Did you ever do this to your ex girlfriend?" You blurt, causing Jay to pause, furrowing his brows. He gestures you to step out as you dip into the bath.

"No," He bluntly responds, "Not at all." He says, unbuttoning the rest of his buttons, before going completely shirtless.

"Y/n." He calls your name, easily forgetting your question. And you gently look up to him from the bathtub, "May I join you?" He kneels against the bathtub, caressing your warm skin as the petals from your favourite salts pour over the giant pool.

You freeze at his eyes, need and determination written all over it, the facade has been broken, and you read him ever so clear now. To the service, the questions and the blatant confession, you realise how badly you loved each other. As if knowing and living in each other's presence wasn't enough, this man had asked if he could bathe in it.

"Please." You whisper, reminding him of the days when you were in high school, where your pride would only falter when he was around, and the first time you said please was the first time Jay offered you a ride home, ironically a day where you were found on a kerb again.

"Wait for me, pretty." He cooes, showing his vulnerability to you. He undresses himself, belt hanging on the door knob and his pants folded over the basket, glad that he was always here enough to have spare clothes. He showers, fog and steaming covering himself, but not his torso, to which you remember was the same toned figure you always manage to catch yourself staring at. He watches you intently fron the distant bathtub, softly scrubbing your arms as you wait for him quietly.

You blushed, tearing your eyes away swiftly as he comes out, bare. He chuckles at your reaction as he steps in, sitting right opposite from you. You turn away, still sniffling from all your little cries, and pink from this current situation.

"Silly. You've seen me before, why are you so shy?" He whispers, a bit of his deeper voice seeping out as you scoot away.

"Seeing each other naked isn't normal.." You seep out, and he sighs. "It really isn't." He responds, waiting for you to catch his hint. "You're the one who wanted me here." He teases, hands coming up to poke your cheek.

"I didn't ask for you to find me. Why did you?" You try to change the subject, but it prevails. "Bad habit of mine. I like chasing after you." He casually replies, grabbing a soft sponge before handing it to you. "My back." He gestures turning away as you begin to go over his back.

"All these years of chasing after me, when you could've said one of the sentences you told me in the shower and I would've folded?" You chuckle, tracing the lines on his back. You hear him chuckle, turning around. "When you had boys lined up trying to date you? I didn't believe I was the perfect match."

"What makes you think you are now?" You tease, to which Jay's eyebrows knot. He comes closer to you, wading against the foamy water, reaching your sides as he pulls himself closer to face you.

"I know I am. You know that." He smiles the same confident smile, and your eyes couldn't help but trail down to his lips again.

Jay sees your eyes forming constellations with his features, and he doesn't hesitate to bring your face close with his hands, gently pulling you to taste your lips for the first time.

You go limp at his touch, hands reaching up to rest on his chest as he holds your nape, kissing your lips like he's unable to drink for tomorrow. You don't stop either, eventually throwing yourself on him.

The still waters eventually rock, swaying as you both erupt out of heat, hands still connected to each other's bodies as you begin to dry each other.

"I love you." You blurt, towels covering the both of you up. "Stay the night, please." You plead into his ear on your tippy toes, kissing his jaw as he watches you slightly pout.

He leans back covering his hardened member from looking at you, clearing his throat as his ears redden. This was his last straw. Can't you get it already? Jay needs you. He always wanted to be by your side, forever. And now that you confessed? He's not going away, not ever.

"I wasn't planning on leaving you, princess." He maintains eye contact with you as needily grabs your sides, tugging you to your main bedroom, the dimly lit lamp caressing the tone of his body as he hovers over your body- sprawled and bare under his eyes.

"What makes you think you are now?" Jay repeats your question, "What a stupid thing to say." He scoffs, parting your hair behind your ear. He leans into your face kissing the sides of your lips. "You're just as stupid for not showing me." You scoff back, and he raises a brow. "What do you want me to show?" He asks, suggestive of his actions. You couldn't bear to drag your eyes up to his face, distracted by whats touching your core so forcefully. Jay notices this, and lifts your chin up to face him. "Answer me, y/n." Just with his voice, the call of your name was enough to pool warmth between your legs, in the stretch of everything, your scent is clouding his mind. You're hazed by his image, and in doing so, you reach to hold his face, tugging it to bring your lips to his ear.

"Show me how much you've been wanting me." you plead.

It was enough- more than enough actually. He couldn't help but smash his lips onto yours after hearing it, tangling his slender fingers around your hair. "I'm afraid I might make you all dirty if I do." He whispers, biting your ear as you shamelessly moan under him, mewling and squirming under his confinement.

"I don't care. I want you." You beg, tears spilling over his member grinding on you and your thighs, you're so full of wetness you couldn't even build your walls of pride anymore. You find his eyes narrow at your words, smirking as he uses his hands to roam down your torso, groping your breasts.

He cups them, maintaining eye contact as he peppers his kisses down to meet your breasts perked just for him- and you moan, impatient. Jay kisses them, twirling his thumb on your nipples as he groans at your reactions, wanting to hear more. "You want me so bad hm?" He groans as he moves down, groping your sides, tracing your curves. "You smell so sweet to me, princess." He says while looking at your entrance, so swole and pink, "I've been waiting to know if you taste just as good." He confesses, placing a finger on your fold, tickling you as you squirm under his touch.

He gathers two fingers to play with your wetness, his cold digits warming up inside you, and he can't help but gape at your glistening pinkness, adding his thumb to swirl your clit around as he reaches down to kiss you again. "Fuck." He groans, pain from the hardness of cock throbbing as he watches you go undone by just the touch of his hand. "Just two fingers and you're going crazy, are you going to be okay, my princess?" He calls you princess again, another nickname he always called you- but this time, the nature of it unfolds, and he treats you so unconditionally with his fingers, lapping and folding in you as you can't help but moan out his name. "Just like that?" He asks, his palm being covered in your slick as you furiously nod, tears seeping out of the corners of your eyes and your nails digging into his forearm thats shaking on you. "Please.. Jay.. I want your-" He shushes you, kissing your neck as he moans. "You can't fit me if I don't play with you like this baby."

You pout, feeling him swirling in you and the sound of his breath rivalling yours as he fucks you with his fingers. You're frustrated, getting hushed every time you feel a climax approach, only to be stopped and kissed sloppy, the slapping of your thighs and juices from his messy movements echoed, with occasional spit decorating your body. Jay was needy, and you were full of his desire, forgetting how bad your day was, forgetting how clean you are.

"Please!" You beg this time, pushing him off, making him under you as you sit on him, your folds practically grinding against his shaft as you place your hands on his chest, kissing his neck vigorously. You grind on him as he watches you do it, sucking on his finger, raising a brow as he moans. "Taste s'good." He breathes, ragged, raw. Unhinged. "Fuck. Where did you learn this?" He asks, eyes fierce, full of intent. Jay genuinely wanted to know. Jealousy was growing in his pants, and his hands that were digging onto your folded thighs that cradled him were showing it well.

"Where did you learn how to fuck too?" You comeback at his words, and he groans groping you as you straddle him. "I should've been the first. I should've been your first. You should've been mine." He mewls, kneading at your skin. "I am now." You reply, getting off of him, stroking his shaft with slick and wetness lapping bubbles between your fingers. You bend down, kissing his girth, your body churning at his size.

"Fuck." Was all he could breathe, watching your eyes follow his as all you continued to do was please him, teasing him. "You taste so good." You blurt, licking his tip as it pops out of your mouth. In return, he tugs you, placing you on your back again. "Enough." He starts, "Let me fuck you right." He growls, holding your legs apart as he kisses your neck again, distracting you from the stretch beneath you.

You gasp, clawing on his back as all he could do was smile. "See?" He teases, starting slow to make sure you don't get hurt. "Jongseong.." You whimper again, making him slow down, peppering you with kisses as he gently places his thumb over your clit again to make you moan. "Shh," He hushes you, "How do you feel baby?" He whispers, and in your reply you moan his name. That was enough to know he had you.

"Shit." He curses, finding it hard not to cum so early. His dream, true and unfolding in front of him, and the noises were exactly as he always imagined. He couldn't slow down either because you kept moaning, so he fucks you hard, rough. Your voice was broken by now, overpowered by the slapping of each other's skin and the erotica of the room. "Princess, I'm so close," Jay starts, his abs contracting hard in front of you and his chest heaving as he holds your legs together, kissing them as he continues to shove himself.

"Cumming-" Was all you could say, pointing to your own hole as he lets you know of his release. He brings up the pace, pressing your legs down on you as he fucks his length deeper into you. "Fuck I'm gonna cum-" He yelps, and you moan, feeling his hips falter, stopping inside of you as he releases it all.

You hold your breath as he does, heaving out as he gets himself off, cum dripping out. He sloppily tries to stick it back in, kissing your thighs and intertwining your fingers with his as he mumbles sweet words to you.

"Baby, I feel so filthy right now.." You mumble, pouting at the mess on the sheets, not to mention the marks on each other's bodies. "But you'd look so hot like this all the time." He blurts, earning a playful slap from you.

"I'll clean you up princess, don't worry." He smiles, "Just let me enjoy you while you're dirty." He teased, planting a kiss on your forehead, caressing your sides and massaging your legs as he pulls you close, hearts beating in sync. "I love you." He chokes on his words, and you kiss his lips, reciprocating his statement; "I love you too."

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Gīsītsos (little ghost)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader Warnings: Fingering, dubcon, smut. Word count: ~3.7k

Summary: As part of the Red Keep's serving staff, she knows it is better to remain unseen by the family she tends to. Unfortunately for her, an incident involving the second of the Targaryen sons means his gaze is now firmly fixed upon her.

Author's note: No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on notifications. Community labels are for cops.

There is an unspoken rule among the serving staff of the Red Keep; remain unseen and unheard whenever possible. Move as a spectre through the castle, do not draw attention to the mess you are employed to clean up. Those they serve do not wish to be reminded of their imperfections. Blissful ignorance is placed upon the pristine condition of the chambers they return to at the end of each day. They have always been that way, how could they not be? But beneath it lies an undercurrent of I do not wish to see it, do not make me look.

She is content to remain out of sight and mind of the Targaryen family, though her work is thankless, there is serenity to be found in the duties of a maidservant. As long as she completes the tasks assigned to her, then she is otherwise unbothered, and she considers herself fortunate to have a comparatively easy workload to some of the others.

The maidservants that attend to Prince Aegon’s bedchamber are ordered to work in pairs, partly because the mess he so often leaves behind is work enough for two, but also because he is known to sleep late, and there is safety in numbers. A chill runs down her spine at the memory of the whisperings that had passed between the staff about Dyana, brought before the Queen and forced to drink moon tea, before being relieved of her employment from the Keep. From that point on, the maidservants were forbidden from entering his rooms alone, lest they find themselves victim of the Prince’s wandering hands and lustful appetite.

There is no such danger to be found within the sleeping quarters of Prince Aemond, which she is in charge of tending to each day. He makes her job almost too easy, but she does not allow her guilt to weigh heavily enough upon her that she would ask for additional duties, instead she gives thanks to the Seven for this small mercy and ensures she finishes each day having completed her tasks to an impeccable standard. 

As she tugs the crisp white sheets of the bed firmly back into place each morning, there is no lingering body heat or scent to be found, indicating he has been awake for hours. She wonders if he sleeps at all, considering the unrumpled state of his bedding. When she strips the sheets off to change them once a week, there are no personal effects that fall loose, no trace that the Prince she serves exists at all. He is as much an apparition as she is.

When she is finished making up the bed or delivering the old sheets to the laundress, she sweeps the ashes from the hearth and readies the fireplace for Aemond’s return. Aside from that, there is little else to do besides lightly dust the shelves and reorganise the books placed upon his table. She never once sees the Prince, nor does he see her.

The most strenuous of jobs is the one she currently finds herself doing; the once weekly wash of the bedchamber floor, which requires her to get down upon her hands and knees with a brush and scrub the flagstones with a mixture of hot water and lye. The floor is hard upon her knees, her back aching, and knuckles sore from the combination of the soap and how tightly she grips the brush.

Satisfied that there is not an inch left unclean, she drops the scrubbing brush into the bucket, groaning softly as her knees twinge in protest as she stands. She swipes at the perspiration upon her forehead with the back of her hand, before reaching behind her to soothe ache in her lower back.

She freezes as her elbow collides with something on the desk, her heart feeling as though it stops beating within her chest as she hears the heavy splash of it fall into the bucket behind her, splattering dirty water against her skirt.

Snapping herself out of her shock, she quickly turns, seeing she has knocked a book from the table into the water she had been using to wash the floor. Dread swirls in her belly as she stoops to lift it out, her mind running rampant with thoughts of how much trouble she’ll be in if she has ruined one of Prince Aemond’s belongings. At best, she would lose her job. At worst, she is unsure, but she does not wish to fall foul of the man that rides the world’s largest dragon.

Drying off the leatherbound cover with her apron, she is relieved to see her swift action has prevented any serious damage, though the pages within are sodden. She cannot return it to the desk in this condition, so she tucks the book under her arm and picks up the bucket, walking quickly out of the Prince’s chambers, and back towards the servants’ quarters. If she can get it dried and return it in time, then hopefully he will be none the wiser to her mishap.

The scullion keeps the fire in the shared space ablaze all day, and she settles in front of it, opening the dampened book, careful not to place it so close that the parchment might singe. Happy to see the water has not soaked through far enough to smudge the ink, she turns the pages carefully while they dry, her eyes scanning the words. It is a tome of philosophy, far beyond the realm of her comprehension. It serves as a reminder of the divide between her and the Prince, she is beneath such intellectual pursuits. She imagines he would be infuriated that a lowly maidservant would ever dare to read it, and finds herself hunching over the book as it dries, subconsciously concealing it from view, as though she is engaging in something forbidden and shameful.

After an hour, the heat of the fire has returned the book to its original state, or at least as close as it’s going to get. She makes haste to return it to where it belongs, hoping that Prince Aemond will not yet have returned to his chambers. Her skin is heated, a combination of having been so close to the open fireplace for an hour and nervousness at the idea of being caught.

She enters the bedchamber without knocking, expecting it to still be empty, and moves swiftly on light feet, returning the book back to the desk it had laid upon previously.

“An enjoyable read, was it?”

The voice is soft, yet its sinister edge sends a shiver up her spine, causing her breath to catch in her throat. She turns slowly, keeping her head bowed, not daring to meet the unblinking stare of the One Eyed Prince.

“Your Grace,” she utters meekly, “please accept my apologies. I did not mean to intrude.”

“And you did not answer my question either.”

She dares to look up then, watching in wide eyed horror as he walks slowly towards her, dressed in his sparring attire, his expression impassive.

Swallowing thickly, ignoring everything within her that desperately wants to lower her gaze, she forces herself to hold it. “I did not read it, I swear, I would never be so discourteous.”

“Hm,” he murmurs, standing tall in front of her, “a pity. ‘Tis an interesting text. So, tell me, what were you doing with it?”

He is standing so close to her, she can feel the tickle of his breath upon her flesh, see the angry, red indentation of the scar that runs the length of the left hand side of his face, disappearing beneath the leather patch that covers his eye. There is something in the way he looks at her that makes her want to shrink into herself, but she fears she has forever shrugged off the shroud of invisibility that has until now protected her. His eye is piercing, a silent threat. I see you.

She considers lying, but decides it will be worse for her than simply telling the truth, if he catches her out. “I…I accidentally got the book wet while I was cleaning. I took it away to the servants’ quarters to dry it.”

Aemond leans his body into hers, and she can feel the warmth that radiates from his chest, smell the sweat that lingers on his skin from his exertion in the training yard. She screws her eyes shut, icy fingers of fear gripping her insides as she awaits her punishment, but then the heat of him is gone.

Slowly opening her eyes, she sees that he is still standing in front of her, but his attention is now focused upon his book as he flips through the pages, studying it for signs of damage. He had simply reached behind her to retrieve it. The relief that floods her is enough to make her want to laugh, but she knows better, biting it back as she exhales heavily through her nose.

Satisfied that his book is unruined, he snaps it shut, holding it with both hands as he looks at her once more. ���Are you always this clumsy?”

She gapes at this, white hot embarrassment radiating from head to toe. “N-no, never. It was an accident, Your Grace, I swear it.”

He smirks, cocking his head. “Perhaps I ought to keep a closer eye on you?”

Please, no.

She wants to leave, to be away from the intensity of how he looks upon her, to have him forget her face and allow her to go back to being invisible.

“I promise I will take greater care in future, Your Grace. I apologise. Can I go?”

He raises an eyebrow at this. “I do not know. Can you?”

This is humiliating. Is he getting some sort of satisfaction from this?

“If that will be all, Your Grace.”

She bows her head to him and hurries from the room, feeling her heartbeat in her throat with every step that she takes. She can sense his eye upon her, boring a hole into the back of her, long after she has left his chambers, and it fills her with a sense of unease for the rest of the day. Her only solace is that she can return to her duties upon the morrow without having to see him.

However, as she enters the bedchamber the following morning she is horrified to find the Seven have decided her spell of good fortune has come to its end. Prince Aemond still occupies the space, standing at the foot of the bed as he fastens his tunic. Halting her steps, she lingers uncertainly, not knowing what she ought to do.

He stares at her as he continues to dress, not making any moves to alleviate her discomfort, and she takes a tentative step back.

“Should I come back?” She asks warily, glancing over her shoulder towards the door - it has never appeared so inviting.

“No need,” he assures her, “do what you need to.”

She hesitates a moment longer, but realising she is in no position to protest, she begins the task of turning down the bed. She can feel him looking at her the entire time, making her feel self conscious. There has never been an audience to spectate over her daily tasks before, and she moves as though she is suspended in honey, afraid to make a mistake while he is watching, despite the fact that these are duties she has performed hundreds of times before.

To her frustration, he moves as slowly as she does, unhurriedly clasping on his sword belt and pulling on his boots, watching her all the while, but never speaking a word. It is not until she begins sweeping away the ashes from the fireplace that he finally takes his leave, silently striding from the room without addressing her further.

For the first time since she entered Aemond’s chambers that morning she feels as though she can breathe, although a voice in the back of her mind tells her she has not seen the last of Aemond, and he certainly has no desire to see less of her.

Over the next few days, he is there every time she arrives, either in the process of dressing, or still laying in bed, causing her to turn away, ashamed at the way excitement flutters in her lower belly at the sight of his well defined bare chest.

He is doing this on purpose, she knows he is, abusing the imbalance of power between them, because she cannot ask him to stop. He is not really even doing anything wrong; it is not uncommon for maidservants to be in the presence of those they serve as they perform their duties, yet there is something about this that feels completely improper. The way his stare lingers upon her, stalking her as though she is prey, it both frightens her and fills her with a sense of mortification, because she knows that, deep down, there is a part of her that likes the fact that his attention is on her. The veil between them has been lifted, and now that she has gotten to know what resides on the other side, at least a little, she thinks of nothing else. It is both exciting and terrifying to have someone in such a position of authority so interested in her and what she does.

It is the day she strips the bed in order to place fresh sheets upon it, and she enters the bedchamber prepared to have to wait for the Prince to vacate it first. However, she finds that he is already gone for the day. Unsure if it is relief or disappointment that she feels, she immediately begins to pull back the bedding, deciding she would prefer not to dwell on the hollow feeling that has settled within her chest.

As she tugs the bedsheet loose from beneath the corner of the mattress, a small piece of parchment flutters from it, landing softly on the flagstones beside the wooden bedframe. Nothing has ever fallen from Aemond’s bed before, he is much too tidy, and so her curiosity is immediately piqued.

Plucking it from the floor, her mouth runs dry at the words she finds penned delicately in black ink.

Though I am absent, I think of you.

Was this meant for her to find? She feels foolish for considering such a notion, and yet she cannot shift the idea that it might be. Her hands shake as she holds the note, her mind reeling with thoughts of what she ought to do with it: keep it, cast it into the fireplace, put it back and pretend she has not seen it?

The latter is impossible, he would notice the fresh sheets upon the bed and know that she has found it. Perhaps she is being presumptuous, and this has been left for him by a bedmate? She decides to simply place it upon the desk, and leave it up to the Prince to decide its fate.

Though she attempts to continue her day as normal, thoughts of Aemond and the contents of his note will not allow her any peace. She wonders if it is indeed her that he is thinking of, and if it would satisfy him to know that he haunts her mind in equal measure. If only she had never knocked that wretched book into the bucket, then she would be free of this torment.

Aemond is fully clothed as she walks into his rooms the following day, standing beside his desk. There is absolutely no reason for him to linger, but she knows precisely why he does, her suspicions confirmed when she spies the note clasped between his fingers.

“You read it?” He asks, lifting his gaze to meet hers as she enters.

“Was I not supposed to?” She asks quietly, setting down the basket which contains the brushes and rags she uses for sweeping and dusting.

“I left it where only you would find it,” he retorts, allowing the parchment to flutter back down upon the desk. “What do you think?”

“I do not know, Your Grace,” she responds simply, attempting to keep her focus on meticulously unloading her supplies.

“Leave that,” he orders coolly. “Come here.”

She trembles as she steps slowly towards him, and he rounds on her, caging her between himself and the desk, its wooden edge biting into her lower back.

“You are beautiful,” he breathes, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. 

The trace of his fingertip leaves a trail of heat in its wake. She feels dizzy, overwhelmed, the urge to run and her body’s insistence at remaining rooted to the spot at direct odds with one another.

“Please,” she whispers, “do not. It is improper.”

His hand drops to his side and he regards her with a look of amusement. “I am not my brother. I will not take anything that is not given freely. But I suspect you want this as much as I do. Tell me I am wrong.”

“Your Grace, I–I…”

The words die in her throat, what can she say? A maidservant cannot speak of her desire for the Prince she serves. How can she give voice to the fact that since he first acknowledged her, he has plagued her every waking thought?

“Say the word, and things shall go back to as they were before, we shall be strangers once more.”

That is certainly the easier of the two options, and yet the idea of having to live without his attention now she knows the sweet torment of what it is to have it seems unfathomable to her. She is playing a dangerous game, treading a knife’s edge, placing herself directly in harm’s way, and the words she speaks next will forever change her life’s trajectory, but as she stares up into his piercing blue eye her judgement is too clouded for her to mind.

“I do not want that,” she says earnestly.

“I want you to beg for it,” he tells her, the slightest hint of malice in his tone.

She feels a stickiness between her thighs, a dull throbbing ache in her core that makes her nerves sing for release. Her voice is foreign to her, pathetic sounding as the single utterance of “please” tumbles from her lips.

“Please what?” Aemond asks, tilting his head, mocking her as he looms over her, keeping her pinned against the desk behind her.

Under ordinary circumstances, she would feel ashamed by such lewd behaviour, but these are no ordinary circumstances, and her actions are driven solely by desire, so she feels no chagrin as she allows herself to murmur “please touch me”.

The Prince’s deft fingers make quick work of moving up her skirt, ghosting along the inside of her thigh as he goes, causing her to suck in a shaky breath as she grips his shoulders for support.

She mewls helplessly as his middle and index fingers work their way beneath her smallclothes, dragging through her silken folds, wet with arousal.

Aemond hums in appreciation as his digits explore her, his entire hand moving beneath the thin cotton of her undergarments, cupping her mound. She exhales a shocked gasp as he pushes two fingers forcefully inside of her.

His free hand clasps over her mouth, muffling her sounds, as he works his fingertips inside of her at a lazy pace. “We have to be quiet,” he tells her, “or we will get caught, and we cannot have that.”

She nods in understanding, whimpering against his palm as his thumb begins to circle her pearl, the pumping of his fingers increasing in pace, the sticky sounds of her arousal accompanying her stifled whines of pleasure.

They have not even shared a kiss, there is no romance to be found here, but she does not mind. If anything, the depravity of the act serves to heighten the sensations and renders her more responsive to his touch.

His eye bores into hers, the pupil so large it almost eclipses the blue of it, his lips parted slightly as his nostrils flare. He crooks his fingers, brushing against a spot inside of her that causes her to buck against his hand. He grins wickedly, speeding up his movements both inside of her and against her bud.

The pleasurable ache she feels building winds tightly within her gut, and her thighs tremble with the effort of keeping her upright. Her fingernails dig into the fabric of Aemond’s tunic, as she feels her body tense in preparation for what’s to come.

With a final press of his fingers, she falls apart, her cry almost silenced by his hand over her mouth as she breathes erratically through her nose. She tightens around him in quick pulses as waves of warm relief pass through her body, making her pliant against him. 

She maintains her grasp on his shoulders, not trusting her shaking legs to keep her upright as he releases her mouth and withdraws his hand from beneath her skirt, his fingers glistening with her release.

He tuts, examining them carefully as he holds them up between them both. “What a mess you’ve made”, he says condescendingly, pressing them against her lips and forcing them into her mouth. The taste of herself upon her tongue is tart, the very idea of what she is doing lewd to her. “Something else for you to clean up,” he coos, watching as she sucks her essence from his fingers.

With these words she is brought crashing back down to earth as she is reminded of the power imbalance between them. She will always be the woman who tends to his messes, who serves him, except now she is also a vessel for his pleasure and, whatever the outcome of that may be, it is too late now to take it back. He has seen her, fully, and she will only ever see of him what he allows her to.

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More Aemond fics

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Form of Affection

22/12: Swimming & Face Fucking - Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.9k~ | Warnings: face fucking (obvi), dark!ish Aemond, kinslaying (mood), dirty talk, praise, degradation, threatening/obsessive behaviour A/N: This takes place in the Form of Gratitude universe!

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

He'd given up hunting, but it still didn't stop him from visiting her.

She no longer raised her bow and arrow when she heard footsteps on her cobbled path. Similarly, Aemond had abandoned transport by way of the horse, instead alerting her to his arrival by the dense flapping of Vhagar’s wings.

Now, when she hears it, she waits outside her front door, arms crossed, smirking that he'd come to see her so soon after their last little tryst.

When he wasn’t buried between her thighs, sometimes Aemond craved her company in other ways. By way of hunting with her (hunting her sometimes), exploring the Kingswood until the sun touched the hills and more often, shedding their clothes and going for a swim in the nearby freshwater lake, made warm by the pleasant weather.

Usually, they swim, cleanse, kiss, and he wraps his strong arm around her and sheathes himself inside her, having his fill and only stopping once he was sated. 

She was good to him. Submitted to his desires when he wanted. Comforted him when he needed. And did not question.

Today was different. 

Today there was a weight on his shoulders like no other.

He’d woken a different person. A kinslayer.

Aemond sighs as he feels her breasts at his back, her slender arms wrapping around him to drift her soft fingertips across his scarred chest. But he does not lift his gaze. The moon shone down on them, reflected off the sapphire of his missing eye now that his eyepatch was discarded with his clothes.

“You are more melancholic than usual”, she muses, her nose gliding up the skin of his neck.

He scoffed, “And I am usually melancholic? Such emotions are beneath that of a Prince”.

He felt her body tense at his back, and he didn't need to look to know he'd offended her, but did not possess the courage to apologise.

“You are cruel when you're like this. It is how I know”, she adds with a soft sigh, making him feel worse, “there is something you are not telling me”.

Even the memory haunts him. He can still hear it, the way Vhagar’s jaw ripped through skin and bone like a knife through paper. 

Nevermind having to admit out loud, the horrific act he'd committed. The one that had his mother flinching from his sights.

“I am a kinslayer”, he states simply, “My nephew, Luke.”

She is quiet. 

And the silence spreads like a virus.

He expects her to drift away from him, taking her warmth with her, too shocked to really say anything, and leave, never to be seen again. Never to know her sweet loving embrace.

But she stays, and if anything, tightens her hold around him, her warm breath on his jaw, batting against the water droplet that sinks across his skin.

“And how do you feel?”

He's perplexed at just how calm she is. Whether it's a front or not, she's awfully good at it.

“I feel…unclean”, he answers, voice wavering, “like any person who looks upon me sees nothing but a mere monster”.

“I do not see a monster”.

“That does not matter”.

Again, she knows better than to not take it to heart. She can't disagree, her good opinion of him does not matter.

“He is the one who took your eye”, she muses, turning her face into the crook of his neck, the sloshing of water following her movements, “is he not?”

Aemond's tongue suddenly feels heavy, “Yes.”

“While your other family simply watched, and did nothing to assist?”

He swallows, a mild annoyance simmering, “Yes.”

He heard her breath before she spoke, the nerves making her shaky, “forgive me. I do not see why you should feel remorseful.”

“Because it has started a war.”

“A war that, forgive me, would have occurred regardless. I understand you may feel guilt. In my view it is no use looking back on the past. You can only protect your family now.”

Aemond could only scoff incredulously, “With Aegon as king I have a better chance of my eye growing back.”

“Well then why not you?” she asks, her volume lowering.

He barely turns his head to her, “what?”

The coldness of the early evening nips at his shoulders as she pulls away, the water around her trickling as she moves dreamily to look at him fully. Aemond feels himself half blink as he watches her expression, and the feeling of her fingers against his cheek.

Her beautiful full lips are parted, eyes studying the body she can see that is not submerged.

Her gaze flits back up to him, as her fingers disappear beneath the water, one soft digit trailing down his chest.

“It is you who should be king”

Silence.

The weight of what she'd said, what she'd suggested.

It was treason, and both knew it.

Aemond swallowed, chest feeling tight as a bowstring.

She is not at all perturbed by what she's said, not thinking about the consequences of them. Instead she ponders on.

“I am a commoner, my Prince. I know what he does. Where his interests lie”, she utters, an urgency to her tone. Aemond's stomach muscles tense as her hand passes over it, stepping past the fine hairs at his navel.

“It is you who was born to rule Westeros…”, she whispers, her front pressed near to his, breasts and nipples perk from the chill.

He stares idly at the droplet making its way between her breasts as her hand wraps around his cock, seeing her smirk at the realisation that her words have made him impossibly hard.

“...and you will”.

His jaw tightens, the muscle twitching with barely-contained emotion that was difficult to pin down.

Anger. Lust. Irritation. Desire.

They were all batting around in his head, trying to find where to fit.

He grabs her face, tugging her towards him so harshly she let out a little squeak, her grip on him never faltering, “Treasonous little cunt, aren't you?”

He doesn't know what he expected. For her to be scared perhaps.

But maybe there was a darkness in her that was discovered in him just days before. Lurking. Because she smirked. Giving his length a few calculated pumps.

“I told you before, where my loyalties lie.”

Her voice was like honey. Catching him in its trap. And her movements only intensified it.

“And what if I wed Floris Baratheon? Hm? Where will your loyalties lie then?”

She laughs breathily, “Then you wed Floris Baratheon. But, on your wedding night, I dare say, it is me you will be thinking of as you bury yourself inside that plain-faced idiot, searching for fulfillment you will never have. Not like you do with me.”

“You sound so sure”, he muses threateningly.

“Prove me wrong then.”

He sighs and tips his head back, feeling achingly hard. Her movements are too slow to grant him any kind of meaningful pleasure, but the touch all the same ignites a flame within.

“I can think of a better use for your cunt mouth”

The hand moves from her face to her hair, and he revels in the whine she lets out when he drags her from the depths to the shallow bank of the edge of the great lake. In the moonlight, shrouded in blue, their bodies look ethereal with the light bouncing off their damp skin.

He'd fucking hate that smug little smile on her face as he drags her to her knees in front of him, if he didn't fucking love it so much.

“Open.”

She bit her lip, holding back her smile at how wound tight she'd managed to make him and only wished to take it further by outright denying him, cock hard and weeping before her.

A choked moan left her as warmth bloomed on her cheek hard, Aemond's hand followed and grabbed her jaw meanly, pulling her face up to meet his gaze. His fingers curled into the flesh of her face, parting her lips, all while his other hand held his length by the base littered with silver curls, and pressed the tip to her lips.

Her eyes glimmered with excitement, feeling a throb between her thighs as he slid into her mouth slowly, his cock hot and heavy on her tongue. There was a dull ache on her cheek where he'd struck her, but it was exciting all the same.

Aemond moaned loudly when he felt her gag on him, her throat trying to close around his length and tears collecting around the rim of her beautiful eyes.

“That's it…”, he cooed quietly, pressing all the way into her warm, wet mouth until his hips were pressed to her.

“-you think I should be king, hm? - a king needs his cock warmed -”

He could tell she was trying to say something around his length but couldn't, and he wanted to laugh at her attempt as he thrusted so deeply into her mouth, her throat moved along with it, prodding the back of her throat mercilessly.

The little slut was writhing there, taking his cock into her mouth like a cunt would, pressing her thighs together to alleviate how badly she wanted to be fucked.

“- what's that? - I can't hear you -”, he smirked at her. Her eyes now shut with streams of moisture forming lines down her face.

“-that’s it-” he whispers softly, “-much better with my cock in your mouth-”

Once he begins fucking in earnest, he feels her warm hands on his thighs for balance. His fingers tug at her moist hair for leverage, tugging her back on his length.

His stomach muscles tighten as her cheeks hollow, increasing the friction on him. Every nerve feels alight the more he bottoms out inside her mouth.

“-fuck- it's such a waste, I've been dreaming of that perfect cunt all day -” he breathes heavily, “-be a good girl and take it-”

She makes a sound skin to a whine when she tastes his seed, shooting hot ropes onto her tongue and back of her throat, coating her mouth with it as he continues his ceaseless pace, prolonging his pleasure.

Aemond moans loudly, the sound lost in the dense forest, granting himself a few more shallow thrusts before he stills, emptying himself on her tongue and watching as a line of spend dribbles down the side of her mouth and onto her breasts.

He sighs in contentment. She is being good and hasn't moved an inch.

With a wet smack, he pulls his softening cock from her mouth, smirking at the way he coats her lips as they glisten in the moonlight.

She opens her bleary eyes finally to him, and doesn't even need to be told. She swallows, a sigh following after to prove she has swallowed all of it.

He hums. A thumb reaching for her chin to push the seed that had leaked out back into her mouth. She sucks on the digit hungrily, and he nearly moans out at the feeling of her wet tongue.

He pulls it out and cups her face lovingly, her eyelashes fluttering as she leans into his touch.

“Come back to the Keep with me”, he demands simply, like it is the easiest thing in the world.

“What?” 

“If I'm going to have to wed, bed and breed Floris fucking Baratheon, I'll need you close to me.”

With the heady taste of him on her tongue still, she swallows and considers for a moment. 

“I will not allow the sweetest cunt in the realm to sleep on the outskirts of the fucking Kingswood. You will be mine.”

His words are sweet. 

It would promise safety from vagabonds, rapists and hunters, for certain. And she had to admit, she did miss him whenever he departed on Vhagar, summoned back to the Keep.

So, she smiles at him, leaning forward to press her temple against his body.

“Yes, my King.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[sashi-ya]

𝑺𝑬𝑿 𝑭𝑶𝑹 𝑩𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑲𝑭𝑨𝑺𝑻 「cuts of freedom: part 6」 soshiro hoshina x f! officer! reader

a/n: I know I said this will be the last, but guess what? I couldn't let this story go just yet! also, sorry for the delay, I've been really busy these last few weeks. But, to compensate, here you have a mostly smut chapter before -what i think will be- the last chap! enjoy 💖 tw: mdni! sex explicit scenes. mentions and depictions of wounded skin, cuts, bruises and dried blood. sex for breakfast. shower/bathtub sex. oral. impregnation kink. wc: 3k // part 1: cuts of freedom // part 2: かんぱい！// part 3: stuffed // part 4: side B: relax // part 5: mirror, mirror... // masterlist

“Can I answer you that tomorrow night?” “Yes… take your time”

While your bodies still shivers to reverberating shocks and aftershocks of climax, and your skin burns melting one against the other, those words feel like the sharp blades that once gave you freedom… now, they are painfully severing every string of little hope left inside, mixed with ecstasy. Trapped, once again…

Soshiro’s foreheard rests on your shoulder, his hands gripping the countertop as he normalizes his breathing.

Your hands gradually stop the soft caresses you were giving to his back, and your legs stop pressing his body against yours. Your muscles still tremble, spasms left with blushed cheeks…

“Let’s go to bed, come on” he murmurs, lifting you up to help you stand. “Yes…” you whisper back, feeling perhaps the warmth of words telling you that at least for tonight you two will be actually sleeping together.

Sweet and soft, and despite the fact of him wanting you to be naked forever, he closes the yukata around your waist. Soshiro then lifts your hair up, untucking it off the inside of your clothes.

He grabs your hand and both return to his messy bed; still warm from your concupiscent actions before that detrimental call.

Soshiro flops on his bed, squinting as he -once again- forgets about the wounds scatter all around his body.

“Be careful, Soshiro…” you say, hopping into the bed to take care of him. Probably, there isn’t much you could do to ease his pain, but he definitely enjoyed the “baby” treatment.

“Would you take care of me, (Name)?” he asks, smiling with his sharp teeth. Happiness being genuine, and at the same time feeling like he had found something he has been longing for a very long time.

You take some air, of course you will take care of him. Of course you want it, too.

A sudden thought, suddenly, crossed your mind as you asked yourself whether he deserved an answer right now or not… why do you have to wait for one, but he doesn’t?

You, however, couldn’t lie to him… despite anything you could say or do, you are far too infatuated with him to let your pride win, and chose instead a softer way to let him know you are completely his…

“Yes… always, fukutaichou” you mumble; adressing him as your superior didn’t leave him satisfied, but Soshiro is shrewd enough to understand why you used such word instead of his name.

He suddenly bursts out laughing, snatching you -in a much delicate way he is used to snatch Kafka- to “humble” you down.

“Don’t get that cocky! You are still a brat to me, my sweet little officer! Obbey your vice captain!”  he scoffs, forcing you to bury your nose into the crook of his neck.

Oh, how wonderful he smells. The scent of that skin, this time uncleaned and a little sweaty, brings you to the deepest pit of sinfulness. You can’t help but take a big breathe of such perfume, forcing him to shiver just a little.

This time, even Soshiro won’t say a thing. He, himself, felt a little shy to such neediness show off coming from you. Instead, the modern samurai that slashes his way through difficulties, limits only to hug you even closer to his body.

Slender and beautiful fingers sliding down the indentations of your spine, up and down the curves, in slight touch. It makes you shrudder just a little, and a sensation of pure pleasure coming from your core instantly spreads to every corner of your insides.

Your right leg rests on top of his, your hip turns just enough for your sex to land on his thigh. Your cheek, plastered against his pecs; And your hand landing on his left shoulder. Like those nights you slept guilty considering your pillow his body, this time you do with the warmth of his strong flesh.

For some time, you simply forget about everything, and only bodily sensations -specially exhaustion- take over.

Soon the both of you set sail to the oneireic waters of sleeping seas…

A sweer kiss on your forhead filters through the still sleepy conscious of yours. You slowly open your eyes, letting the sun soak in into your pupils, but there aren’t any traces of it.

“What time is it?” you ask, rubbing your eyes. “Five thirty, my sleeping beauty… go back to sleep” Soshiro informs you, energetic and ready for a new day. You, however, the least you feel like is that way.

Some minutes pass and you finally gain strenght to stand up.  You sit on his bed. The silky yukata sliding off your shoulder, slowly down your arm. Your hair, a mess. Your eyes, squinted. Soshiro, is nowhere near you.

“What…?” you ask yourself, closing the yukata properly and thinking that you could most definitely use the shower.

You hear some noises coming from outside the room, enough to make you curious. Truth is, you would have preferred to wake up right next to him.

Bare feet touch the cold floor, taking you to the source of the sounds. There he is, right in front of you, wearing his classic black compression shirt while holding a short blade on each hand.

Focused, like he always does when training, Soshiro breathes ready to attack. An imagery you’ve been told happens quite often on the base. Now, you are the one ready to enjoy it.

“Wh- what… is there a Kaiju emergency? Do we have to go back?” you ask, shaking your sleepiness as best as possible.

Soshiro instantly puts his blades down. He turns around, with a drop of sweat garnishing his temple… your legs almost failing to such spectacle.

“No, I was just training like every morning… specially since tonight we have plans and I won’t be able to” “Training? With your wounds?!... uh…plans?”

He laughed it off, putting his blades into its sheaths and walking up to you. No matter how hurt he might be, how tired or worried he is like a machine… and its fuel it’s the need for your flesh.

“Let’s take a bath” he commands, this time sounding more like your superior than your… boyfriend?

“Yes!” you insitinctevly answer, causing even more laughter in your vice captain.

His hand wraped around yours, pulling you to follow him to the bathroom. You walk behind like a little girl, trusting him without knowing what awaits for you next.

Despite you knowing his bathroom, you still haven’t reach for the “shower” part of it. A pleasant surprise awaits to see it is not just a shower, but also a very luxurious yet minimalistic tub.

“I need this to relax my muscles after training” he murmurs, sensing you what you -actually- were thinking about the place.

“Of course…” you answer in awe, watching him open the faucets to fill the tub with lukewarm water.

A couple of minutes later, he takes his shirt off as well as the shorts he was wearing, nudity on its full bloom... exposing his tiny waist still makes you shiver and wet, but you instantly stop the lustful thoughts when he finally takes his bandages off.

Some dried blood still covers cuts that have been patched up with Izumo tecs techniques. Those scars have also blueish and purple spots around, as wells as big bruises on his back. The price of overheating and taking the suit to the max, has to be this… not every member of the JAKDF is able to tolerate such terrible damage.

“Soshiro…” you breathe, worried. You slowly walk towards him, taking a closer look at those injuries. “You should rest, not fight, not train and specially not… fuck” you continue, depositing a finger ever so slightly near the start of one of the wounds on his chest.

“It is… difficult to resist, even the touch of your fingertip makes me incredibly needy of you” he susurrates, grabbing your wrist to take it to his lips and plant a kiss.

You swallow. You just can’t… you don’t have the heart to see those injuries and still indulge once again into his hot sex.

“Please…” you painfuly express; as if a moaning slipped out of your mouth, you are not sure if you are only suffering for him or if you are torn in between a guilt dillema of succumbing to intercourse while knowing he is in pain or resist it.

He smirks, letting just the tip of one of his fangs shine with a weak orangey light barely filtering the little bathroom window. His hand unties the shash around your waist to let the silk covering slide down the floor…

“What are you begging for, (Name)? why are you saying “please” for?” he teases you in such sexy way, you feel the need to bite your lower lip.

And your lower lip is exactly what he pinches in between his fingers, so delicate, so lustful and perverted. His fingertips barely wet with your saliva go down your chin, lifting it up, pulling you towards his lips, clashing with yours like in slow motion.

“Mh…? You haven’t answered me yet, babe… though I might know what you are asking for, you are dripping wet…” he mutters, lips against your lips, his free hand reaching down your core.

He smiles against your mouth, grazing it with his sharp fangs. It takes nothing to manipulate your body that seems to move on its own, following him into the water.

“Soshiro we shouldn’t… you are not fully recovered” “Ok, ok… I promise I’ll behave…”

Soshiro carefully lets you sit down in the tub first with your back against one of the walls. And then he follows, sitting in between your spread legs, allowing his perfectly sculped back to rest on your chest.

You are absolutely satisfied with this, in fact it feels like a dream… to have him this way… Soshiro is not heavy, his weight is not crushing you, in fact it feels like a pleasant pressure on your body. He is lean, and still muscular. He is not built big, but he has the strenght of a demon.

Your hand comes out of the water, that in fact comes as a blessing for your sore muscles, and reaches for his bigger wound. You don’t touch, you just graze.

“Does it hurt, Soshiro?” you ask, whispering right into his right ear. “Ngh… how do you expect me to behave this way?” he complains, as your warm breath caresses his earlobe and your palm right on the healthy parts of his chest.

You would lie if you said you aren’t secretly enjoying a little torture, a little bit of the taste of dominance.

“I could give you some releif…” you susurre, planting a peck on his nape. “Oh… could you?” he smirks, devileshly. Though, his voice trembles despite the hard attempt to remain dominant.

You hum, nodding while your hand slides down his lower stomach. It makes him flinch just a little when your palm graces his injuries with the delicacy of a feather.

You can’t help but scoff a little bit as the moment your hand surrounds his hardness makes him moan sexily. His cheeks turn pink, Soshiro is probably not used to being pleasured this way…

“Relax, fuku taichou…” you murmur as you begin pumping unhurriedly, and so deliciously.

He lets the back of his head fall on top of your shoulder, enjoying the jerking off motions that prove to be of great expertise coming from you.

“Mhh… I might need you every night after training babe…” he moans, smiling in pleasure and looking you from the side with just a little bit of his purple eye showing.

“Every night, Soshiro? I wouldn’t mind… but what will the rest think of my absesence?” you ask, unaware of the following revelations.

“Well, babe… it’s probably time they know” he lets heavy words scape his lips, making you stop for barely some seconds those delicious hand motions.

You resume, however, the pumping quickly enough for him to notice any type of reaction. Not sure if you wanted to brush it off because you couldn’t process it, or because you swear you hear him wrong. There must be something inside you telling you that’s too good to be true.

Oh, but Soshiro notices very well… there isn’t a keener soldier than him.

He smirks, knowing that little hint about whats coming for you, left you startled. And what you thought had only been a couple of seconds of awe, were in reality a fatal blow to turn the dominance back to him.

He doesn’t really need to say much, he lifts your hand from his body and turning around just enough yo clearly get the message. Standing up, he guides you to sit on the edge of the tub.

With his body still inside the water, Soshiro urges you to spread your legs. He relishes and gloats to your entrance being fully on display right in front of his face; breakfast is served prior to him, and he is going to feast on such delicacy.

Tongue dances in between your folds, drinking from your honeys, slurping on your wetness. Your knuckles turn white from holding for dear life on that edge, while your body shivers, accepting you have lost a silent fight… now there is only one thing left to do; enjoy.

When you feel brave enough, just a single hand holds you while the other tangles in Soshiro’s purple hair. Pulling the closer you get to climax, letting him know it’s time to finish the work with his hardness deep inside your core.

Hoshina fukutaichou stands up, drips of water traveling his deliciously beaten up body, giving you the perfect show off of a warrior ready to impale you…

Pumping two times, his hands getting coated with precum, his shaft getting even harder, a single vein popping…

“Don’t understimate the strenght of your vice captain, I already told you that…” he lets you know you are about to get fucked as hard as always despite any wounds. And maybe, even, harder.

Your toes curl, and your back arches. The way in which he rams into you can be only compared to a Kaiju attack, a blow dealt with the violence of deadly intentions but tinted in lustful desperation.

His thrusts are fast but precise; every time he goes inside, he does it deeper and harder. Your eyes turn white from pleasure, with walls clenching around his saft, milking, pumping, wanting to get once again bathed by the Hoshina seed.

“You keep stroking me with your cunt… ngh… what you want, (Name)? You. wanna. Get. Pregnant. From. Me? Hmmm??” he spits, biting your lip after. He pulls and kisses, and lets his tongue violate your mouth. Saliva driping down, as you are unable to close your mouth, there is so much to moan about.

“Soshiro… I… fuck… yes, fuck…” you are only able to answer, you don’t have a chance to say no either way.

“It will be my pleasure, babe” he answers back, bestialy burying his fangs into your neck as he lets his hips go as fast as his sex desires. Giving his body the natural freedom of using intercourse for its main purporse.

Shooting creamy release into your core sets the deal, once again taking the risk; once again primal prevailed reasoning. And oh, how good it felt.

“Now let’s have something for breakfast, we are running late… plus, you need to go back to the base to get ready for tonight” “Yes, fukutaicho... though, what’s with tonight? I’ve been wanting to ask about it” “Didn’t I told you I was going to answer the question you had last night? I always keep my word, honey” “Oh…”

[to be continued]

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Ñuha drakarītsos (dark!Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

synopsis: Aemond attacks Harrenhal and decides he deserves a spoil of war. And he doesn´t take lightly to any objections.

warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, (public) humiliation, non-consensual sex, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, reader getting treated like a toy, angst, no happy end, afab reader

word count: 3.1k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

Dividers by @targaryen-dynasty

Adrenaline races through your body as you run through the halls of Harrenhal. Keeping your bare feet moving over the hard stone ground and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Your loud, huffing breath is the only thing you hear besides it. You don't remember losing your shoes or ripping the skirts of your dress. It does not matter now though. All that matters is getting out of the castle and away from the men invading it or die trying. But you refuse to give up without a fight.

You can count the number of hallways on one hand, when you get caught by a knight and despite your struggles, are forced back to the inner courtyard. There you get pushed towards the other woman from the castle, who had all been rounded up like scared animals. Clinging to one another, shaking and crying hysterically. Your eyes flit over the yard. Knights are pushing around lords and servants, rounding up more women. The screams mixed with the scent of fire entering your nose is disorienting. Your head spins from the cacophony around you and then silently everything goes quiet as he enters the courtyard. That piercing blue eye burns into your body for just a moment before eyeing the rest of his and his men's work. His voice is heard barking orders at his men and then Aemond Targaryen stands before all of you, lips pressed together in a thin line and his hands behind his perfectly straight back.

With a methodical carefulness the prince regards all of you, looking down his nose. After walking the line, he comes back around to stand in front of you.

“You.” He says plainly.

Before you know what exactly he means by that, you get pushed a few steps forward and your clothes are ripped off your body. A gasp goes through the group behind you, the women cowering away to further single you out as Aemond walks towards you.

Inches away from you, he stills. One of his large, rough hands finds it´s way onto your thigh, the thumb sliding over the inside to graze your folds. Instinctively your legs squeeze together tightly, a thick layer of goosebumps spreads over your body, yet while it brought a sardonic smile to his lips, yours are graced by a snarl. His touch wanders upwards, leaving a burning trace in its wake that makes you feel the need to purge. Acidic taste burns its way up your oesophagus, overwhelming you entirely as the burning trails over the curve of your breasts to stop right under your jawline.

He runs a thumb over your lip ring, tracing the curve of your lip before finally releasing your chin.

“Unclean.” He mutters, sounding unimpressed at the dirt and ash that had accumulated on your skin. 

The smirk returns to his face as he reaches out and grabs onto your cheek.

He leans in close, his warm breath against your skin as he whispers. “You´re going to make a perfect little whore for me.”

The only answer he gets is a growl from deep within your body.

A soldier gets called over to wrap his cape over your shoulder. It is wet with drying blood and smells of the fires that had been set all around the castle, leaving you uncomfortable. Though it gives a sense of modesty.

The thought of which goes flying as soon as Aemond wraps an arm around your waist, to without much decorum, pick you up over his shoulder. To no avail you kick your legs and hit the back of the prince’s armour, which only gets regarded with a tightening of his grip.

Somehow, he manages to get you on top of Vhagar, trapping you between his arms. “Now. Are you going to behave yourself?” He asks firmly but doesn't wait for an answer as he commands Vhagar to take flight.

He doesn´t need to. It was more of an order than a question really. It is not like you could do much anyway without falling off the massive dragon and breaking your neck if you are lucky.

“Let me go!” You break your silence against him once you are far away enough from the castle for the screams on the ground to fall silent.

“Or mayhap you could give yourself to me right here.” He muses aloud.

“I will never give myself to you willingly.” You spit out the bitter tasting words. “And if you truly believe there to be even the slightest chance of it, you must be a bigger fool than the usurper himself.”

Aemond smiles coldly at your defiant words, enjoying the fact that you were unable to fully submit to him. He leans forward and bites down hard enough on your neck to break the skin where his teeth marked your flesh. It stings horribly, yet he seemed to find pleasure in your pain. 

“And yet here you are, unable to do anything but sit in my lap and take whatever I choose to give you.” He purred softly, running his fingers over your hair gently before suddenly yanking it back harshly in a makeshift ponytail, causing tears to spring to your eyes.

The sharp pain running through your scalp lets up only moments after, yet as Aemond lets up on your throbbing tresses, he immediately begins pinching at your breasts through the fabric that hangs around your shoulders still.

“Perhaps I should break more than just your will?” He asked with a sinister grin, reaching between your thighs to pinch at them as well.

The sensation makes you jump in the dragon's saddle, only saved from falling by his arms around you and holding onto the next best thing you can find, which luckily is the pommel.

Your heart beats wildly out of your chest and while the wind howls in your ears, carrying over a loud amused laugh from behind your back.

By the time you reach the capital and the red keep, you feel ready to pass out. Even if in all technicality the way doesn’t take long on dragon back, the prince´s relentless teasing and humiliation has you so on edge that it becomes straining.

When Vhagar finally lands and your feet feel some solid ground under their soles, you are immediately restrained by the wrists behind your back. At first you have half a mind of making a run for it, but one look into Aemond's eye tells you that there wasn't a worse idea in the world right now and that his treatment would become only worse if you followed up on that instinct. So, you comply with him as he nudges you in the back to get you to walk. Stumbling after him as he leads the way towards his chambers, you shiver under the judging glances of passing royalty and servants alike. Hearing their whispers about the now open and thus very revealing cape had you clench your fists.

You want to yell at them, rage, defend yourself, run. Anything to make you feel less helpless, but there is no way you would survive that. So, you keep following Aemond, keeping your thoughts to yourself and focusing on the stone floors. Even if their gazes burnt into your body just like his steel blue eyes had back at Harrenhal, you wouldn't meet their eyes. Doing so would only serve to lose the last smidgeof respect you had preserved for yourself.

Somehow the walk through the castle feels even longer than the flight from Harrenhal. Perhaps because it is linked to the much greater shame of being seen in this position, a shame that feels like boulders weighing you down from your stomach.

Eventually he does open the doors to his private chambers to you though, closing them behind you, before coming up to.

Even the way he moves marks him as a predator. The slow steps, cold, ever calculating eyes, the way his head always moves before his body. Always planning something that no matter how hard you try, you can never seem to keep up with. Smelling and getting off on the fear of his prey.

You notice that you have let yourself get lost in thought, when Aemond pulls the cloak off your shoulders and loudly calls in some maids.

On his order they give you what must be the roughest bath ever. Scrubbing until your skin is reddened, but at least it rides you off the dirt and smell of smoke and dragon.

You are given the grace to be dried off, but one look tells you that you won't be given any new clothes.

Instead, once the women hand you over to Aemond again, with arguably pitying gazes, you find yourself held down on the mattress.

With leather straps your wrists and ankles get bound to the bed posts in an embarrassingly open position. And no matter how hard you pull on them, the restraints do not budge, leaving you in that position for anyone that would walk in the room to see.

“Do not worry. You will learn to love being under my control.” Aemond runs the back of his fingers over your burning cheeks.

An amused chuckle leaves his lungs as you turn your head to snap after the slender digits.

“I will never love being under your control. I surely will not ever love anything associated with you.” You pick up the fight against the smooth leather once more, yet all it does is cut into your skin.

“It's quite amusing to watch someone resist so hard.” The blond remarks. “But ultimately futile.”

He leans in close again, his hot breath brushing against your ear as he whispers. “You will learn to crave my touch as much as you fear it.”

Without a warning he bites down on your earlobe, causing you to cry out in pain and shock.

“Fuck you…” You hiss back at him.

Aemond smirks at your response, his eye gleaming with a mix of dominance and pleasure.

“I think I quite enjoy hearing you say that. Although I would much rather do that to you.” His hand wanders down between your legs again to forcefully push two fingers inside of you.

You cry out, a strangled sound that claws its way out of your lungs, but he does not relent. The sensation of his fingers penetrating is brutal, making you want to scream, but you bite your tongue instead. Under no circumstances would you give Aemond that satisfaction, if you could prevent it. Yet your thighs squeeze together tightly.

The action now elicits a deep growl from his throat, warning you to better behave or he might not be so kind as he is at the moment.

“Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me.” He continues to force his fingers inside of you, tearing at your sensibilities as he watches your face twist in discomfort and humiliation. His violation fuelling your hatred for him only further.

Eventually you have no other choice but to let your legs fall apart.

“That´s a good girl.” Aemond purrs.

His other hands slides up the middle of your body to rest loosely around the base of your neck.

Though he doesn't restrict your breathing yet, it hitches in your throat still. Aemond is unpredictable, even if you were to follow each of his commands.

Then suddenly his fingers leave your aching cunny. The same moment the rustling of clothes fills the room alongside your shallow inhalation.

Even with his hand away from your neck, you only dare to look at the prince from the corner of your eyes. It proves to be enough to take in the sight of pale skin, being exposed until even his breaches fall to the ground.

Aemond grabs your hair to force your lips open in a gasp. Without wasting time, his hardened length gets buried deep in your throat, forcing you to gag and choke as your body desperately tries to adapt to his long cock. Meanwhile Aemond, with a deep groan, began to thrust into you harshly. Tears burn in your eyes and flow over when you see the look of cruel joy in his darkened one. The wet sounds of the blond fucking your throat are beyond lewd and loud enough to be heard by the guards outside the door for sure. At the same time, you can´t stay quiet at the intrusion. Your lungs refuse to be silenced. Even if your cries for help are muffled and masked by the sounds of deep moans, you don´t give up hope one of them would take pity on you.

But nothing happens. The doors stay closed, no one intervenes, the leather cuffs do not budge for you to find a way out yourself. And you are forced to listen to your torturers irregular breathing and expressions of pleasure.

By the time he pulls out of your mouth with a wet pop, Aemond´s cock is soaked with a mix of spit and pre cum, the mixture dribbling down to his stones and wetting your chin from your swollen lips.

However, the assault has not found its end yet.

Aemond climbs in between your legs and lines up his slickened length at your in fear tightened opening. Your fists clench in preparation until the knuckles turn pale. None of it is enough to help against the pain.

Without preparation and with one swift motion, Aemond buries himself inside your core until he bottoms out.

“There we go.” He coos in a taunting tone over your stifled scream. “Feeling nice and full now, are we not, ñuha drakarītsos? My little dragonfire.”

Again, there is no break. He pulled out slowly to give you just the smallest moment to breathe, only to push back in even harsher than before. Every time he thrusts into you, a new scream claws its way out of your lungs, long after they are raw and hurt almost as much as the rest of your body.

Aemond reaches deep inside of you, stretching your still narrowed core, the curve of it making sure to hit all the most sensitive spots inside and out with the assistance of one large hand coming down to rub circles into your pearl to get you to loosen up.

His efforts, to your detriment, are fruitful sooner than late.

Under Aemond´s ministrations your body begins to betray you. Writhing and squirming against your will. The way liquid fire flows through your veins, calling for more and the feel of his stones slapping against your backside with every thrust. At the same time bile rises in your throat from how wrong this is. This shouldn´t make you feel good. None of it.

“Are you finally realising your place in the world, ñuha drakarītsos? Are you ready to give in to me?” Aemond leans down to let his breath tickle your ear.

His hand finds its way around your throat again, warning you not to say the wrong thing.

“Never. I will never bow my head to a levereter like you…” You are cut off by Aemond´s hand squeezing your throat tight enough to cut off any air flow.

Helplessly you gasp for air, as he keeps rutting into you, unflinching. Luckily your torturer shows a smidge of mercy, letting go of your neck just as the black dots begin to dance in your vision begin to grow.

“I will give you another chance. Are you ready to submit to me?” He puts extra emphasis on every word as he spits them out like sone expired food.

“You may ask as often as you wish. My answer will not change.” You shoot back in the same tone, spitting in his face afterwards.

“Oh, I will make you regret this.” The prince growls angrier than you had ever seen anyone. It is not a threat, especially not one made idly. It is a promise that he means to fulfil.

Until long past sunset, Aemond pounds you into the mattress, to a point where you pass overstimulation by a longshot. His seed leaks out of your swollen, numb folds to stain the bed sheets. A red print of his hand signals where he had cut off your breath repeatedly. And still he kept thrusting into you at a brutal pace. Where he still takes the strength from to keep it up you aren´t sure. And if you are honest with yourself, his efforts to make you submit have you unable to coherently think anything at the moment.

Much to Aemond´s delight, he is able to observe your head rolling from side to side weakly, your whole body shaking uncontrollably, the fight entirely gone from your spent muscles. At least for now. You have resorted to begging him to stop on a barely coherent mumbling tone, raw from everything that has happened prior, which is answered by a wolfish smirk as Aemond finally slows his hip movements.

The slower thrusts allow him to lean down one last time to suck purple and blue marks into the sensitive skin around the one his hand had left earlier. Some pitiful, scratchy and quite hurtful whines leave your mouth in response to the prince´s doings. Observing his masterpiece it only takes Aemond a few more pumps to climax one last time.

Through hazy eyes and an even hazier mind you barely register him pulling out. Your senses are overwhelmed by the low light of the moon reflecting off his hair to make it shimmer like liquid silver and the stench of has previously transpired. You are exhausted, eyes barely able to keep open as Aemond gets off the bed to clean his cock and get redressed.

Once he is finished caring for himself, the blond, releases your weakened limbs from the restraints. Then he climbs in bed next to you, though he makes no attempt to share his blanket with you, nor show any care towards your still far-gone mind. Why would he you were naught more than a spoil of war, a toy to be used and thrown away once it became too broken. He seemed to sense however that there was some fight left in you, even if at the moment you did not.

“You better be ready to bow to me on the morrow. Or there will be more punishment. I do not mind either way. It is up to you if I will your dream or your worst nightmare.” Aemond rasps, the tiredness in his voice clearly audible even through the fog that seemed to want to stay in your brain. You don´t remember much of what followed that night. Somehow he ended up with one of his arms laid loosely over your middle. Though the air between the two of you remains as hostile as before.

He knows there is no fondness for him in your heart, no trust. He can’t blame you for it. In all honesty he does not even care much for it. You belonged to him now either way. His little dragonfire.

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 3

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: none for this one, I think

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Unedited for now! Holy moly, sorry for taking so long on this one. I was kinda drowning in uni work the past week. The next chapter should come sooner, I hope. Also just wanted to say thank you so much to those who take the time to comment!! I really really appreciate the kind words. You guys are super sweet. Mwa mwa.

The inky black fireworks exploded in the distance as you were led back into the underground chambers of the arena. Your eyes are relieved to escape the infrared sun. Heavy doors open for you once more. The na-Baron stands, chest exposed, skin slick with sweat under the artificial light. His blown-out eyes hone in on you as you enter. He makes his way to you holding the blood-stained handkerchief.

"Did you enjoy the show, my lady?" His chest heaves and you feel his heavy breaths as he leans into your ear, voice even more raspy, "Aren't you something, little hawk."

He holds the cloth up as if giving it to you but when you reach for the handkerchief he snatches it away.

You sigh and lift your veil, a sweet smile plastered on your face, "A most impressive demonstration, na-Baron. You are as formidable as they say."

Feyd-Rautha takes a moment to scan your face. He doesn't know what your game is but he wants to play.

His breathing has settled. He raises a hand to reach for your cheek but you move past him. You walk towards a table displaying knives laid over a cloth. You pick one up to examine. The blades remain uncleaned, the blood from earlier in the day already beginning to dry. You sense they will be kept that way.

"You have good form. Clean, precise," you say, holding the dagger in a reverse grip, edge out. "You enjoy it, don't you?"

From behind, you feel Feyd-Rautha close the distance between you once again.

"Perhaps you enjoy it a little too much," you turn to him, "I'm sure you let him disarm you on purpose. For the show."

Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and allows himself a small smile. "You should return to the fortress, my lady. I have duties to attend to," he touches your armed hand and gently takes the knife from you, "and my uncle would like to see you."

Despite being shielded from the black sun, you elect to keep your veil for your lunch with the Baron. You excuse the chill running down your spine as the coldness of the high, stony walls of Fortress Harko as Iassa escorts you to the dining hall. Iassa kept her head bowed, you noticed, hands folded in front of her. She didn't need to look ahead to know the way.

When you arrive, large doors open to the sight of the Baron floating at the head of the table. There was only one other seat at the side of the table a few feet from him. Despite that, there was a full spread of food which his servants were already feeding him.

You had done your best to avoid the Baron in your short time here, but it seems this meeting was inevitable.

"Lady Atreides," his eyes turn toward you lazily. "Come. Eat."

"Good afternoon, Baron," you curtsy as you enter. Iassa bows to you and waits outside. You take your seat, "will it only be us, my lord? This seems a lavish spread for only two people."

"Are you calling me a glutton, girl?" he spats.

Your heart takes a beat as you try not to stare at his grotesquely large body.

"We are Harkonnen," his husky laugh rings through the room. "We may lavish as much as we please."

You exhale the breath you were holding and let out a small laugh. Of course. They were the richest house in the Landsraad. The Harkonnens must be accustomed to excess.

"Soon, child, you will be Harkonnen as well," he says in that gravelly voice that is so uncomfortably similar to Feyd-Rautha's. "Is that what you want?"

The question takes you aback. No one has ever asked you this question before. This betrothal has been decided for so long, you've never even thought to ask the question yourself. It was all you'd known. Your duty. You had never bothered to imagine what your life would have been if you weren't destined to marry the Harkonnen heir.

You regain your composure, "Baron, it is my honor to unite our Great-"

"Drop the act, child!" he barks. "Perhaps you fear me, but if you are to become 'family', I will not have the patience for charades. Speak plainly. Do you want to marry my nephew?"

This has been a most unusual exchange. At least compared to what you're used to. Always taught to be sweet and pleasant. You suppose you had nothing to lose, considering the Baron killing you would start an all-out war. You take a moment to think, and then a deep breath.

"I am a woman, dear Baron. There is not much for me in this life. Indeed, tales of your house's savagery are well-known throughout the systems, and in Caladan more than most. But had I not been betrothed to your nephew, I would only be married off to some other lord or count or whatever, gentler than Feyd-Rautha they may be," you swallow. "Perhaps, I could have been trained a Bene Gesserit sister. However, to become the wife of the heir to one of the most powerful houses in the known universe���there are worse fates."

The Baron stares, seemingly satisfied with your answer. He waves his servants away. "Eat, child. Waste not the food of one of the most powerful houses in the known universe."

He begins to glide towards the doors on his side of the hall and his servants scurry to lay down their forks and follow after him.

You look to the remaining servants in the dining hall, then to the mounds of food on the table. Your first dinner on Giedi Prime had felt suffocating with all the nobles around and Feyd-Rautha smugly breathing down your neck. You pile your plate high.

In your quarters, Iassa helps you out of your clothes and into a warm bath. You don't wait for her and begin scrubbing your skin with a rag yourself. Between the heat from the morning gladiator fights and your tense conversation with the Baron, you were happy to wash the sweat off your body.

"Is this alright, my lady?" Iassa is trying to wash your hair with the lightest touch, "Does it hurt you?"

"No, no. It's quite alright." You take over and she moves to begin scrubbing your legs.

You're grateful you brought bottles of your own hair soaps. You notice Iassa is intently observing how you washed your hair and you appreciate her wanting to learn. Although, you surmise she might not have a choice. Her black choker seems to stand out even more against her pale skin.

"How was your day, Iassa?" you say as you lather your hair.

She pauses in confusion. "It was quite alright, my lady," her voice is soft and polite.

"Do they treat you well?" you knew it was a futile question.

"I am property of House Harkonnen, my lady," she says as she pours more water into the grey stone bath, "I am treated appropriately."

"Yes, but do you mean appropriately as in well or appropriately as in—" your desperate attempt to make a friend seems to be slipping through your fingers. You let out an exasperated sigh, "I know it's only been a few days but, do I treat you well, Iassa?"

She takes a moment and smiles up at you, "My lady has been most gracious." You see in her eyes she means it.

"You were right about the na-Baron," you say, "he is formidable indeed."

"I'm pleased my lady was impressed," she wraps a robe around you as you rise from the bath.

"Well, I don't know about impressed," you say as you step out, "he is a decent fighter, certainly. Perhaps it is a difference in the fighting styles of our worlds."

After helping you dress, Iassa bows and leaves you to retire. Her grey robes flowing behind her.

Once alone, you find your father's dagger in your belongings. The Baron's earlier question comes back to you. Is that what you want? To marry Fayd-Rautha? That night, you sleep clutching the knife close to your heart.

When you awake the following morning, you are greeted by a servant girl bringing you breakfast.

"Where is Iassa?" you ask.

"She has been relieved, my lady," the girl looks even younger than Iassa, "I am Zora."

Your brow furrows, "What does that mean, 'relieved'?"

When Zora remains silent, you get up from the bed.

On the dark grey of your vanity, you notice a black strip of leather. A choker identical to your new servant's but it was unmistakable who it belonged to. Your mind ran through the whys and your blood began to boil.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove

[fuckingstrange]

——————————————————————————————————————

Tensed Up

——————————————————————————————————————

GENRE: SMUT + FLUFF

WARNINGS: Implied construction worker!reader, idk they got dirty at their job, Reid being cute, oral sex (reader receiving), handjob (reader receiving), cum-swallowing, multiple orgasms, maybe overstimulation?, spit as lube

WORDS: 1,135

PAIRING: Spencer Reid x m!reader

——————————————————————————————————————

Spencer sits on the floor of his apartment, curled up in a ball with some pajama pants on and a simple hoodie as he reads. You had just gotten home from work, exhausted and beat. The sight of him so relaxed and comfortable makes you smile, though you don't want to join him until you get out of your dirtied work clothes.

Spencer turns to see you, having heard you walking down the hall. He scrambles to stand up and runs over to you, looking like a kid on Christmas as he greets you with a hug and a kiss. “Hey! You're home!” He exclaims with a smile, peppering your face with kisses like he usually does. You reach up, gently grabbing his lower jaw and guiding him away after only a few though. As much as you do want to spend time with him, you're worried about being so dirty when he hates unclean things. His hair looks damp, meaning he just had a shower and wouldn't want to join you anyways.

He frowns a bit when you guide him away, tilting his head like a confused puppy as he asks “What's wrong?”, Thinking he either did something or you're just grumpy after work. “Nothing, sweetheart.” You assure him. “I just don't think you wanna be kissing all on me. I'm dirty.” You gesture to the dirt covering your clothes and face.

Spencer shrugs and reaches forward, using his thumb to lightly scratch the dirt off of your face, whispering “I don't mind.” This shocks you a bit, the action of him trying to get the dirt off your face making your heart melt, a small smile forming on your face again. You don't stop him when he leans forward to plant his lips on yours, letting your eyes flutter shut as you kiss back. It's soft and sweet, even as he reaches down to help start shedding you of your work clothes, mumbling something about getting you into the shower. His kisses trail down to your jaw, kissing wherever there isn't tons of dirt crusted to your skin, using one hand to reach up and scratch off wherever there are clumps.

You let him undress you, all the way down to your boxers. Your cheeks flush a light red when he slips his hand in, his slender fingers wrapping around your soft shaft and starting to pump it, feeling the way it starts to harden and even twitches in his hand. You can't help but groan, arms wrapping around his shoulder to help keep yourself up. Your body melts under the gentle touch, letting out a small whine when he pulls you out of your boxers, wanting a better angle to continue his ministrations. The cold air hits your hardened cock, making you shiver.

Spencer presses his lips back against yours, guiding you by the waistband of your boxers over to the couch. “I can feel how tense you are, baby.” He whispers as he pushes you to sit down, your cock twitches as he slips to his knees in front of you and returns his hand to your length, stroking it from base to tip before leaning forward to lick up the underside of it. Your hand shoots to the back of his head, fingers carding through his damp hair and getting a firm grip on the wettend strands. He suddenly takes you into his mouth, swallowing you all the way down. You immediately buck up with a gasp, head tossing back. He lifts his head until only the tip of your dick is in his mouth and swirls his tounge around it, the feeling making you moan out as you melt back against the couch.

His hands move up to rest on your thighs as he begins bobbing his head, gagging a bit whenever your hips buck, but he doesn't stop. “Fuck, Spencer, Please-” You choke out, knowing you won't last as long as he probably wants. He tightens his grip on your thigh, continuing to mercilessly bob his head, taking a second to flatten his tounge against your tip before swallowing you down again. You cum fairly quick, back arching as a whine slips from your lips while you spill into his mouth. Spencer chokes a bit, but swallows down as much as he can. He pulls off of you to use his thumb to push in whatever of your seed had gotten on the corner of his mouth.

Just as you think he's gonna stand up, he suddenly leans forward to start kitten-licking the head of your cock, making you twitch from the feeling. “Spencer..” You whisper, though it trails off into a moan when you watch him spit on his hand before reaching up to start stroking your cock again. “I'm not gonna stop till every last bit of tension is out of these muscles.” He whispers with a grin, caressing your inner thigh with his thumb. You whine and shudder, your cock not even having a chance to soften before he's pumping you till you're completely hard again.

His hand glides easily up and down, and each time he leans forward to lick around your tip, gathering up the salty precum, you groan and twitch in response. He massages your thigh and whispers soft words of encouragement, whenever his tounge isn't toying with the head of your cock his mouth is down at your thigh placing open mouthed kisses. Your second orgasm approaches even quicker than your first, and you can't help but melt back against the couch while letting noises flow freely from your lips.

Spencer moves his hand quicker, leaning forward to wrap his lips around the head just as he flicks his wrist, letting you spill into his mouth again. The cry of his name that falls from your lips makes him groan around you, the vibrations of the noise making you gasp and twitch, another stream of cum shooting out onto his tounge.

He leans back on his knees and wipes his mouth, stroking you until you soften and finally letting go, fucking you back into your boxers and crawling into your lap. He curls up into you and kisses your cheek, asking “Are you wanting to bathe or nap first?”, to which you answer with “Nap.”

You pull him down with you, snuggling up into him. The house is a bit cold, so you find yourself curling into him to try and get some of his body heat. You frown when he pushes you back, though watch as he sits up and proceeds to slip off his hoodie while saying “Here, wear this.” You happily take it and slip it on before snuggling up to him again. Spencer kisses you on the forehead as he gets comfortable, letting his eyes slip shut.

[bridgetotheskyyy]

Akatsuki; Gangbang/moresome

a/n: reader x akatsuki members! (pain, kakuzu, kisame, deidara, hidan, tobi - with zetsu present lmaooo. horrifically 18+ lol. Okay, two problems I know. NO ITACHI, also NO KONAN but I included the characters I think would be down with this and those two just don’t fit the bill.). oral, vaginal sex, ass play, degradation & praise. wc 3.8k

Kinktober Masterlist

“I’ve initiated a meeting with some of our wealthiest female donors,” Pain said as Akatsuki members arrived at the entrance. 

Itachi and Konan were not among them, the former having refused on the spot while it had simply not been the latter’s scene. Pain suspected a speckle of jealousy on Konan’s part, but had not argued with her decline.

Kisame studied the club and its lights, winking flirtatiously, and when realization dawned, shook his head with mock judgment. "You know some interesting people, Leader.”

Pain raised his brows. “As you all know, I do all I can to find donors who are willing to give to our organization.”

“It’s a fucking sex club,” Kakuzu snapped. “Doesn't that mean we're paying them?” 

Pain was quiet for a few seconds. “No. Tonight, we are offering our services.”

They were quiet in turn. 

“What …” Deidara started cautiously, “kind of services?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Hidan added. “From the sounds of it, we won’t be killing anyone.”

Pain shot him a dangerous look. “Certainly not. There's been an agreement. We've been offered to come here at no expense of our own.”

“So we're not paying?” Kakuzu said, ever the single minded one.

“That's correct.”

“What will we be doing?” Deidara said, determined to stop beating around the bush.

Pain delayed his answer, but nothing could soften the blow. “We will be offering pleasure to the woman.”

Silence, then ― 

“What?”

“Come again?”

"We're fucking for free?"

“Who would ―?”

"Ohhhh." Tobi, who was the only one unfazed by the announcement, fixed a hand on his hip. "Tobi has read about this!"

"You read?” Deidara quipped. 

"Yes! Its called hybris… hyber… " Tobi strained to recall. 

“Sound it out,” Deidara deadpanned. 

“It's a big word! But anyway, some girls like criminals and wanna be with them!”

“Tobi is right,” Pain said with an inscrutable look the aforementioned man’s way. “And the word is hybristophilia. In other words, our activities are not always repulsive to the fairer sex.” 

Kisame laughter sounded out amongst other nightlife jingles ― slot machines and bustling crowds. 

“Sometimes our activities attract,” Kisame smirked. “Leader’s not the only one keeping things interesting around here, I see.”

Pain straightened as it seemed as though the door would open, but it was only a false alarm. “If any of you wish to leave, you are free to do so,” he said. “Though, I suspect you won't.”

Deidara crossed his arms. “What makes you so sure?”

“I’m not sure,” Pain deadpanned as members of his group trailed eyes over a gaggle of pretty women walking by. “Just a feeling.”

Hidan recovered from his ogling to scoff. “Well, count me out. This is unclean ― not to mention totally beneath Lord Jashin.”

Pain looked Hidan over his shoulder. “I have let the club owners know that a percentage of whatever is made tonight be donated to any temple of our choosing.”

Hidan blinked. Shrugged. “It’s okay, then.” 

Deidara licked lips that’d become dry. “For how long? And ―” He struggled. “How much?”

Pain’s ringed eyes met his, a beat following before he replied, “As long as you can take. As much as you can take.”

The shock began to subside to be replaced with a sense of utter unreality. 

“Seriously?” Kakuzu said. “We’re really going to do this?” Kakuzu considered. “Then again, if we’re the ones being paid …”

“Don’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious outside of the dough,” Kisame teased. “Bet you haven’t had any in quite a while.”

“What’d you say?”

Just in time, the doors opened to reveal a madam. 

“Oh!” Said the big-wigged woman. “Lord Pain! Please, come in!” 

The woman led them into a dimly-lit hallway, doors lining either side into apparently oblivion. The big-wigged woman opened one of many and you, a much younger woman, appeared.

The woman leaned against the doorframe, dressed in nothing but silk, black lingerie with matching stockings. She giggled as she studied her clientele.

“If they told me there’d be so many of you, I would’ve worn less,” she purred. 

The big-wigged madam giggled. “Have fun, boys,” she said and closed the door.

You sauntered toward the bed in the room, sat and spread your legs. “So, who’s first?” 

Pain crossed the room immediately. 

“Le ― Leader!” Deidara’s face ran corrupted with red.

With one finger, Pain beckoned you to her feet. He got behind you, forcing you forward the group of criminals you would soon serve.

“Don’t any of you realize what I am offering you?” Pain crept into the crook of your neck, his lips dangerously close to leaving a kiss there. His hand crept over the planes of your stomach, eliciting a soft hum from you in return. “I am telling you …” 

Pain hooked fingers against the band of your panties, pulled them down to reveal your naked cunt. 

“We can do as we want with her …”

Immediately, the energy of the room changed. It grew hotter as Pain took the plunge, peppering your neck with kisses, one hand fingering your cunt while the other kneaded at your breasts. You moaned, the slick sounds of Pain’s fingers exploring your sopping folds mingling in the air. 

Kisame shrugged. “I’m game.” 

Pain removed both his fingers and form as Kisame approached. You whined in disapproval before Kisame’s hand took you by the throat. He pinned you to the wall across the bed. You released another moan as he tightened his grip over your neck.

“You like that, little girl?” Kisame teased. “Like to be choked?” 

“Mhmm, mmm …!”

“Oi.” Hidan crossed the room. “Save some for me. If these whores’ll be sending Jashin’s temple money, might as well …”

You squealed as Kisame threw you to the bed with a devilish chuckle. 

“There.” Kisame slapped the side of your cheek. “Take her mouth.”

Your mouth fell open and Hidan went to remove his coat, as Kisame did, before working on his zipper. 

The others ― Tobi, Deidara, Pain, and Kakuzu ― resigned to the sidelines. 

Deidara faced his leader to the sound of zippers and buckles loosening. “Aren’t you going to ―”

“Consider it a courtesy to the collective,” Pain said. “I will go last.”

Kakuzu huffed, but clearly something had changed in the man’s demeanor as Hidan and Kisame worked you out of the pretty lingerie Pain had left slack. “There’ll be enough holes to go around, I imagine.”

“Not with me in the room,” Kisame said, working your panties past your delicious thighs. 

He tugged his trousers down to reveal two cocks, blue-tinted along with the rest of his skin and springing hard and ready.

“She’s so pretty …” Tobi mused, surely drooling behind his mask of tangerine. 

You were fully nude now, save the stockings around your legs ― said legs now wrapped around Kisame’s waist at his breathy command. Hidan slapped the side of your mouth with his cock, watching you wince with sadistic pleasure before filling your mouth with him. He groaned, the sound harsh and heavy in his throat, when you moaned around his cock, elicited by Kisame entering both of your holes from behind. 

“Mmm ― mmfph!” 

“Aah, fuck!” Hidan buried a hand in your hair, forcing you forward to fuck your mouth properly. “Fuck her hard, Kisame. Her mouth, oh ―”

Kakuzu huffed ― but not before clearing his throat. “The night’s barely started and you’re already at your wit’s end, Hidan.” 

“All for Jashin ― aargh!” Hidan threw his head back as your hand massaged his balls. 

You squealed as Kisame quickened his pace, your eyes bulging wide as he split you open on not one, but two cocks at a time. The bed underneath you creaked as Kisame jutted his hips into your tight holes. His sharp nails tightened into bedsheets beside your head. 

Pain tilted his head in fascination. “How does she feel, Kisame?”

“Fan―fucking-tastic …!” He growled as he slapped his hips into you, rattling your body with the power of his thrusts. 

Tobi came forward and Deidara realized why ― after all, you had two free hands that could be put to use. 

In a flash, Tobi was out of his robe and tugging his trousers, hand fishing for his cock to place into your waiting, willing hand. 

Tobi shivered, gasped ― in a voice not quite his ― as your hand grasped his cock and stroked him obediently. 

“She’s a trooper,” Kisame said, thoroughly fucking you into the creaking mattress. He leaned forward to lick the side of your face. “Enjoying yourself, slut?”

“Yes ― oh, gods, yes ― mm!” Your words jumbled from your mouth when Hidan allowed it, before shoving himself back in.

“‘Course she does,” Hidan hissed. “All you whores are all the same, just holes waiting to be filled ― urgh!” 

You popped Hidan from your mouth to shoot a look at Pain, Kakuzu, and Deidara. “Mm! I have one more hand, c’mon, one more cock, I can take it, please!” 

Adrenaline shot through Deidara; he stepped forward ― only to be thwarted by Kakuzu shoving him to the side and taking his place. He dug for his cock with narrowed eyes, flashed green over your rolling tits. You reached for Kakuzu, stroking off both him and Tobi simultaneously. 

Kisame did not make it easy for you, fucking you mercilessly now. You couldn’t hold Hidan in your mouth anymore, but perhaps didn’t need to; Hidan began to stroke himself over your face, nearly at his limit. 

“Oh, gods, yes, pleasepleaseplease, feels so good, so good, all of you, mmhmm, please ―” 

Tobi moved his mask up his face a few inches and kneeled down to kiss you, his tongue shoving into your willing mouth. 

Hidan growled, shoved him away as he came, spurts of cum roping over your face and collarbone. You opened your mouth to scream as both your weeping cunt and tight ass clenched around Kisame’s cocks.

Kisame lurched over momentarily, before pulling out of you with a drawn-out grunt, the white of his cum shooting against your plush-pink folds and stomach. 

Being in the throes of climax seemed to adrenalize you, because your hands quickened their pace on the dual cocks in your hold, your motions becoming almost blurry as you jerked off the two men on above you. 

Kisame bowed out to collect his breath at the edge of the bed, meanwhile Tobi slotted into his space, turning you over on your hands and knees. 

“Wait,” Kakuzu growled out. “What do you think you’re ―?”

“Don’t worry, Kuzu.” You sat on your elbows, Kakuzu’s cock still fastened in your hold. “I can take care of you from here …” 

You swiped at Kakuzu’s cockhead, which seemed to satisfiy; his eyes shuddered closed and let you continue taking him in your mouth. 

You released a drawn-out moan as Tobi entered you from behind, forcing you forward. You caught yourself on your elbow, humming as Tobi bottomed out inside of you, hands secured tightly over your curvy hips. 

Hidan gripped the back of your head and forced you into the bush of Kakuzu’s pubic hair. 

“Mmmf!”

“Don’t think it’s over between you and me; I would never give such a paltry performance in the name of Jashin.” Hidan said, then removed himself from the bed. 

For once, Kakuzu made no angry retort; he rocked his hips forward, fucking your skilled mouth. He watched with still zombie eyes, fascinated with your head bobbing back and forth on his cock.

“She’s quite talented.” Pain’s voice carried with it an extra layer of silk, bordering on teasing. He turned to Deidara. “I see a hand free for you.” 

Deidara swallowed. Finally. He was already out of his cloak, adorning only the fishnet he donned underneath, his cock long and veiny and glued to his hand growing tacky with sweat. He approached you as Hidan pressed himself against the wall and slipped against it to sit on the floor. 

Kakuzu shot Deidara a glare as the younger man offered his cock to you. 

“Don’t think I’m sharing with you, circus freak.”

Deidara’s brow twitched. “Who’re callin ―”

“Don’t fight,” You purred before taking Kakuzu in your mouth again, cheeks hollowed against his cock while stroking Deidara lovingly.

Kakuzu lurched forward, hand over the small of your back before it found itself over the fat of your ass. Tobi planted a hand over your other cheek, fucking you from behind. A particularly harsh thrust nearly sent your head thudding against the wall, but he held you firmly to him, rolling his hips expertly into you. 

Deidara frowned as he watched the scene. Where’d he learn to fuck like that? 

You hummed with appreciation, sending Kakuzu shivering over you. 

“Urgh …” He gave your ass a slap before curling a hand under your stomach to fish for your clit. “She is good.”

“Was I lying?” Kisame joked with a sharp laugh. 

Kakuzu had only just found your sensitive nub to give it a series of grateful, circular strokes before Tobi knocked his hand away to do it himself. 

“Ahh!” You bucked back into Tobi as he fiddled with your clit. 

Kakuzu growled as you deep-throated him for the last time. “I’m ―!” 

You held him at the back of your throat as he finished inside you, swallowing his spent as he panted above you. 

You gripped Deidara with force, retiring from his shaft only to caress his balls. Deidara clenched a hand at the wall. You popped Kakuzu from your mouth and immediately you were on Deidara’s cock, licking the long expanse of it before to familiarize yourself with him.

“Such a pretty cock.” You shot him a stare in your breathy state, Tobi still fucking you from behind with mysterious skill, cum from previous escapades settled and dry against your cheek. “Almost as pretty as the rest of you …” 

“Hm ― hm … !” Deidara shuddered as you fit him in your mouth. 

Tobi slapped your ass before moving to thumb at the star of your ass, teasing the pucker you rocked on and off of him. 

“Mmm!”  

“Such a pretty miss,” Tobi breathed out, clearly at his limit. “Let me see pretty lady cum …”

You screamed around Deidara’s cock. He grunted viciously as you reached your limit, clenching down on Tobi. You were rocked with a few harsh, quick thrusts before Tobi forced himself to pull out, white leaking from his slit and into the crack of your ass. 

Deidara grabbed your ankle and forced you toward him. Without needing to be asked, you spread your legs, giving him the sight of your pussy clenching around nothing, still hungry. 

Deidara’s cock twitched with want. He settled at your entrance, pushing himself into your slick cunt. 

“Too bad she’s getting pretty boy after the likes of us,” Kisame said, slapping Tobi’s wrist as he, apparently, tapped out, still mysteriously reticent. 

Deidara frowned, trying to enjoy the possessive clench of your cunt. “Sh ―Shut up.”

Your heel knocked into Deidara’s back, causing him to fall forward and into your arms. 

You kissed his nose. “I wanna see you.”

Deidara blinked, then smirked, then fucked into you ― a sharp, quick thrust ― and drank in your gasp.

“Aw, c’mon,” he said. “Can’t still be tight after all that.”

“Yeah,” You breathed against Deidara’s cheek as he started a rhythm, “c’mon, cutie ―”

“Cutie?” 

Deidara forced his fingers into your mouth, followed by two more digits, as his hips rolled into you, skin slapping as you slurped on the digits. 

“Don’t think you can get smart with me, whore.” 

Deidara hissed as you sucked on him from both holes. He hit against your walls, silky and velvety against his overdue cock.

“Got to admit, you’ve got a nice little pussy ― argh,” Deidara bit into his lips as you moaned underneath him. “It really is ― hah ― a piece of art ― hah ― but don’t think you’re getting the best of me ―”

Despite his words, you were getting the best of him. Shit. He had waited too long, and you felt too good. Already, he felt the strain of an oncoming climax. Your breasts bounced and knocked into his chest as he fixed himself hard to you. At a particularly hard thrust, you threw your head back, exposing your pretty neck to him. 

Deidara dove into it, biting at the skin there. Maybe, amongst all the members here, he’d be the one to leave his mark on you …

You raked hard, red lines down his back and Deidara cried out, gritting his teeth. The pleasure married with the pain. So good. So good. 

It would be no good if he came before you did; he would never live it down. Deidara forced a hand down the bridge of your bodies to twirl at your clit.  

“Oh, fuck, mm!” Your legs quivered around him. 

He watched you from the side of his eye. You had the prettiest lips, sweet and plump. 

He felt your clenching, now more involuntary than ever as you cried out. He muffled the sound with a kiss to your abused lips. The squeeze of you was enough to topple him over the edge. Stars and colors swam over his lids as he squeezed his eyes shut, sucking your soul from your lips as orgasms ravaged your body and his ―

A hand dragged him off of you. His cock sprung from your cunt to spray the inside of your thighs with his spent. 

“What the fuck ―?”

“Didn’t think I had to say it,” Kakuzu said, dragging him to the side of the bed. “But: not inside, you idiot.” 

“He really is the youngest of us all,” Hidan teased.

Deidara growled as Kakuzu stared at your cunt, clearly tempted. Deidara stood, ready to fight ―

“Enough.” 

Pain came forward, fully nude. The others parted for him. You sat on the bed, patiently waiting for him, your eyes following him with a reverent dreaminess.

Pain idly wiped away Deidara’s spent with the tail of a sheet, unfazed by it all. “It seems it’s finally my turn.” Again, like no time had passed, he beckoned you on your feet. “Up.”

You did so; standing as he sat. You seemed to read his mind and backed into his legs. Pain scooped you up in his lap, balancing you atop him, inches from his cockhead.

“You’re lovely.” Pain licked the shell of your ear, his chin nestled in your shoulder. He held you above him, hands tucked into the back of your knees. “And your services have been much appreciated tonight. Now, Let me take it from here.”

He sat you on his cock, a hand at your throat to choke you with. 

“Oh!” You jostled as Pain fucked into you from below, your voice muffled with Pain’s hand closing your airways. “O ―Oh!” 

A muffled giggle. “Be careful not to break her, Leader.” Zetsu appeared from the wall. “I’m afraid sometimes you don’t know your own strength.”

“I doubt she would complain,” Pain replied idly, intensely studying your face, firmly fixed in his grip and contorted with pleasure. He slapped his hips into you again and again, the meat of his cock appearing and disappearing, enveloped by your snatch.

The other members congregated to watch the show before them. Deidara ached; his orgasm had been ruined by the fucking ragdoll, and now Pain enjoyed the pussy that had been his only a few moments before. And yet he couldn’t imagine participating unless openly invited by Pain. Deidara gripped his cock, still slick from his time inside of you, and stroked himself to the sight.

Juices mixed around the base of Pain’s cock. You whimpered and moaned, hands clutching his shoulders to keep balance. 

“Oh, gods, Pain, I ― please!”

His other hand toyed with the prominent nipple of your tit, delighted in how it grew under his attention. His balls slapped the fat of your ass with each thrust. You were no lightweight; giving what he gave, syncronizing with his thrusts in no time. Pain huffed. He would not, could not admit to how much he was enjoying this. Some pleasure for his base body, the sweet entrapment of your pussy.

“Your pussy is truly marvelous,” he said, voice like silk. “Is all of this truly for me?”

“Yes!” You cried, not a beat skipped. 

“I think it’s for all of us, Leader,” Zetsu said.

“Hush.”

You fell over Pain, your chest almost crushed to his, dainty hands at his sides. Finally Pain began to display signs of pleasure; closing his many-ringed eyes, his lips parting as you threw yourself down on him and he pulled up to you. The hand previously busy with your tit wove past the dip of your hips. A finger brushed past the cleft of your ass cheek to before it found its target, and prodded ―

“Aah!” You threw your head back, clenching and fluttering around him. “Ah ― Pain!”

You had gotten the best of him; a low grunt escaped Pain as he struck his finger deeper into your asshole.

No one cared for Deidara, for if they did they would see his hand working madly on his cock; his lip sucked under his teeth, ready to bleed. 

“I’m ―” You fell into Pain’s chest, releasing a huff. “I’m gonna ―”

“Go ahead.” Pain’s voice sounded under strain, but still demanding in its gritty hush. “You’ve put on a stunning performance for us tonight. Delight us with one more.”

Pain’s knuckle disappeared into the ring of your ass, the skin of your rear rippling from tight thrusts. With a cry-like whimper, you shuddered and convulsed. Pain’s other hand pressed hard into the small of your back, inadvertently steadying you as you succumbed to his merciless thrusts upward into your spasming cunt.

An near imperceptible “oh” from Pain and a pronounced frown was the only indication he had found his release. All before he lifted you from his cock, coated with your juices, where ropes of his spent escaped and landed to make a mess of your inner thigh.

The sight was so wondrous to distract all other attendants in the room from Dedara finishing with a stifled grunt, ribbons of cum splattering to the floor.

Your forehead rested against Pain’s pectoral. You were lathered in sweat, while Pain, save for some pronounced breathing, had ended the night relatively unscathed.

Hidan clapped slowly as Pain guided you carefully off of him. “Brilliant.” 

“You’re such a prick,” Kakuzu grumbled.

“This was more fun than even I anticipated,” Kisame said, sounding genuinely pleased. “We have to do this again sometime.”

“And we shall.” Pain pet some hair away from your drooping face. Sleep would come soon for you. “We will speak to the madam about our next vis ―” Pain blinked at the floor. “Deidara, clean up after yourself.”

[dathen]

So it’s easy to fill in what Agatha refuses to tell Mina about Jonathan’s ramblings as just general vampire stuff, but I think we get a lot of clues about what secret she’s keeping, and it’s not that.

For one, she doesn’t tiptoe around saying it included talk of “blood and demons.” Mentioning vampires is no worse than mentioning demons, so if that was the Big Secret between him and God then she’s already betrayed that trust. Also, the villagers at the beginning of the book whispered of vampires and witches and the like, so it’s not some unspeakable word Agatha won’t repeat.

And then there’s this:

Sister Agatha . . . tells me that he raved of dreadful things whilst he was off his head. I wanted her to tell me what they were; but she would only cross herself, and say she would never tell; that the ravings of the sick were the secrets of God, and that if a nurse through her vocation should hear them, she should respect her trust. . . . She opened up the subject again, and after saying that she could never mention what my poor dear raved about, added: 'I can tell you this much, my dear: that it was not about anything which he has done wrong himself.”

At first this may seem like a non sequiter, but if you take it in the context as a response to what Jonathan was raving about, it feels very pointed. I feel that this is brought up because she said it to Jonathan himself. That his ramblings were of guilt and despair over what happened to him, that now he’s unclean—just like Mina will weep over later after she falls into Dracula’s power.

Put the pieces together, and you have Sister Agatha saying that what she heard during Jonathan’s fevers are secrets she can’t betray his confidence for, even to his wife; that it’s likely something he felt guilt over and had to be told is not his fault; and that it’s of a topic so dark that Sister Agatha hesitates to repeat it.

It all adds up to Jonathan’s ramblings being about being violated by Dracula: metaphorically for certain through the blood drinking, possibly also sexually. It makes Agatha’s insistence that it wasn’t his fault make much more sense, but also makes her care that much more powerful. Even today it’s rare to get a narrative sympathetic to survivors of assault, let alone male survivors.

(Others have also spoken of how Saint Agatha is the patron saint of rape survivors: who they could pray to for support and intercession when they’re suffering. If purposeful, that would be a VERY heavy-handed allegory in her care for Jonathan. But even if not, all the other context is there.)

[pink-princess-pussy-pop]

Roomies - Edmund Pevensie x Reader Modern AU!

Word count: 4.2k

I just had a glorious idea about a modern Narnia AU. I'm not British so lmao. Football in this means Soccer. slay

Fem identifying reader. Mention of having long hair.

Summary: Edmund is an asshole AND your roommate. But he also happens to be a really attractive asshole roommate. And apparently, a really possessive one too.

Warnings: Language, smut, mutual pining, SO SWEET at the end!!

I'm down bad for him

"What time will you be back today?" You and Edmund were in the kitchen, eating breakfast before your day of classes began.

You glanced at him, shirtless in all his glory, eating a piece of toast. He was leaning on the counter, watching you butter your own.

"My writing class was canceled so I will be back around 1." Edmund audibly sighs, a sign that he will definitely have company over at that time. "Don't ask me to stay on campus. Just because you can't keep it in your pants doesn't mean I should be exiled from my own home."

Edmund pushes himself off of the counter, chuckling to himself.

"I wasn't gonna ask you anything. I just didn't think you'd be one to listen though." Before you could respond, he was gone.

Several hours later, you pulled into your parking spot in front of your and Edmund's apartment. You had since forgotten about your earlier conversation until you opened your front door to hear the oh-so-delightful noises of Edmund's newest friend moaning at the top of her lungs.

You have to stop yourself from gagging.

"Jesus." The time was 1:30. You had given him thirty extra minutes. "I fucking hate him." This was untrue, as you really did not hate the handsome man who you lived with. Underneath your facade of disdain and disgust, lay your actual feelings toward your roommate. Ever since he took his sister Lucy's spot in the lease for her year abroad, you developed a minor, (major!!!), crush on him. And your feelings of disgust? Totally not jealousy!

You had spent the better half of the last five months trying not to listen to him and his lady friends in his room and pining over him from yours.

How could you not be attracted to Edmund Pevensie? A pre-law major with dark hair and dark eyes, and a dashing smile. Not to mention the spatter of freckles that covered his body, toned from years of playing football. Jesus, you were down so bad for your flatmate.

You set your stuff down on the couch in your shared living space and turned to the sink where his dishes lay, unclean. Still able to hear the actions of the lovely people downstairs, you turn your music up all the way to drown out the noise before unloading the dishwasher and loading it again with his dishes.

Minutes later, the front door opens and closes, signifying that Edmund's friend has left. You turn your music down and focused on the plate you are scrubbing, dried mac and cheese would not come out in the dishwasher, as Edmund walked up the stairs.

"Ah. So you are home." His accent makes you smile the slightest bit. You can see him in your peripheral, shirtless with grey sweats low on his hips. You move your eyes away quickly. "Did you enjoy what you heard, darling?" Rolling your eyes, you look at him, not giving into the flutter of your heart when he called you darling.

"You're a pig, Pevensie." You weren't anticipating his next move and were startled when his lips were suddenly on your cheek.

"You love me."

"Ew!" Glaring at him, you wipe the wetness from his lips off of your face and then wipe your hand on a paper towel only to find him grinning at you. You do a once-over of his uncovered torso, which you could now see was adorned with scratches and bruises. "Go put a shirt on." Edmund glances down, smile widening, before looking back at you.

"And cover up the view? Nah." You move to put the plate you had been washing away in the cabinet and then suddenly, Edmund is behind you, his body only inches from yours.

You try to ignore the heat radiating off of his bare skin and how his fingers brush yours when he reaches above you to grab a bowl. He steps away quickly and if he noticed a change in your demeanor, he didn't bring it up. You left the kitchen area, grabbed your backpack, and went to your room.

How in the world did he have this effect on you? As soon as your door was closed and you were safe in the comfort of your bedroom, you let out a sigh of relief. A buzz pulled your attention from your feelings toward Edmund to your phone.

r u going to the party tn???

It was your friend Alyssa, whom you had met freshman year in your Intro to Psychology class.

You know I don't like parties.

You flop on your bed, awaiting her pleading response. In truth, you didn't hate parties, you just didn't see the point in going out and getting drunk with strangers when you could get drunk in the pleasure of your own home.

im coming over at 8 and we are getting ready together

You knew there wouldn't be a point in fighting her on the topic since sooner or later she would have convinced you to go.

Hours later, after Edmund had left for his evening classes, and also the party you presumed, Alyssa knocked on your front door and seconds later walked into your room.

"Is he here?" You sit up on your bed, your book falling onto your comforter beside you.

"No." Alyssa had gone straight into your closet, pulling out an outfit for you to wear.

"Good. That way he won't know you are going tonight." Your eyebrow quirks up.

"What does that mean?"

She turned to you, a smirk gracing her tanned face.

"We both know that if your roomie knew you were going tonight, he would have texted all his little friends to keep away from you."

This was true and it was annoying, but one night while drunk, you had let it slip to him that you were a virgin. Since then, Edmund had made sure that no guys would talk to you at parties.

You made no effort to argue and reached over to pick up what she had chosen for you to wear. It was simple, a pair of faux leather pants and a black lace corset. (the urban one iykyk)

"Alyssa, I haven't worn this top out-"

"All the more reason to wear it tonight! C'mon! It will be fun! Besides, maybe Ed will finally take notice of your feelings and how hot you are."

"Alyssa!" She smiles.

"Ok fine. But maybe you'll meet another guy. Since our good friend hasn't had time to scare anyone away."

The idea intrigues you, maybe you'd have a good time tonight.

You notice what she is wearing, a pair of straight-leg jeans and a black tank top. She looks amazing, as always. You get up to sit at your desk to begin applying your makeup.

"So what do you suppose he will do when he sees you looking all sexy?"

"Nothing?" Your reply earns you an eyebrow raise.

"Nothing? You don't think he's gonna react at all?"

You shrug, leaning forward to perfect your winged eyeliner.

"There is nothing he can do now. If he wants to try and ruin my night, he can go ahead. If I'm going to this party, I intend on having a good time." Alyssa giggles.

"Maybe even get laid?" You whip around in your chair to glare at her.

"Seriously?" Her laughter grows.

"Hey, if not by Edmund, you're bound to find someone at this party!"

Your heart beats faster at the thought.

...

You and Alyssa arrive at the party at around eleven. It has been going on for about an hour so it had grown quite large. The other girls around you are dressed similarly to you, bringing some comfort into the oddness you felt about your appearance. Alyssa had requested you wear your hair down and straight and you obliged.

To be honest, you did look amazing. The corset had been a perfect fit, makes your chest look fantastic, and the pants fit you like a glove, hugging your ass so well that when you saw yourself in the mirror, you were surprised. The look was completed with your dark green platform converse, which somehow made you feel comfortable.

While walking through the crowd of people, you keep your eye out for a certain raven-haired boy, but couldn't seem to find him.

"Hey, don't think about him. Just have a good time." Alyssa nudges your arm and you nod, disregarding the looming thought of Edmund's reaction to your appearance at the party.

"You're right. I'm gonna go get a drink." You leave her in a room filled with sweaty university students to find the kitchen, where you presumed the alcohol to be.

To be honest? You felt great. You looked great and with no Edmund around, you had nothing to worry about. If you wanted to flirt with a cute guy, you would.

You round the corner and spot the kitchen, and a pack of Trulys, and made a beeline for the drinks. As you fish a black cherry seltzer out of the box you hear someone call your name.

"Y/N!" You turn abruptly and came face to face with a familiar face.

Sam, a friend of Edmund's from football, smiling at you.

"How are you?" Sam is very attractive, with blond hair and sparkly blue eyes, he's the complete opposite of Edmund.

"I'm alright." You smile at him.

"I didn't expect you to be here."

"Yeah, it was kind of a last-minute decision." You take a swig of your drink as he smiles down at you.

"Well, I'm glad. I was hoping I would be able to speak to you at some point. Ed's always telling the team to stay away from you." You roll your eyes.

"Sorry about that, I don't know why he does that. Is he here tonight?" Sam nods.

"Yeah, he's somewhere around here." Sam glances around, as if nervous that he'd get in trouble for talking to you. "Do you wanna dance?"

"Sure!" Sam takes your hand and leads you back into the room where you left Alyssa, back to the loud music and dancing. It is then that you see Edmund for the first time.

He's walking down the stairs holding hands with a pretty blonde girl who is dressed in a dark green slip dress. You wrap your arms around Sam and pull him into your body. His hands settle on your hips, fingers hooking onto your belt loops and pulling you closer.

You make eye contact with Edmund and his eyes widen and then narrow at the sight of you with Sam. You can see him mouth something to the girl he is with but instead of paying attention to him, you focus on Sam.

The two of you dance to the music and you forget about Edmund. You realize you have run out of your drink and tap Sam's shoulder.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I just need another drink! Give me like fifteen minutes. I need to check on my friend, too." You smile at him before returning to the kitchen, where you happen to find Alyssa.

"Hi!" Lord, she is drunk. "I've missed you! Where have you been?" You giggle at her antics, pouring yourself a shot of vodka, the burning causing you to make a face as you take it.

"I've been dancing! With a guy named Sam from the football team!"

Her eyes widen in shock and she grins at you.

"OMG. Fucking finally!" She takes the initiative to pour you, and her, another shot.

...

Ten minutes later, and maybe 4 more shots later, you and Alyssa are drunk off of your asses.

"So you're telling me that if Sam wanted to take you home tonight, you'd say no?" Her arm is clasped around your forearm.

"Yes." You can't contain your giggling.

"But why? He's so hot and obviously into you!"

Your face flushes as you think of the real reason you don't want to spend the night with Sam.

"You know why." You take a sip of your newly opened Truly and glare at her.

A deadpan look blooms on her face.

"I forgot." Your eyes roll.

"Because I like someone else!" Alyssa gets really excited at this news.

"WHO?" You shush her, her voice well above the other chatter in the small kitchen you are in.

"You know who!" Her face contorts into confusion.

"No, I don't."

"It's..." You look around, suddenly very aware through your drunken haze, just to make sure there aren't any lurkers to hear your conversation. "It's Edmund!" You whisper.

"Oh! I did know that!" She giggles and takes a sip of her drink. "Yeah, I remember how you said you were jealous of all of the girls he fucked and how you wished he would-"

"Jesus Christ, Alyssa! Shut up!" She continues.

"just fuck you already!" Your face is red and you are mortified. Anyone passing by could have heard what you had been talking about. "Don't worry babe. Everyone here is way too drunk to even remember this conversation. I'm too drunk to remember this conversation!" A small smile graces your lips. "So, how do you want him to do it?" You hit her arm.

"Alyssa!"

"What? I wanna hear about your Edmund fantasies!" Your blush deepens. "C'mon!"

"Fuck- fine. I've always imagined him..." You cannot believe you are speaking your deepest secret aloud, at a party nonetheless. "I don't know. Cornering me in the kitchen." Alyssa squeals.

"Counter sex!" The girl is fucking giddy at the thought of you getting some action in your kitchen. You roll your eyes but nod.

"I guess..." Suddenly, you remember the nice boy you had been dancing with. "Shit! I have to go find Sam! He probably thinks I ditched him. Will you be ok?" She smiles and nods at you.

You trek back into the masses to find the blonde guy and he's right where you left him. You catch his eyes and smile.

"Hey! I'm so sorry. I found my friend and we ended up talking for a bit. I didn't mean to leave you here." He doesn't respond right away and looks away from your eyes, glancing around. "Is everything ok? You look uncomfortable."

"Listen, you are really nice but I don't think this is gonna work out." Confusion wipes across your face.

"What the hell? We were just dancing!" You don't understand what you could have done to make him act this way.

"It's not you, really. It's just-" You cut him off, suddenly very aware of what was happening.

"He told you to leave me alone, didn't he?" Sam looks apologetic as he nods.

"I'm sorry, I really like you." You run a hand through your hair.

"I'm so fucking done with this." You leave Sam and look around for the dark mess of hair you know so well. You're pissed. Even though you weren't going to do anything with Sam, you were still glad to have the option. You decided then and there that you were done with Edmund deciding things for you.

You found him in the kitchen, drinking a beer and laughing with some of his football mates.

"Edmund!" His head turns to you and he grins. "Stop fucking with me!" You somehow have the courage to get all up in his face. His stupid, Goddamn handsome face. "Stop telling any guy I see to stop talking to me. It's my fucking life. Stay out of it."

Edmund licks his lips and his gaze rakes down your body, making you very aware of the fact you are in lingerie in front of your roommate.

"Whatever you say, darling." His friends laugh and you leave before Edmund can see your face heat up. You find Alyssa dancing in the other room and pull her aside.

"I'm ready to leave whenever you are. I can't be around him right now." She nods frantically.

"Omg. Ok. Yeah, let's go!"

The two of you leave the party and begin the, thankfully short, walk to Alyssa's place.

"Do you wanna stay the night?" You thought about what would happen if you went home, would Edmund be home tonight? Would he not? You remember the blonde from earlier.

"No, I'll get an Uber home. I don't think he's going to be home anytime soon and I'd like to sleep in my own bed." Alyssa nods and the two of you talk until your Uber arrives.

"Text me when you get home." You nod and hug her.

"I'm sorry for making you leave early."

"No! If one of us wants to leave, we leave. That's the rule." She ushers you out of her door. "Sleep well!" A grin appears on her face. "With visions of Edmund dancing in your head!"

"Fuck off!" You glare before getting into the car.

As you expect, Edmund is not at the apartment when you get back and you are able to go to your room without him and blondie interfering. A small bubbling of jealousy and anger blooms in your gut when you think about what he is probably doing right now. With her. Shaking it off, you brush your teeth and slip into bed before falling asleep.

...

You wake up the next morning with a splitting headache. Groaning as you roll out of bed, you close your blinds to make your room dimmer. As you go upstairs you listen for any movement in Edmund's room, praying he isn't home yet. You breathe a sigh of relief when you're greeted with silence on the other side.

As you walk up the stairs, you halt in your tracks as you see him sitting on the couch. Clad in grey sweats and nothing else, he makes your heart flutter, even though you are pissed at him. You don't engage with him at all, avoiding his gaze as you walk to the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of water.

While opening the bottle of Advil you hear Edmund move from the couch. You take the meds and open the dishwasher to put your glass inside. When you stand, Edmund is behind you, his hands set on the counter, effectively caging you in. Your breath catches in your throat.

"So, is this how you imagined it?" His voice is right next to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Me fucking you in the kitchen?" Your eyes widen in shock. His lips graze your neck as he murmurs... "Answer me." Your words are stuck in your throat, thoughts going wild in your head.

Had he heard you and Alyssa last night?

You are brought out of your thoughts when Edmund dips his head further down and kisses where your neck meets your shoulder. "C'mon hun, let me make make you feel good." His lips travel up to your throat and you melt back into his body. He whispers in your ear, "Please?"

His hands leave the counter to rest on your waist, his fingers just slightly touching your bare skin where your shirt had been riding up moments before.

"Don't make me beg, love." He turns you around, bringing his body closer to you. You don't reply, too flustered with his actions to say anything. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Ok, fine. I'll beg." He grins.

Edmund's hands reach down to pick you up, setting you on the counter. He steps in between your legs, setting his hands on your thighs while his thumbs draw circles on your bare skin.

"Do you know how many times I've thought about surprising you in the shower? Just so I could see you naked?" His gaze is still trained on your eyes. "Do you know how many times I've heard you touching yourself in your room? Wishing it was me who was making you feel that way?" He looks down at your lips and then back up to your eyes. "Do you know how many times I've thought about this moment? Last night? After I saw you dancing with Sam in that outfit... You looked stunning, my love." He moves to be right above your face, his lips so close they could touch yours. "So many Goddamn times, baby. So please," He pouts the slightest bit. "Let me make you feel good."

Kiss me.

As if he could read your mind, he does. Your hands fly to his hair and pull him into you even more, his lower half fully against you.

And oh.

Oh.

You pull away, looking down at his hips with wide eyes. Edmund laughs.

"Darling this is what you do to me. Every." He kisses your shoulder. "Bloody." Your neck. "Day." Your jaw. He pulls away so you are able to see him. His perfect hair, and his perfect smile, and his perfect freckles.

And the fucking devil in his eyes.

"So are you going to let me act on your fantasies? Or are we just going to go back to you thinking about me when you touch yourself at night and me pretending not to get off on it?" You lean forward to kiss him again and he leans back, running his tongue over his lips. "Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?" A deep blush blooms on your cheeks.

"Yes." It's barely above a whisper but it's audible. When he hears your response, he smiles again.

"Fucking finally."

His lips return to yours and his grip on your hips tightens as he pulls you against him again. You tighten your thighs around him, reveling in the taste of his lips.

"Oh my God." He murmurs against your lips. Your hands travel down his neck and to his bare shoulders and your nails dig into his skin just a bit, making him hiss in sweet pain.

"Fuck." His hands start to pull at your shorts. "Off. Now." You lift yourself up so he can pull them down, along with your underwear. He groans as he looks down. "Bloody hell." One of his hands wipes over his face, taking you in. His bottom lip pulls in between his teeth as he looks into your eyes again. "Darling, I'd absolutely love to taste you but I'm afraid I'll explode if I don't fuck you soon." His fingers find his waistband and he pauses at your wide eyes. "Do you want to do it?"

Holy Hell you can feel the effects of his words on the surface below you. He gently grabs your hands, setting them on his hips. "Go ahead." You do as your told and push the fabric down his thighs. You look away, not quite ready to take witness to your roommates dick.

"I need you to say it one more time. Do you want this?" You look into his eyes.

"Yes." He smiles, his lips on yours and brings himself to your core.

"Take a deep breath, my love." When you do, Edmund pushes into you. The pain takes you by surprise and you let out a grunt of pain. He catches your lips with his and draws patterns on your skin with his free hand. Your nails dig into his back once again and he groans into your mouth when he bottoms out. "If you keep doing that I'm not going to last long." He begins moving very slowly. The pain slowly becomes pleasure. "I wanna make this good for you."

You drop your head to his shoulder.

"Oh my god, Ed it's-." His mouth is close to your ear making you hear all of the sounds he's making. "Fuck!"

"Holy shit."

"Ed-" You gasp, hands on his shoulders, as he stops moving.

"Please don't make me stop. I've been wanting this for so long." He lays his forehead on your shoulder and you can tell it's taking every ounce of his self-control not to move.

"No- I was just gonna ask if..." You pause to catch your breath. "if you could go faster.

"Jesus. You're perfect." His breath on your skin makes you flush again and then, the wonderful sensation you had felt moments before begins again.

"You're doing so well, love. So well."

Edmund begins to pick up his pace and you whine into his neck.

"Oh-" Edmund's fingers are suddenly on your clit, forcing your thighs to tighten around his. Your hips rock into his as you feel yourself begin to near your high. With his fingers on your clit, his bruising grip on your thighs, and his fucking dick inside of you, it takes only a few more seconds before you are releasing around him. Edmund moans after feeling you squeeze around him and it's the sexiest thing you've ever heard.

"You're so fucking perfect."

He releases soon after and he catches his breath.

He pulls away, looking at your face.

"Are you ok?" You smile.

Despite his asshole actions of the past 24 hours, Edmund does truly care about you. He's always taken care of you. He always made sure you had dinner, would always cover you with a blanket if you had fallen asleep upstairs, always made you tea and soup when you were sick.

"I'm perfectly fine." You grin at him.

You remember all of his comments to you, all of the pet-names he's called you.

"Ed, how long? How long have you wanted this?" He grins back at you.

"My love it was you the moment Lucy brought you home to visit during Christmas."

"Edmund that was three years ago!" His smile grows.

He dips down to kiss you.

"I'm a patient man."

Wait i heart them

I hope that was enjoyable l o l.

[faireprina]

Stockholm Syndrome ⚡️

a/n: Wrote this like 2 weeks ago. Proofread but probably has a few errors in it. Don’t be afraid to point it out. I haven’t decided but I may actually end up writing a more detailed story on this.

Pairings: Aged up!Killua Zoldyck x Reader/OC

Warnings: NSFW, Stockholm syndrome, manipulation/brainwashing, pregnancy,

KILLUA ZOLDYCK, as your kidnapper, who keeps you locked up in his room within the Zoldyck family mountain. Never lets you get the chance to wonder what the world is like outside his bedroom walls, after he snatched you away from your training as a butler. You consented the day you signed the contract with his family to work with them. Knowing this, he gaslights you every time you talk about wanting to be free. 

“Free? You came here yourself, darling. You chose this life and now you have to bear with it.” 

His tone was sweet but the look in his eyes showed nothing but obsession and a threatening glare. Warning you to drop the topic and accept his love.He grabs your jaw and kisses you when he see the look of defeat on your face. The kisses are gentle but passionate, his hand lets go of your face and travels down to the neck line of your shirt. You know what he wants.

KILLUA ZOLDYCK, who wants to create a family with you. He ran away from his family and now it’s just you and him. He pounds into you at a steady pace, whispering to himself how good you feel and how badly he wants a baby. You lay there, forced to accept and take it, not being able to reason with him. You two aren’t ready for a baby but what can you do? Killua wasn’t going to listen.  Your mouth is wide open and you’re squeezing his cock so nicely. Your walls are sucking on him so good and he can feel how badly your body wants his cum.

“You love it when I give it to you like this, don’t you? Love it when you’re nice and full, huh? Can’t speak? Oh well I’ll keep going until you can answer me.”

You never do answer him, even after hours  of fucking. You can feel Killua’s whole body twitching and his hips are massaging into you. You know what’s coming and as he’s soon filling you up with his warm baby batter your mind starts to go blank. Absorbing any brainwashing lessons he wants to train into you during your moment of vulnerability.

KILLUA ZOLDYCK, who throughly trains your mind and body before he leaves to take the hunter exam. Makes sure you know to behave while he’s gone. You’re currently 7 months in heading to the end of your 3rd trimester with the pregnancy, the doctor had shared the news and congratulated you and Killua on your first baby. You’re having a set of twins and Killua was extremely happy when he heard the news. He went as far as buying a permanent place for you 2 to settle down in with your new comers. Buying the best baby equipment. 

“Remember, even if I’m not here I’m still watching you. I know who you’re talking to and if I were you I would cease all contact. I will not hesitate to kill whoever you get close to, you may carry my child now but 2 months from now you won’t be. So let’s not make it difficult, right dear?” 

You feel nothing but fear for your safety and you heed Killua’s words, staying a diligent wife waiting for his return. Sometime had passed and you’ve given birth to his adorable baby boy. When Killua finally returns he tells you all about failing the Hunter Exam and then retaking it, Heaven’s arena, the auction and other events that had went on. He met his child and has doted on him since his return.

KILLUA ZOLDYCK, who waste no time after you put your toddler down for bed to start his “pussy inspection.” Checking to see if you were the same as when he left you, pleased to find out you were untouched.

“So proud of you! Thought I’d come to an unclean wife and I would have to cleanse you but you were so good for me, waiting.”

He waste no time getting started on baby number 2. You just hope he won’t disappear on you again.

[lis-likes-fics]

Let Me Show You the Light

Pairings: Jonathan Crane x Reader Word Count: 10k words (i don't know either) Kink: Mirror Sex Warnings: NSFW, noncon (honestly, this kinda ended being dub at the end? dunno how that happened... warning still applies), dark content loss of virginity, humiliation, multiple orgasms, creampie, dumbification, depictions of horror, use of fear toxin, insanity, mention of murder/death... A/N: Okay, I enjoyed writing this way too much. This was like...filthy. But you know what, we ball. Enjoy, I wrote this in two days! Also A/N: PS, I made a few changes to the taglist, so please send me a message or go to the taglist doc to make any necessary changes (or just to add yourself!) Link in my bio and at the bottom of this post!

Someone's watching you.

You can feel the heat on the back of your head. It's a warmth that gathers there and makes you look over your shoulder in search of that phantom you could never seem to catch.

And it's not just out in the open either. It's a constant hair-stands-on-end. It's on your way to work, to the coffee shop, to the store, back home. It's in your kitchen, in your living room, in your bedroom, in your bathroom.

You feel…unclean. Everything you do in the comfort and privacy of your own home is being watched by this strange ghost haunting your every move. And you stop as you look behind yourself again because you feel it.

Someone's watching you.

You startle as the crowd of the Gotham city streets scurries around you and eventually delivers you a victim to run into. "I'm so sorry!" you say quickly as you are shoved back slightly, steadying yourself as you reach bend down to pick up the briefcase that had been knocked from the man's hand.

"It's quite alright. It seems I wasn't paying attention," he offers, bending down to pick it up instead.

Your hands touch as you both grab the handle at the same time. You quickly pull it away. You look up for the first time at the person you'd run into and recognize him almost immediately. You've never really met him in person, but you've learned a lot about him through the happenings at the precinct.

"Dr. Crane," you say as you pick up the suitcase and straighten your posture. You quickly hand it over to him.

"That's me," he says, nodding. He looks over you for just a split second, as if he's admiring you as he takes you. There's something cold about his gaze that makes you want to shudder, but you refrain. "May I ask your name?"

You give it, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He holds his hand out and you hesitantly take it. He shakes it, holding your hand a moment too long and making your skin crawl as he tilts his chin to the side. "Very nice to meet you," he smiles. "May I ask where you're headed? I would love to walk with you if you wouldn't mind."

You clear your throat, "Actually, I think we were headed opposite ways. I'm headed to the precinct for work."

"Ah. A secretary? Assistant?" he wonders.

You shake your head, fighting the urge to check the time. You really shouldn't be seen talking to someone like Jonathan Crane, not with the rumors and bad dealings floating about his name. This city was bent enough, you couldn't be lost to something like this. But showing disrespect to a potential threat wouldn't be a grand idea either…

"Um, no," you smile tightly. "I'm a crime analyst."

His brows raise as he nods, though the new information doesn't reach his eyes. "Well, then. Until we meet again. Safe travels."

You nod shortly and he brushes past you on his way. You look over your shoulder as he disappears into the crowd.

As you turn and begin your walk again, the feeling sticks to your skin like a cold sweat on a winter's day. Someone's watching you.

~

You meet Jonathan Crane for the second time at a bookshop.

With the lingering feeling looming over you like a shadow, things are beginning to feel like they're getting out of hand. You search the aisles slowly, almost absently, as your finger grazes the spines of different published authors in the nonfiction section. You pick a book from its place on the shelf and flinch when you turn and find someone standing behind you.

You clutch your hand to your chest as you steady your beating heart. "You scared me," you chuckle nervously.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

You look up and nearly freeze at the sight of a smiling Jonathan Crane standing before you once more, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as he looks at you almost apologetically.

You swallow thickly, taking a tiny step back. "Dr. Crane."

He seems to recognize you then as he nods gently. "We meet again." You hum. "What brings you to this side of the bookshop? I didn't take you for a nonfiction kind of girl."

You tilt your head. "No? What did you take me for?"

He shrugs, "Paranormal? A little bit of romance here and there?"

You maintain your tight smile, shifting between your feet as you nod gently. He's not right, but he's not wrong. However, the most unsettling thing about it isn't even that he's a little right… it is the fact that you've met this one time and it was a conversation that lasted less than a minute. Either he took one hell of a guess or there was something going on there that wouldn't be very pleasant for you. Given the heat burning on your skin from your constant paranoid surveillance, you'd guess the latter.

"Good guess," is all you say.

He glances down at the book tucked underneath your arm and hums. "What's that you've got?"

You look down at it and take it into your hands again. You look over the cover and hand it over. He takes it, and his fingers brush over yours. You shudder uncomfortably, pulling your hand away and hoping he doesn't notice the way you rub your hand on your side. He does, but you don't know that as he spends too much time reading the title.

"The Art of Intuition," he reads. "Sounds like an interesting read."

You nod, "I'm hoping. It's for…work, so…"

He furrows his brows, "You said you worked as an intelligence analyst?"

You nod again, more firmly this time as you take the book back. "Yes… Well, intuition is important for everything, isn't it?"

He nods along and hums. "That, it is."

You clear your throat, "What about you? What are you reading?"

He looks at his own book, as though he'd just realized it was there. He passes it on to you as you had done.

The Power of Fear and How to Conquer It

You stare at the title a moment longer than you should, feeling clammy and warm and very unsafe as you hand the book back. "Sounds like it'll keep you busy."

He nods. "It will."

The way he says it washes you in a cold feeling. The hairs along your arms stand on end and you nearly shudder. You should leave.

You smile as kindly as you can manage, taking a step away from him and nodding. "I should probably get going."

You turn to leave. He grabs your arm. Though he wasn't harsh, you still turn quickly with an almost startled look to you as you wonder what he'll do. You're safe, right? In the middle of this store? You look around you, but there is nothing around but books that would become the readers to the story unfolding before them.

"Wait," he laughs gently.

You speak almost immediately, the words blurting out of your mouth. "Please let go of me."

He does, much to your relief, as he fixes his glasses. "Forgive me." You hum and look away from his face. "I've actually been thinking about you."

You don't like the way it sounds when he says it. It gives a foreboding feeling that just makes you squirm. "I wanted to say this before but I didn't want to be…strange."

Too late.

"You told me your name. I couldn't help but recognize it." Oh, no. "Your father is Boucher, isn't he?"

How did he know that?

"How do you know that?" you ask, taking another step back. "I changed my last name so no one would know that."

"Well," he begins, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. "That shows up on file, and he's one of my patients, so I've seen your name in said files before. Both of them."

You clasp your hands together in front of you as you bow your head, not looking up at him and hating the way he feels so intimidating as he watches you. "Yes," you clear your throat. He notices the way your voice drops, the disdain almost betrayed in your tone. "My father is Boucher. My birth name is Boucher."

He smiles. "Interesting."

You look up, snappy. "Why?"

"I work in psychology. It's my job to find everything interesting," he says lightly, noticing your defense and seeming…amused by it.

You don't like it.

"Yeah, well, that bastard killed my mother, and I am no longer associated with him. So, if you don't mind, I'm not Boucher and I would like to be going now. Thank you." You turn to leave, and he grabs your arm again. You spin around, and you snap again.

"Stop touching me," you blurt. Your skin crawls with the feeling, like bugs on your skin where his hand touches your arm. When he still doesn't let go of you, you look at him again and yank your arm away to no avail. Suddenly, you startle as you look him straight in the eye and almost shrink. He can see the switch, the way your anger dissolves into that of apprehension, almost fear. You can see the switch in his eyes, too. His amusement has worsened.

Your heart drops to your gut and pounds in your throat. "Please stop touching me." You've gotten almost desperate in the past second and Crane's cold eyes watch every little emotion pass through you like he's watching you under a microscope.

After a moment, he lets go of you. For a second, you think he looks pleased. Like he was conducting an experiment, and he proved his theory true. You put distance between the both of you as soon as you're able and grab your arm. He didn't hurt you, but you've officially been spooked. You don't meet his gaze.

"Forgive me again," he says. You don't feel like he's genuine, but you could be biased. "I seem to have offended you. That wasn't my intention." Was he lying? You feel like he's lying, but you refuse to look at him as he watches you. "Do you live far? How about I take you home?"

You do live a little far from here. You took a cab to get to the bookshop, but you don't feel comfortable getting in a car with him.

"Please," he says, putting more effort into removing the lack of emotion from his voice as he steps closer. You take a step back but catch the way he places his hands behind his back. No touching. An olive branch. He watches as you visibly relax a little. "Let me make it up to you."

You finally look up at his face again. There's a little bit of warmth in his eyes, and you can't tell if it's real or not. Still, he doesn't try to touch you again and he's offering you a smile. Part of you feels like you're being tricked, the book still tucked under your arm burning a hole there. But the other part of you feels like it's just your trust issues getting the better of you—as they often do. You take a moment to think.

And then you sigh as you let go of your arm and speak again. "One condition."

"Of course," he nods.

"Please don't touch me again."

His arms flex at his sides like he's re-establishing his hands being behind his back. "As you wish."

You sigh again and nod. "Okay."

He smiles, and you have to look away before you give into your trust issues again and forfeit his offer. His smile isn't pleased in the way it's meant to be. It feels like he's caught a fish on his hook, and he's reeling it in for dinner. You check out your books.

Dr. Crane leads you to his car, a black Buick LeSabre that looks like it has seen a couple of years, a couple dents here and scratches there giving character to the otherwise sleek thing.

He opens the passenger's door and lets you in. It's your last chance to say no but you get in anyway. You're in too deep, you already accepted.

He smiles, pleased. He takes his seat and starts driving. For the first few minutes, it's deadly quiet. Neither of you say anything—you're still pissy from before. Crane glances at you and decides to break the silence.

"Are you still upset?" he wonders unintelligently.

You glare at him out of the corner of your eye and then look away. Choosing to be a little kinder than you feel, you contain the sarcasm you can feel biting at your teeth. "Yes."

He sighs. "I apologize for my behavior. I didn't mean to frighten you."

You scoff, shaking your head as you look out of the window to see the world of Gotham pass by you. "Yes, you did."

He hums. "How do you know?"

I could see it in your eyes. It feels offensive to say, like you are accusing him of being insane. As you glance at him, you decide to reword your sentence.

"Just felt like it," you dismiss. You rub a hand along your arm, uncomfortable at the idea of being so vulnerable as to displaying fear to this man, this man who seemed to inspire so much distrust and unsafety in you. "And, anyway, I wasn't scared."

You miss the way his hands clench around the steering wheel. "No?"

"No," you shake your head. "Just…disturbed. You were being strange."

He clears his throat. "Like I said, it wasn't my intention." His voice has shifted, but you feel like he's finally telling you the truth. Disturbing you wasn't his intention.

You hum, and that's the last thing said between the two of you for the remaining few minutes of the car ride.

Your home comes into view and you sigh. This whole ordeal would be over in just a few seconds. He drives up to your house, and you make quick work of removing your seat belt and reaching for the door.

But the door is locked.

You look at him tentatively, trying not to let on how desperate you've become to leave his presence as quickly as possible. "Could you unlock the door?" you ask, your voice surprisingly level.

He turns to you to look at you. His smile comes after. "Of course."

The lock clicks, and you open the door immediately. You get out and stand at the door, relief floods you to be safely out of reach. "Thanks for the ride," you mutter half-heartedly.

"Of course," he repeats. "Until we meet again." He speaks your name, and you hate the way it makes you feel. Unclean. Impure.

You close the door.

As you watch his car disappear down the street, your blood runs cold with the icy burn of horror and you feel sick to your stomach.

You never gave him your address.

~

Someone's watching you.

All day, even within the safety of the precinct, you felt someone's eyes on you at every moment. You were constantly looking over your shoulder, constantly searching for a spector you could not find. But no one was looking at you. No one's eyes met yours unless you were in the middle of an interaction with another person.

You weren't safe. Something was going to happen. You could feel it–

You return to the present at the sight of another human being in front of you. You give a tight smile to the person perched at the edge of your desk and nod. "Gordon."

He greets you the same, glancing over your desk to see what you're working on. He has files in his hands, and you watch him set them on your desk in a place vacant of work.

"I need you to analyze these for me," he says.

You nod, "That's my job."

"Yeah," he says, looking you up and down and noticing the way you glance around a little. "You okay? You look a little jumpy."

You look at him quickly and nod, another tight smile covering your lips. "Oh, yeah. Felt a little off today, but I'm okay."

"Anything I need to help with?" he tries.

You shake your head. "No," you say. "No, I'm okay. Thanks."

He hums before he just nods along with you. "Okay. Be careful out there, Bou–"

You look at him, and he looks away.

"Sorry." He quickly corrects himself and walks away.

Gordon means well. Your father was arrested when he was first starting out, so he was here when it was still a huge deal. He knew all about you and the case. Everyone did.

Your name change came as soon as you started your job at the precinct. Everyone was so used to calling you Boucher's kid, some—like Gordon—are still adjusting.

But it doesn't matter. It's passing, and the whole ordeal will be behind you soon. Buried in the past forever.

You stay at the precinct for a while. It isn't safe anywhere, but at least you were surrounded by people who knew how to operate a gun better than you.

When those people finally begin going home, so do you. You pack your things and take a breath as you clock out and leave.

It's late as you're headed home, and you suddenly regret deciding to stay so long. It's dark out, and the only lights are the ugly orange street lamps shining on the damp ground and the blaring ones from a few passing cars. You clutch your purse and walk faster.

The feeling gets worse the longer it takes to get home. It's hot on the back of your head, it's cold along your arms, it has your heart dropping to your stomach and burning there as it pounds. Somebody's watching you. Somebody's watching you. Somebody is watching you.

You finally make it home. Fishing your keys from your purse, you manage to unlock the door without fumbling with them and dropping them to the ground like you see in those stupid horror movies that make your paranoia worse.

You unlock your door and step inside.

You're forced into a coughing fit as a heavy smoke envelopes you. You hold your arm up to your face as you swipe at the air in an attempt to clear it.

Your eyes and lungs burn as you fight to breathe, trying to see through the haze as your heart races in your chest so hard, you feel like it'll tear its way through your ribcage and fall to the ground with a sickening splat.

You close your door after stumbling fully inside, turning around to lock it and struggling to do even that. You turn and catch yourself on the stand next to the door, overestimating the reach and knocking the glass bowl that held your keys to the ground. It shatters, and you nearly scream at the startling sound.

You look up into your dark home and see a million eyes staring back at you. Shadows leap out at you from the corners, light from outside glints off huge, sharp butcher knives flying toward you. Sickly crows sprout from pictures in the walls and scream, a cacophony of "Boucher" and "butcher" filling the room with the shrill shrieks of a dying woman.

It takes a long time to separate from the front door. You stand on shaking legs, carrying yourself through the house and falling to the floor on more than one occasion, startling each time as you find yourself covered in more and more blood, the color so dark it appears black in your vision.

You don't know if you're crying when you feel the hot tears streaming down your cheeks or if you've managed to get blood on your face as well. You smear it over your cheeks just to see. With red already covering your hands, you're still not sure.

You get to your bedroom and flip on the light, but the bright flash blinds you as you shield your eyes and turn it off again. Eyes ooze out of the walls like millions of ogres watching you hold your weak body up against the wall.

"We meet again."

A dark, distorted voice echoes off the walls and fills your soul like a demon from hell possessing your body.

Your first instinct is the beg. For safety, for relief, for help, anything. You just want it to stop.

"Please," you cry. "Please, please, please."

You look up at the figure watching you, dressed in a slightly damaged suit and his face…his face is covered with a burlap sack remnant of that of a scarecrow. He tilts his head as he stands and makes his way toward you with a taunting pace.

"Am I scaring you now?"

"Please, please," is all you could muster as you look away from him.

"Look at me!" he roars.

You slowly bring your gaze back up as his shoes come into view. You look up at the man before you, one you are beginning to suspect is very real and the source of your fear as you stare at the sack over his face. Black ooze comes pouring from the tears that make up his mouth and fifty eyes are blinking back at you like a heavily rooted potato.

A hand finds the top of your head and you wince at the heavy, clammy feeling of it as you find your voice and beg a little louder. "Please! Please, no, please."

"Aww…you don't like when I touch you?" His hand smooths down your cheek and you try to swat it away from no avail. His sing-songy voice continues to echo in your ears with the groaning sound of a broken down animatronic. "What did Daddy do to you?"

You try to catch your breath as you lean down, pressing your forehead to the floor to try and ground yourself.

He raises a finger. “I can answer that question. Would you like me to?” You shake your head meekly. He ignores you.

You watch hazily as he backs away from you, finally taking his hand off your cheek and giving you air, even if you are still heaving for breath. He turns his back on you to stand by your bedside table, picking a file up from it and turning back to you. The burlap sack continues to blink at you as he speaks, and you feel sick to your stomach just looking at it.

The ground is sinking away, and the walls are breathing. You’re sitting on a stretch of darkness and void, and you’re going to start falling at any second.

“Please,” you whisper uselessly again. “He…lp. Please hel…help.”

“Hush,” he whispers, not in an upset way. It’s almost sassy. Then he lets out a dramatic sigh as he tilts his sacked head. “You know what? I’m going to have to take this off. It’s quite hard to read in this mask.”

He pulls the mask over his head and takes in a breath, looking back down at you with a face that runs your blood cold and stops your heart in your chest. “Much better,” he says, the distortion gone but the horror still present.

Jonathan Crane looks down at you, watching you struggle to clear your mind of the terrifying images flashing behind your eyes like a million million nightmares plaguing your thoughts. “I can see you better now. Isn’t that just perfect?”

He picks his glasses from the table beside him and readjusts the files in his hands after putting them on. “Let’s see,” he says, licking the tip of his finger to open the manilla folder and reveal its mysterious contents. “Yada, yada, yada…and bingo.”

He points to something on the papers in the folder and looks at you, his lips spreading in a grin that doesn’t stop widening, like his mouth is going to slip off his face. You blink away from him. He starts reading something off—a name, a patient number, and a date… Your therapist’s name, your patient number, and one of the date’s marked from a past appointment…

“‘Ms. Boucher’—this was before the name change, I suppose—‘finally chooses to open up about aversion to physical touch. She references instances from childhood memories with her father, times of hardship or general dismay when he provided her comfort. All comfort is described as physical, rather than verbal—holding a hand, sharing a hug, rubbing a back. Mr. Boucher never did well with verbal communication.’”

Crane glances at you, curled up on the ground as your head spins still, reeling with the revelation of everything you’re hearing as personal information that was never meant to get out. “Interesting stuff.” He keeps reading.

“Ms. Boucher recounts the night of her mother’s incident and the aftermath when her father came to her. Once again gives vague memories of a hug and a rubbed back, but no further detail was given due to distorted memories of the incident. Patient’s aversion is likely associated with distrust and suspicion because of the father’s behavior with physical affection. Patient experiences physical contact as a trick of virtue.”

He looks at you and smiles with teeth, rows and rows of sharp teeth that gleam in the light. He snaps his jaw at you in a teasing bite but you’re not sure if you imagined it or not.

“Aw,” he fawns mockingly. “Are you traumatized, sweetheart? Did watching your father slaughter your mother with a butcher knife fuck up that little brain of yours?” He looks at the file again and scans it, muttering to himself as he goes along. “Other symptoms include irritability, trust issues, PTSD—obviously—sensitivity to sound, blah, blah, blah.”

You hadn’t realized you were crying. The sound only reaches your ears now, out of place with the rest of the sounds around you—the droning, the taunting, the screaming, the blinking of a million eyes in the walls, the brandishing of a million knives in the kitchen.

Again, you beg him. You don’t know what you’re begging for anymore.

“What?” Crane asks, looking down at you and raising a brow. “Was I just getting to the good part? Was that a please…keep reading?” When you gave no response, other than a startle flinch and cry at a deformed crow flapping around your head and disappearing.

“I’ll keep going then,” he nods, pleased. He keeps glancing back and forth between you and the file and he seems almost giddy. “Oh, I’m so excited now. I haven’t read this far yet, I wanted to do it with you.” He flips the page and hums. “Hm…let’s see…”

He scans the pages uninterestedly, gliding his finger along it and flicking the pages as he wanders back and forth between one end of the room and the other. “Oh, here’s a good part,” he says, sinking on the floor next to you as you clutch your head. He taps the top of your head to grab your attention, making you look up so he can see your exhausted face still stricken with copious amounts of fear, “Hey, pay attention. I don't want to repeat myself.”

He opens the file wide and begins reading. “Patient admits to having issues with intimacy. Her aversion to physical touch conflicting with her desperate need for it creates complications within both her romantic and sexual lives. She explains the issue is so ‘pathetic’, she remains…” He stops reading and looks at you again, his lips parted and his eyes wide with shock and interest. “...’she remains a virgin to this day’.”

In all honesty…you are not paying much attention to him. You’re staring wide-eyed at the floor, which has become a black void that stresses on for miles and miles. You swear you can see the eyes and teeth of angry leviathans glinting up from the bottom, ready to swallow you whole at a moment’s notice.

He takes your chin in the palm of his hand and tilts your head up to look at him. The sound that comes out of you out of the pure horror of it makes you sound like you’ve just been gutted. “Oh, sweetheart… If you wanted me to fuck you, all you had to do was ask.”

He takes hold of you and lifts you to your feet. He has to hoist you, as your whole body feels limp, and you don’t know how to make it move without fully believing you’ll fall into the abyss below you. You gasp and stare wide eyed at Crane as one of his hands wraps around your throat and under your chin and the other holds the top of your head. You grab at his wrist and claw at his hand, trying desperately to remove his touch from you and failing horribly. He isn’t hurting you, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like it.

“I wonder how I didn’t pick up on it sooner…” he hums. “I’ve been watching you for months, and not once did you ever meet with a potential date of any kind. I kind of just assumed you weren’t looking for a relationship.”

Your heart leaps out of your mouth. You swear, you saw it fall to the ground like you’d thought before when whatever mist had begun all of this first started. Your blood freezes in your veins. You could swear your skin has turned blue.

He’s been watching you for months. His were the eyes that watched your every move, that followed you to work, to your bedroom, to your shower. His were the eyes that kept you company in the early of the morning and the late of the night. His were the eyes that haunted your waking hours, inspiring each glance over your shoulder, each extra click of your locks. He’s been watching you.

“Y-you,” you whimper. “You…you’re…you’re the one. You…”

“Shh,” he says, silencing you as you tremble in his hands. “I thought it was cute when you bought that book. The Art of Intuition… You could feel me, couldn’t you? You could feel my eyes on you at every moment of the day… Well, not every moment. I’ve got cameras in your house, I was able to hack into the ones at the precinct. I had to keep up with my little Boucher. I wanted to see if she could turn into her father, if she needed a little nudge like he did to go over the edge… I thought my fear toxin might do that but…no… I got something much more enticing.”

He brings you close to his face, his glasses melding with his skin as his eyes stare back at you like black pits surrounded by pure white. He’s staring at your face, so drenched with pure terror that you can’t do anything but stare. He smiles wide, his expression crazed.

“Look at you,” he says, nearly moaning out the words as he shakes his head. “You look so gorgeous like this. You’re so…delicious.” He nearly growls when he says that, actually leaning closer to your face and taking your lip between his teeth gingerly. You cry out, though he doesn’t actually bite you. “I could just eat you up. Oh, you should see yourself.”

You’re crying without tears now, though your face is soaked with them. You haven’t blinked in hours (it’s been a couple minutes), and the sounds are leaving your throat like a rough sob. His eyes have disappeared and his glasses are only giving aid to pits of skin where his eyes should be. His mouth is sewn shut with ugly, black cross-stitchings, and his nose is gone, giving him a dip in his face like a skeleton.

He begins walking you toward the mirror that you definitely had not placed there. He must have taken it from inside your closet and hung it up prior to your arrival. You take a good, long look at yourself, and you’ve never felt like you’ve wanted to sink into the pit so strongly before.

You’ve never seen this woman before in your entire life. Her face is monstrous, though you don’t know why. She was an echo of you, except she looks nothing like you and she’s covered in blood. You know nothing and everything about her, and you just know she knows everything about you. You’re so terrified of this strange woman, the knives still brandishing themselves with their shrill shrieks in the kitchen are sounding quite useful now as the sudden urge to defend yourself fills you.

You feel the need to scream rise in your throat, and this is an urge you can’t contain as a sharp cry leaves your throat at the sight of this person being held by Crane in the mirror. She screams back at you, blood gushing from her mouth like a river of tar. He laughs as he covers your mouth with his hand, silencing you with such amusement. “Oh, my! I should not have given you such a high dosage. You must be going out of your little mind right now…”

He lets go of your mouth and you can see him rustle around in his suit, but you’re still staring at the woman, unable to look away. It takes everything you have not to scream at her again. He pulls a vial out of a pocket on the inside of his suit and pulls the cork from it. He encourages your lips around it, making you take half the vial into your mouth and forcing you to swallow it down.

The antidote works quickly, but it doesn’t solve the issue in its entirety. You watch as the woman in the mirror slowly becomes more and more familiar until you can look at her and see that it’s just a reflection of you. You sigh heavily, your chest heaving as you feel your heart back in its proper place behind your ribcage. The brandishing has disappeared, the birds have flown away, the shrieking and screaming and sinking and blinking are gone.

But your heart is still very much pounding and you still very much cannot catch your breath to calm yourself. The terror is still there as you stare upon Jonathan Crane’s face and feel the first bursts of necessary fear.

You are in danger. Real danger. Crane is in your house, he has your medical files, and he seems to think you want him in your bed.

“Please,” you whisper once you can find your voice, hoarse with all the crying. At least the blood is gone. “Please, let me go. Don’t hurt me…”

“Oh…” he says. “I know…it’s just your ‘aversion of physical contact’. It’s too much for you right? Well, lucky for you, I dabble in exposure therapy myself. We should be able to solve your issue right here, right now.”

New tears find your eyes, and you shake your head. He’s still holding you, and your skin is crawling. You feel sick. “Don’t… Please don’t. I can’t—I don’t—please.”

He shushes you as he drags you to the bed. You have little to no strength to fight him. You’d exerted yourself so much when that toxin had poisoned your brain. It’s still poisoning your brain now as the situation Jonathan was putting you through paralyzed you with fear. You couldn’t think, you could hardly form a full sentence. His hands are still on you, and it burns your skin. You can’t breathe.

He places you on the bed, positioning you how he wants you so you stand on your knees and face him. He takes a step back and looks at you, takes in the sight of you thoughtfully as he brushes his bottom lip with his thumb. “Look at you,” he mutters. “I liked you more with more of my fear toxin in your system, but we can bring out more fear in you without. We don’t want your little heart exploding in the middle of our session, now do we?”

If you were still so heavily infected with his toxin, you would have seen the splatters of blood and meat and matter bursting and covering you and the walls after seeing your own beating heart fall out of your mouth. But you aren’t as heavily infected, so you only imagined it vividly and shuddered.

Jonathan steps forward and takes your neck in his hand again. You squeeze your eyes shut and huff, “Please, stop. Stop, stop touching me, please. Please.”

He doesn’t listen. He’s too giddy at the way you beg him, the way your hands shake at your sides. You could try to fight him. You could swing your arms and hit and kick and scream but you just…won’t. You can’t. You’re too scared. The toxin affects you so much you can do nothing but sit there. You’re otherwise paralyzed.

So, no, he doesn’t let go of you. He holds your neck and brings you in close, his other hands smooths along your waist as you just shudder as a terrible sob leaves your chest once more. “I’m going to eat you up,” he emphasizes each word. “You and I are gonna work together. We’re going to work you through your little aversion, your fears. You and I…” He brings his hand up and brushes his knuckles over your clothed nipple.

You shake with fear and disgust. “No, please…”

He takes off his glasses, his hand continuing to graze your chest as you sit there, staying as still as you can as his hand threatens to tighten around your throat if you move too much when he doesn’t want you to.

"...are going to make art." You stare at him with your watery eyes, whimpering lightly as he just shushes you again.

His lips crash down upon yours and your seal them shut as you feel his tongue licking insistently at the seam of your mouth. His teeth clash against yours, making the kiss rough and cutting and you think you'll die.

All too quickly, you can't breathe. Your lungs are closing in, and the world is spinning. His hand finds your hair, carding through it and tugging harshly to expose your throat. He attacks you, lips and teeth and tongue devouring your throat like a starving beast.

You're burning. There are so many hands on you, so much touch all over your body driving you insane with sensitivity. You feel like someone has coated you in molten lava and condemned you to death.

You sigh shakily. "Jon—Jonathan. Please… stop."

"Shhh," he drags out the sound as he places a finger over his lips. He leans in close to your face as he speaks. "Please…the doctor is in."

He kisses you again and you gasp when he grabs your throat once more, baring his teeth and staring down at you shaking with fear. His voice is low and fast as he speaks to you, crazed and craven. "I am going to rip you apart. I'll make you scream until mine is the only name you know–"

He raises his hand to touch your face. A sudden burst of adrenaline courses through your veins, and you reach out to shove it away. You grab his hand by the wrist in a vice grip, but you hadn't realized there was something hiding beneath the cuff of his sleeve.

The mist from before—his toxin—sprays through the air and right into Jonathan's face as he inhales it with a terrible gasp. His mouth falls open, his eyes roll back. His grip on you loosens, and you stumble to your feet to get away from him.

You get to the door before he grabs you from behind and growls in your ear, his voice straining. "You didn't think you'd get away that easily, did you?" He's breathing loudly, roughly, his vision plagued by nightmares and horrible images haunting his mind.

He lets out a monstrous breath, picking you up and dragging you right back to the bed as you kick and scream and cry. He set you on the bed, still holding you, back-to-chest. "You're an angel," he grunts. "You're glowing, sweetheart."

Based on your experience with the toxin, he could be being literal. Either way, he isn't letting you go. You're trapped as his wandering hands pull at your clothes and rip your shirt from your body. He lets the rags fall around you, breathing in deeply and letting out a sound akin to a moan as the hallucinations get the better of him.

He just starts tearing, stripping you clothing by clothing. He yanks your slacks from your legs, but you don't let him do it easily as you continue to kick your feet out and cry.

After a while, your fight begins to wane at his nerves as he wraps his arms around you and holds you still. "There's plenty of toxin left if you want me to dose you again."

You still, holding your breath and feeling the anxiety and dread rise within you with each passing second. "I didn't think so," he whispers. His hands grab at your waist, pulling and palming at your sides like you've still got clothes he needs to remove. But you're completely bare, carved open for the world to see.

"Fuck," he curses, blinking quickly as he stares at you. "You have no idea how much I need you. This perfect body and these…beautiful nightmares make for the perfect combination." It sounds like it takes his whole body to breathe in. He sighs heavily, "I guess I should thank you, hm? For giving me this."

His hand grasps your inner thigh and his nails dig into the flesh. A shout forces its way out of your throat at the feeling of his claw-like fingers scratching all of your terribly exposed skin. He moans loudly at the sound of it, his other hand joining to paint you in red. Jonathan pushes your naked body down on the bed, and you shout when his hand cracks down on your ass in a loud smack. His—still fully clothed—body is pressed against yours once again in no time. He reaches a hand up and cards it through your hair, gripping it to pull you back up with a harsh tug.

"Look at yourself, sweetheart," he breathes. When you don't listen, he becomes angry and erratic. "Look! Look at it!"

You jump at his outburst, turning your shaky head to look at your reflection in the mirror. He'd placed it so specifically. He was always going to make you watch…

He pulls your hair tighter and smiles evilly. "Look at you," he sighs. Looking in the mirror and watching him, you have no idea what he's seeing in that fucked up mind of his, but you know it would break you.

You feel him grind his hips into you and close your eyes, opening them quickly again as not to irritate him further. "Do you feel how hard I am for you? Oh, baby, I'm going to split you in half."

"Please, doctor," you beg again.

His evil grin becomes all the worse, and you hear the sound of his belt clinking. "No, no, no, no, no," you mutter under your breath, shaking your head as you bury your face in the sheets of your bed, soaking it with your tears.

"Beg me to fuck you, sweetheart. Beg me to ruin you," he groans. You continue shaking your head and muttering your protests under your breath. "Do it."

You feel like your heart is going to explode in your chest. You can't breathe. You can't see. You just want an end to the madness, to the torture.

"Please," you sob. "Please, please, please, please, please, please."

It doesn't sound like a word anymore. It sounds like gibberish in your brain as he smiles and sighs, so pleased and so happy with you. The insanity clouds your head.

"Music to my ears," he hums. "Well…since you asked so nicely."

He reaches down and you shake when his middle finger presses against your folds, slick with arousal that had begun wetting your panties since the toxin first sent you into your craze.

"Oh, you're so desperate for me, aren't you?" He shakes his head and chuckles. "Must be why you begged me so much."

You don't have the will to fight his claim. You feel dirty at the making of it anyway.

Jonathan takes his cock into his hand and strokes himself twice. You feel the head of his cock poke at your pussy, working its way between your folds until he's perfectly positioned. He pushes his hips into yours slowly, and you want to sob, but there's so few tears left in you to make more than the sound as he does, in fact, split you open on his cock.

He's so big, so thick as he thrusts inside of you and fills you to the brim. You cry out at the feeling, the pressure so great it's painful, the intrusion much bigger than what your fingers have to offer.

"Ah," you keen. "D-Doctor, please."

He moans roughly as he bottoms out inside of you, his mouth hanging ajar as his hips jerk slightly at the way you tighten around him. "Yeah, does that feel good? You want more? Want me to fuck you?"

You bury your face in the sheets. "H-Hurts. Please, stop, it hurts."

His cock twitches inside you, and you think you'll die. "I love it when you beg me to fuck you, sweetheart. You look so pathetic under me like this. Just see for yourself…"

He yanks your hair back again to make you look. He doesn't let you go either, his hand stays firmly in your hair as he holds you up to keep looking, to keep watching, to keep your eyes on your bodies as he slowly begins to fuck you. He gives you no preparation, he gives you no time to adjust. Once he's fully inside of your tight cunt and you've started tightening around the thickness he fills you with, he just starts rutting into you.

His hips snap into yours, dragging harshly inside of you as you scream and shout and squirm. He's tearing you apart, piece by piece. And he keeps fucking you as more and more slick begins to ease the cruelty.

You don't know how long you're there gripping the sheets and whining and clenching your eyes shut before the pain begins to twist and turn in your belly into an uncomfortable and unwelcome kind of pleasure.

And when Jonathan hears the telltale sign of your cries turning into moans, he completely loses his mind.

If he hadn't been fucking you hard before, he certainly is now. He wraps his arms around your body and pulls you to stand on your knees as he straightens your backs and begins to thrust up into you while he makes you watch. He spreads your legs wide and plays with your nipples, pulling your body down to meet each thrust of his hips as he completely wrecks you. All the sounds mixing in the air—the moans, the grunts, the slick skin, the heavy breathing, the sobbing—it's a filthy symphony of terror in your ears and beauty in his.

One of his hands, trying to find purchase on something, finds your hair and just starts petting you, carding his fingers through it and occasionally deciding to yank your head back in the process. "Listen to you," he huffs. "You're loving it. I can tell."

All you can do in response is cry and hope it doesn't come out as a moan (it does).

"Doesn't it feel so good? Feeling me touch you, feeling me hold you, feeling me fuck you hard and raw?"

His hand finds your clit and he starts rubbing it, his pace rough and fast and much too hard for you to think it would work. But it does, because you immediately shudder as he begins his brutal work. His finger flicks it so fast, your whole body is already shaking as he builds you up until you're crashing down.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," he groans as you flutter around him. You gasp, going blind as your orgasm crashes down on you like nothing you've ever felt. He grabs your throat and turns your head to face the mirror so you continue watching as he fucks you through it, both your mouths open and gasping for air as your pleasure consumes you, devours you, swallow you whole.

You won't say you did it on purpose. If you could go back and change it, you should…but you could not promise you would as you take hold of Jonathan's wrist and release his toxin in your own face once more.

You gasp and you roll your eyes back and you find your body numb for a moment as all the nightmares from before come back. Your little heart can't take it as the walls start literally jumping out at you like the corpses of a million souls long past. Bats and birds and bugs fly around the room. Hands are reaching up from the sheets in the bed and grasping your arms and legs and holding you down.

Jonathan's faltering thrusts remind you he's there as you find the mirror and his monstrous form watches you. He looks impressed, even through the hundred fangs and black eyes. "Poor girl's so fucked out, she wants more," he coos, his voice returning back to the demonic groaning you'd been met with when you first stumbled into your room to find him there. "Do you like it? Do you like my nightmare? Are you in love with the horrors in your mind?"

You've stopped crying. Your face is open and wide as you stare out, silent terror gluing your frantic gaze to the mirror. He groans at the sight of you, clamping his teeth down on your shoulder before pushing you forward to stand on your hands and knees as he takes your hips and starts slamming his own into you.

All you can do is moan as you watch him fuck you, taking you from behind with an animalistic kind of frenzy. Your mouth hangs open, you look drunk as he plows you from the back. You grip the sheets, but you watch as a pair of hands sprouting from the bed reach up and hold your own to keep you planted there.

A rough thrust drags through your pussy and makes you moan, a rough and deep thing that scratches your throat as you clench the hands. Your cunt tightens around him, sucking him into you with each shove of his cock inside of you.

"Fuck," he huffs. "This little cunt is so tight. You've been needing me, haven't you?" His hips snap harshly into you suddenly. "I'm gonna watch this over and over again."

You forgot about that, his confession to setting up cameras all over your house. You wonder briefly where the one in your room is stored, at which angle he's going to watch himself fuck you into the bed over and over again. You wonder how many times he's watched you touch yourself in this bed over and over again. Because he's been watching you.

You gasp and moan and shake and let him use you like a doll. You watch yourself in the mirror as your face melts off. You watch Jonathan as his long talons dig into your hips like blades. You hold onto the hands still gripping yours and hang your head as he fucks you. You groan, letting yourself feel the pleasure and hating yourself for it.

You're so conflicted. Your heart is pounding and your body is shaking and you feel like you're going to die, but the pleasure clinging to your body like blood to cotton is so mind-numbing that you've become one with the corpses in the walls.

"It's like this little cunt was made for me," he huffs. "I think I'll keep you. Your mind is broken enough." You whimper. "I'll have you thrown in Arkham with your father, and I'll fuck your brains out so you never get too lonely. How does that sound?"

When you don't reply, he pulls on your hair again and brings his lips to whisper beside your ear. "Do you want that? Hm?"

You make a ramble of incoherent sounds, murmuring something entirely unintelligible as you whimper and mewl.

"Yeah," he sighs. "I know… That would make your little heart soar, wouldn't it? You can tell me."

You give the same response.

He rewards you with a smile with a rough thrust that has the bats on the ceiling fluttering back down to you. They swarm your heart and Jonathan watches you look at every single one of them as they fly past.

"Fuck, I'm keeping you."

You're going to cum again, you can feel it. You're on the verge as his fast, rough thrusts drag inside of you with the squelching of your cunt. But it seems you're not the only one as you feel Jonathan's hands tighten around your hips as his pace stutters.

His grunts and groans are becoming more desperate, melting into moans as his plump lips hang open. He laughs at something, something jumping out at him in his own mind as you stare at the wall, each inch covered in butcher knives hanging on hooks. They glint and gleam in the moonlight and you can hear them rattling, ready to fly off the walls and impale themselves in you.

Your voice is small and pitchy and weak as you mumble. "B-Bu… Butch… B—ch… Ahh…"

"What?" he hums. "What's got you so distracted?"

You continue to stare at the wall, trying and failing to speak properly as blood seeps out of the metal and stains the hundred blades. "Bu…"

For once, you think he can see what you're seeing as he looks up at the wall you're staring at. His face lights up and he stares in awe, his lips parting as he does. "Your butcher." He whispers in your ear. "Isn't it beautiful?"

You continue to stare, even after Jonathan lets out a growl and pushes you forward again as he shoves your face into the covers. The hands let go of yours to grab your face, wrapping around your head and holding you down as a clammy palm covers your mouth. You stare at the knives, staining your floors with crimson red.

Your words and your whimpers are muffled by the hand as he thrusts harshly into you. Jonathan stares, wildly fascinated by the way your hallucinations control you on such a physical level. He can see that you're being muffled but he finds no hand. He can see that your body is being pinned down to the bed, but he sees no fingers wrapping around your arms and legs and keeping you there.

He takes hold of your hands, placing them over your head and holding them down as he fucks into you with a new angle. His cock fucks into your tight cunt in shorter, faster, rougher thrusts that has the birds swarming around you again.

You can't think straight, and you're sure your heart has stopped. You've been through so much in the past…you don't know how long. You came home to be poisoned by his fear toxin, assaulted by living nightmares, given half an antidote to the toxin, fucked by your stalker, poisoned again, and now you're still being fucked dumb with promises doing it again.

And you're going to cum. You hadn't realized he began rubbing your clit again, all the pleasure has run together into one big conglomeration of filthy ecstasy. His cock is pounding into a specific part of you that's making you sob again and you think for a moment you might be drooling, but you're too far away from your body to know for sure until he says: "Look at you, sweetheart. So fucking dumb, you're drooling all over the sheets. Am I making you feel that good?"

You mutter incoherently again, and he just laughs at you. The sound melts into a rough groan on a deep thrust. "Fuck, you keep sucking my cock in. I'm gonna cum in this perfect little cunt, and I'm going to keep you forever… I'm never fucking letting go of you, little Boucher."

Boucher. Boucher. Boucher. Boucher. You're surrounded by Boucher. The knives on the wall, the hands holding you down, this man abusing your cunt and calling you that cursed name. Driving you insane. Making you crazy. Just like him.

How easy it would be to lose yourself in it, in the insanity. How easy it would be to give in. To become Boucher… To succumb to the madness…

You squeeze him as he fucks you as hard as he can, and you feel his cock swell inside of you as he grinds his hips roughly into you.

"Oh, fuck!" he gasps, moaning as he snaps. His release hits him like a freight train, the world closing in on him as he loses all grip on reality and fucks his cum into you like a crazed beast. The feeling of it makes you gasp, the hot lava filling the pit of your belly and warming you up.

He keeps grinding into you as he flicks his wrist and rubs wildly at your clit. You burst. Your heart in your chest, your brain in your head, the knot in your belly—it all snaps at once and you cry out against the hand over your mouth. Your mind is gone and your body is shaking, accepting the madness and the pleasure and the filth and becoming one with it like you should have from the start.

The nightmares devour you, the horror sinks into your skin. You shake and cry and moan. He grabs you by the base of your skull, weaves his fingers through your hair, and pulls as he rides out the rest of his release and he swears he hears a muffled laugh bubble out of you from under your breath.

He watches as your body trembles, your moans continuing on even longer than he thought they would as the aftershocks of your release rise within you. You're still fluttering around him as you lie on the bed and mumble under your breath.

When Jonathan's pleasure has waned enough to think, he lets out a deep sigh and pulls out of you with a regretful one. You whine, laying there heavily. He scoops you up with his arms wrapped around your body and speaks into your ear.

"What's on your mind, Boucher?"

His breath is steady in your ear, providing a solid ground for you to stand on as he pulls you away from the hands reaching up to embrace you once more. You watch the knives shine on the wall and blink lazily at them as the smallest ghost of a smile graces your lips.

"Bou…" the word falls short, and he just watches in awe.

"What?" he whispers. "What is it?"

You grab one of his hands and pull it around your body, leaning into his.

"Beautiful."

~

Bright, sterile surfaces are all you see as you stare at the room around you. You lean your head against a white, padded wall as the jacket tying your arms to your body keeps you safe and warm. It's so monotonous, so quiet and droning as you glare at the blank walls around you with a frustrated sigh. It’s just all too mindless.

You tilt your head toward the door when you hear the locks click heavily. When Jonathan steps inside with a pleased grin and a briefcase held tight in one hand, you can't help the smile that begins to spread over your lips.

"Hello, Ms. Boucher," he greets you warmly. "Are you ready for our appointment?"

He opens his case, and his burlap mask falls out.

You look down at it, your expression almost giddy as your eyes—which have been open wide since the moment his fear toxins had first blessed your senses—gaze back at him. "Dr. Crane…" you lift your head. "I've been waiting."

Cillian Murphy taglist: @lyarr24​ @runnning-outof-time​ @goblinjnr @kmc1989 @shelbyism @weepingwitchofthewest @cl-0-vr @thoticious @sinarainbows Tag yourself here...

[murfpersonalblog]

"I agree that Lestat had nothing to do with [Paul's death] directly. However, if we remember that episode, Paul was like: 'That man is a devil, he got into my head!' And my whole thing was, I mean Lestat did get into his head.... I don't believe Lestat pushed him to do what he did? But obviously Paul was very mentally ill. That, mixed with him being hyper-religious and hyper-Christian, I feel like that intrusion of Lestat into his mind? Maybe it made him feel like his temple was unclean, or it made him feel like the devil got into my head and now I am soiled now I am bad. And it probably pushed him to do that. So I don't believe Lestat did do that to [Louis'] brother. But I think [Lestat's] intrusion into [Paul's] brain probably played a role in him doing that, so I'm glad they spoke on it here."

WOW | Interview With The Vampire 1x6 | Reaction & Commentary - FrankFreezy (23:23 - 24:37)

I LOVE this so much.

Cuz it goes back to what I was saying here: Louis has ALWAYS loved Lestat--beyond reason, religion, family, himself, Claudia AND Paul combined. I HATE when people act like Louis never loved Lestat, or never showed Lestat how much he loved him. Pay attention, y'all!

IWTV S2 Ep8 Musings - LDPDL: Burning Questions (Pt2)

EVERYONE called Lestat the Devil. Louis KNEW what Lestat did to Paul--both at the family dinner, and what Paul said later on the roof. He knew it was all true, cuz he'd seen it with his own eyes, and he'd FELT the same way--Louis felt unclean & soiled & bad, and RAN out of 1132 after they had sex the first time; and RAN to the confessional screaming "HELP ME, Father, he's in my head!" after Paul died.

But the gothic horror/romance is that despite seeing Les at his absolute worst, killing all those priests like an utter demon, LOU CHOSE LESTAT ANYWAY. And it's been (literally) KILLING him ever since. "I run to bad beds!" His 128+ dead men in SanFran are all Les!

It's why I love Ep5, as it's just more of the same: seeing Lestat at his worst and Lou STILL loving the monster AND the man in Ep6 (my fave episode in the whole series so far). Seeing Les try to kill Claudia in 1x7 and STILL mourning him all the way into 2x7.

There's A LOT of Les' trash Lou settles for & accepts, inc. even the suspicion that Les ad something to do with Paul's death; inc. Les abusing both him & Claudia. It's not until Les SPAT on Lou's love before a whole crowd of lynchers with "Come to Me" that the last straw broke how much Louis could forgive, cuz "Come to Me/Viens a moi" was when Les got into LOUIS' head and drove HIM to death (vampirism) too, literally in 1x1 & figuratively in 1x6.

The fandom doesn't talk about the dubcon/noncon/mind-rape of the Come to Me/church scene as much as we should, and how much of a violation it was for Les to be barging all up in Lou's head the way he was, while Lou was literally suffering an entire grief-triggered drunken suicidal mental breakdown. Lou's POV makes it seem more like lethal assault (I'm being mortally hunted; my life/soul's in danger by the white Devil). But Lestat/the script acknowledged the predatory nature of Come to Me during the Trial, when Les flipped it to make it seem like Lou had (sexually) assaulted HIM instead (my purity/chastity's in danger by the Black pimp).

This violation of their relationship is IT for Louis ("those were HIS words! F**k you!"). Their history is sullied, Lou's name & reputation (personhood) is dragged through the mud & soiled. ("I was dead.") With Claudia dead and Les betraying them by participating in the rigged Trial, Lou was able to believe Armand's weak AF lies for 77 years ("bad beds"); and sacrifice his love/marriage, "kill" Les & get divorced (Lou's most non-Catholic move of all, LOL) for good.

Les had ONE chance to be honest about the Trial (the 2x8 Tower Scene) & totally blew it by letting Armand get away with "Banishment." It all comes home (literally, in NOLA), when Lou finally stops running AWAY from uncomfortable truths, and asks the burning questions about Les that REALLY define their relationship.

Cuz it's not really about the Trial, or even Claudia; it's about Paul, the catalyst for Louis' entire arc--she was just the final/ultimate casualty. Everyone important in Lou's life has just been another replacement for Paul, "I loved him more than anyone on earth." All the people he had sit & TALK to him--Lily, Lestat, Claudia, Daniel, even Armand (to an extent), are all just Lou looking for Paul--understanding, acceptance, and love--i.e.: his companion. Someone he can confide all his secrets in, who won't judge/condemn him, and who'll accept & love him for who he is.

Sam said Les is Lou's "soulmate." Even though his heinous antics constantly proved Paul RIGHT, Lou also loved when Les put in the effort to prove Paul WRONG--he CAN behave & act like a human & charm the absolute pants off of Louis by just sitting on a park bench or sofa & TALKING to Louis; CONNECTING with Louis on a deeper level than even sex (which Lou already said is the best he's EVER had--and ya boi got around in the 70s-2000!).

But Les can also match Louis' freak; show his fangs, and be an utter monster Lou ALSO loves; cuz there's something dark in Louis too, that Jacob said "needs friction."

I said before that actual saints like Jonah & Paul are way too nice for Louis; too good & pure for this world. Lou LIKES Bad Boys; he likes men who're effed up & broken, cuz it makes HIM feel like he's not alone--HE'S not so bad after all. Vamps are just crabs in a bucket, and Lou's own hyper-Catholic brain treats it as a form of punishment, that he "deserves" effed up devils like Les & Armand. Beaten down all his life, and hating himself, full of self-loathing, Lou never knew his own worth--"let's meet vampires WORTHY of your love!" In 1x5 Lou stopped putting in the effort to take care of himself & their family/household ("ignoring all other duties of the role Claudia once mocked me for: the unhappy housewife"), and stopped confronting Lestat about his BS ("He treats us like sh*t and you take it! Why is that?!"). He's about to burn Les alive in 2x8, then just visibly gives up (puts the fire out), to "kill" Les by marrying Armand (who he's not even in love with, and who KNOWS Lou's only with him to spite Les) before the ink on Loustat's divorce papers are even dry.

It's only after Daniel FINALLY helps Louis claw his way out of Armand's clutches that he understands what Claudia meant about him having never known or loved himself ("Who are you, Louis?"). Lou's TRUTH AND RECONCILIATION required that he work on bettering himself, and allowing Lestat the chance to better himself too. That "friction" was toxic AF, and they both needed a real CLEANSING, which only started when Lou opened his mouth to ask Les the truth (the false-start in 1x6 about Paul; and the real-start in 2x8 about Armand).

So yeah, I love what Frank said, cuz IMO people in the fandom miss a lot of the horrible things Les does INDIRECTLY, in order to forgive the horrible things Les does DIRECTLY--just like Louis did. But just like Louis, it's possible (& totally valid) to love the man while acknowledging the ways he IS a monster, who needs to come clean & be honest, and start taking accountability for the ways he (in)directly contributed to both Louis & Claudia (& Paul's) demise.