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depravitycentral · 3 days ago

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Yandere! Gyomei Himejima NSFW Profile

Yandere! Gyomei Himejima x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, mentions of non-con, reader is implied to be smaller than Gyomei but let's be real EVERYONE is smaller than him regardless of your weight or height, anal play/fingering (m receiving), allusions to breeding, sub-ish Gyomei, masturbation, minor objectification, Gyomei is whipped, Stockholm Syndrome, accidental exhibitionism, Gyomei is a stone cold virgin (haha I am very funny), fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 13.6K

HABITS:

Sex is not a priority for Gyomei.

Not only does his lifestyle make having a partner difficult, but even the physical act of sex is something he’s never been particularly interested in. He’s just simply not that physical of a man – affection isn’t something he’s especially comfortable with, and while he wants nothing more than to hold you and keep you in his arms forever (and he really does mean forever, something he doesn’t hesitate in reminding you), touching you isn’t at the forefront of his mind.

And this is especially true in the context of sexual intimacy – it’s one thing to crave holding your hand, but it’s another to crave having your thighs wrapped around his head. It’s one thing to desire you falling asleep with your cheek pressed against his chest, but it’s another to imagine you perched on top of him, your pretty moans of his name making his cheeks feel hot and his pulse rising dramatically.

It feels disrespectful, more than anything, to imagine you in a sexual light; he’s already painfully aware that having any sort of romantic feelings towards you is wrong, but to doom himself even further with explicit, lewd fantasies of you? Just the thought makes him bristle, unease and shame crawling up his spine because only perverted men do that, men with no morals or self-control.

And he’s able to keep this mentality for an impressively long period of time - you’d be hard pressed to catch him having any sort of risqué thoughts regarding you for much of the time his obsession festers, the furthest possible thing being imagining kissing you and gently cupping your cheeks.

(And even then, the idea of slipping his tongue into your mouth makes his cheeks feel hot, his entire body feeling like it’s on fire and making him hurriedly forget the thought, instead busying himself with imagining hugging you or pressing a quick kiss to your temple. But as time passes, if his concentration lessens for even a single moment, then he’s suddenly thinking about you putting your tongue in his mouth, and suddenly he needs to sit down, his head feeling dizzy and light and overwhelmed.)

He manages to stay within the confines of innocent fantasies of you, physically conditioning himself to halt any thoughts further than holding you by pinching himself or biting his tongue, anything at all to deter such thoughts and reprimand himself. But really, while Gyomei may be a very morally guided man with one of the gentlest hearts, he’s still a man.

And like most men, he has needs – even if he himself isn’t truly aware of them.

And so, while he forces himself to stay respectful of you during the day, he’s not so in control of his thoughts at night. It’s not as easy to stop himself from playing out vivid, pleasure-filled scenarios when he’s in the grips of slumber, his subconscious running wild and imagining how you’d feel with your hands on his body, your soft breasts pressed against his own rigid chest, your lips kissing his neck, and the wonderful warmth between your legs that he’s absolutely sure would be such a tight fit, truly stretching you out in every possible way.

(And god, while the size difference intimidates him ever so slightly because he doesn’t want to hurt you, there’s something about the fact that you’re just so damn tiny compared to him that makes something primal and territorial stir in his gut, the sense of protectiveness and ownership he feels over you only amplifying, despite his wishes. And then he’s imagining the way you’d squeal and grasp onto him as he sends rope after rope after rope of thick, white cum as deeply inside of you as he can manage, and it’s only then that Gyomei truly gives up any hope of not viewing you in a sexual light because how can he not fantasize about stuffing you so full that you’re leaking it? Leaking him?)

He’s woken up to messy sheets, a sweaty body and heavy breathing more often than he’d like to admit, the cum smeared across his softening cock and the material of the bed making him feel dirty, ashamed and disgusting.

(And when he sees you later that day, you’ll notice he’s a bit quieter than usual, not standing as close to you as he normally would, but if you bring it up he’ll only tear up a bit, telling you to disregard his strange behavior, but not really giving you a reason for it. He can’t lie to you, it feels wrong, but he can’t tell you, either, so he settles with omission, praying you won’t push the issue further.)

And so, as time passes, slowly he’ll find himself becoming a victim of the lust that begins showing itself, rearing its ugly head when he finds himself wanting you most, the bouts of loneliness he feels late at night making fighting off his desire difficult.

But even then, Gyomei has the patient of a saint and could probably stave off his urges to actually touch himself for the rest of his life. Dirty thoughts, no, but the act of actually stroking himself or acting upon those thoughts? He could, if he really tried – or at least he could without the intervention of something outside of his control, something that pushes him to finally, finally give in.

And that intervention comes one summer evening, when the wind is warm and the night air is full of liveliness. The village he’d been sent to had a night market that was bustling, hence the presence of a demon slowly picking off the shoppers every night. Finding and destroying the demon was quick and easy, and as Gyomei wandered through the market after completing his mission, a wrong turn led to a rather shocking discovery.

The woman’s voice sounds almost exactly like yours, only a bit higher, a bit more slurred, a bit sultrier as she moans presumably the name of the man pinning her against the wall. The alleyway between the two buildings in the downtown segment of the town reverberates her cries strongly, the wet sucking and kissing noises as the man worked at her neck making Gyomei freeze, embarrassment slowly creeping up his spine.

Of course, Gyomei isn’t naïve – he knows about the intimate relations between men and women, and although he has no sexual experience of his own, the heavy breathing, racing hearts and wet plap plap noises echoing down the alleyway towards him tell him more than enough about what exactly is taking place just a few meters away. He knows that this is really quite a private moment, and he knows that he should really, really move.

And yet, the similarities between your voice and the woman’s make him pause, his legs suddenly feeling like lead, even as the man’s grunts and questions of you like that, baby ring in his ears, making Gyomei’s eyebrows shoot up because oh no, what a horribly inappropriate thing to be hearing.

A particularly harsh thrust and a nearly pained groan from the man has Gyomei suddenly moving, sensing that the man is close to his end and the Hashira would prefer to give them privacy during such a moment. He tries to continue on with his evening, focusing entirely on the feeling of the beads between his palms and the bustling sounds of the town’s evening life as he heads back towards the more populated area, but the damage is already done.

The woman sounded so much like you that it haunts Gyomei that night, the sound ringing through his ears on repeat and driving him nearly mad, forcing him to head back home to his estate early. Once he’s smelling the familiar air of his home (tinged ever so slightly by your scent, you having visited earlier that day and leaving a lingering reminder of you that he immediately deeply inhales once he enters), Gyomei relaxes ever so slightly, head dipping down in shame as he notices the way his trousers are still fitting tightly, the woman’s sounds and the small, barely-there thoughts he’s trying to repress about your sounds physically affecting him.

Furrowing his brow, he resigns himself to the knowledge that he’ll likely spend the rest of the evening hard enough to be uncomfortable, instead simply sitting and resting atop his bed. He tries to distract himself as the minutes slowly tick by, thinking of training, praying, and anything else he can conjure up, brain working as frantically as possible because the idea of you moaning his name in that same wanton, needy way just absolutely refuses to leave him.

It’s infuriating, really, and it leaves Gyomei with a heavy sense of shame in his gut because it’s just so, so disrespectful to be thinking of you in such compromising, lewd ways. It’s abhorrent, truly a sign of just how weak he’s become in your hands, all without you even realizing it.

The next few hours are painful, his erection remaining prominent and sweat beading his brow, his concentration waning the longer it drags on. Every time he lets his mind wander, it’s turning back to you – he’s thinking of the delicious smell of curried meat that was coming from a market stand, and suddenly he’s imagining the way you would suck on the meat stick, and it’s not long before he’s thinking of how you’d suck on his lips, his fingers, him –

He sits up abruptly, biting his lip and forcing himself to his feet. And eventually, as Gyomei tasks himself with whatever simple task he can think of as a distraction, the concentration and resolve eventually breaks. The neatly folded pile of his clothing in the corner of the room shouldn’t make him pause as it does, but as his fingers feel over the fabric to identify each piece, he can’t help but notice the presence of something new atop the other items – something lighter and softer, a material completely unlike the rough, thick fabric of his uniform.

Curiously, he brings the material up closer to his face, leaning down slightly and inhaling, only to immediately stop, eyes going wide because fuck, this is your shawl, isn’t it?

You’d accidentally left it in his home and he’d placed it in the corner with the hopes of keeping it out of the way to preserve it and not accidentally ruin it. And yet, as he stands there, muscles tense with each inhale bringing your scent to his nose again and again, Gyomei finds that he simply can’t take it anymore. He’s so hard that it hurts, and with the smell of you filling his lungs, how can he possibly hold himself back any longer?

And so, with a heavy heart and shame creeping up his neck, Gyomei finds himself once again laying on his bed, back flat against the ground and swallowing heavily. He’s never touched himself before – maybe once as a young teenager, but he’s simply not had the time nor desire to, and he’s ashamed to admit that he’s nervous.

But then he’s imagining the way you’d moan again, your pretty voice ringing in his ears, the syllables of his name rolling off your tongue like velvet, G-yo-mei whimpered in his ear as he kneads at your breasts, thumbing at your nipples and kissing along the sensitive skin of your jaw.

And that’s all it takes for him to gently loosen the belt of his uniform trousers, his hand slightly trembling as he shuffles them down a bit, the cold air brushing against his freed cock and making him shiver slightly.

He’s slow and methodical as he very, very slowly relaxes. Guilt still consumes him, but he’s already got his pants off, cock in hand – and soon, he’s throwing caution to the wind and instead focusing on the idea of you.

He starts by imagining a simple part of your body – your hands, the ones whose fingers always brush his own, resting against his clothing as you compliment him, always feeling warm and soft and so, so very foreign. He swallows, his fist moving to grip himself at the base, the dull pleasure making his toes curl a bit.

Then he’s mentally picturing your arms, remembering the way they feel against his palms. He’s sure the skin there is soft, too, and he squeezes tighter as he thinks of the way you’d wrap them around his neck as he thrusts into you, hovering over you and trying to get as deep as he possibly can – he wants to feel every possible inch of you, to leave you stuffed full enough to be a gasping, stuttering mess.

He’s imagining your collarbone, his free hand coming up to trace his own for reference. He decides that your must be more delicate, softer, pretty and mirroring the shape of your jaw. Slowly, his hand begins moving upwards, a low, uneven breath falling from his lips because oh, this is a strange feeling.

He’s not entirely sure what breasts feel or look like, but as he licks his lips, he thinks back to all the (unpleasantly and unwilling) conversations he’s overheard from perverted older men. Soft, he thinks, and surely firm enough to grasp onto – one hand continues the slow, steady strokes as the other reaches up in front of him, shame eating away at him as he spreads his fingers, cupping and squeezing them as if your chest were right in front of him, your pretty tits bouncing, the plap plap noise of skin hitting skin filling the room.

He quietly groans your name as he continues to squeeze, head lolling back slightly against the floor, a strained look crossing his features because no, he knows the feeling that’s coming is an orgasm but dammit, he wants this to continue, even as depraved as it is. Even as disrespectful and rude – even as badly as he hopes and prays that you do this thinking of him, too.

His thumb comes up to quickly swipe at his tip, his abs clenching tightly at the sensation. He’s thinking of your stomach – it’s soft, he just knows it, the perfect thing for him to grab at, imagining the way he’d rest his head against the soft pudge of your lower tummy as he licks and sucks between your legs, feeling your thighs cage around his head, squeezing and crushing and fuck fuck fuck –

He groans your name, hips bucking up and up as he imagines what lays between those pretty thighs of yours, the exact picture a mystery but the idea making every nerve feeling like it’s on fire, white hot pleasure burning its way from the pit of his stomach through to every limb.

He’s sure fucking you would be heavenly – he’s heard women’s genitalia described as warm, wet, and tight, and the mere idea of you being that way is enough to get him gasping, his orgasm hurriedly approaching and his concentration too haphazard to use a technique to slow his breathing and delay the inevitable.

It’s futile, really, because when he imagines the way you’d clutch onto him and tell him such sweet praises, your pretty lips pressing against his desperately, whining that you want him, that you need him, it’s only natural for him to start bucking up into his hand, thrusting against his fist faster and faster and faster, the sound of his ass clapping back down against his bedsheets reverberating through the room, along with the wet slapping noise of his balls clapping against his fist as he imagines fucking into you harder, faster, more more more –

And just the idea of you moaning a breathy, adoring I love you, Gyomei is enough to get his back arching up, every muscle in his body going taut as spurt after spurt of warm, thick cum spurts from his tip, landing in rivulets across his chest, feeling hot and wet even over the fabric.

He’s panting, breathing heavily and bathing in the aftershocks of his orgasm, cock still pulsing and throbbing even as the minutes tick by, still mostly erect even as he grasps at the sheets, a fresh wave of tears beading at his eyes because what has he done?

Clarity rushes back to him and for a moment he’s in shock, the pleasure still numbing his senses. He’d masturbated to the thought of you – imagining your naked body touching his own, fantasizing about the way he’d taste you, how he’d ever so carefully ease inside you, a thumb constantly pressing against your clit to make sure everything feels as good for you as he’s sure it will feel for him.

He’s breathless, disappointed in himself, and as he silently sits up and washes himself up in the bathroom, scrubbing at the drying cum stains on his uniform, Gyomei can only sigh. It’s truly amazing what you’ve done to him – what you’ve reduced him to.

And yet, as Gyomei walks towards your home the next day with the intention of walking you to the market, he can’t help but subtly take wider steps, hoping to adjust himself as he grows hard at the mere thought of being close to you.

What have you done to him?

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your Voice

Due to his blindness, Gyomei perceives your beauty in more meaningful ways than simply your appearance.

He fell in love first with your voice, the things you say never failing to leave him in awe of your kindness and your humility. He falls in love with your laughter, loving the sound and finding himself speaking more often simply for the chance to say something that would amuse you.

(Something that both you and others will notice, if only because it’s extremely unlike Gyomei to say anything even remotely hinting at humor, and while his comments often don’t land as he intended, you’ll often times end up laughing simply because it’s so out of character and odd of him. And oh, in the moment Gyomei is basking in the sound of your laughter, committing every inhale of breath and slight snort to memory, obsessively replaying the sound over and over and over.)

And so, when he’s falling into the depths of loneliness, arousal and desperation for you becoming too difficult to handle, he’ll think of the lulling sound of your voice, the way you roll your letters and how you enunciate your words. He’s memorized your speech patterns, always trying to engage you in conversation just so that he can listen to you talk, eagerly absorbing everything you say because it all feels important, like he’d be doing you a disservice to not memorize every little quirk, mannerism and opinion you have.

And so while his love for your voice begins platonically and innocently (or at least as innocent as it can be, considering his feelings for you are anything but), Gyomei finds that over time, this sentiment begins changing.

Sure, he’s still in love with your voice, but now he can’t stop thinking about what you’d sound like when you’re out of breath, when you’re moaning, when you’re whining and keening and begging and needing him to please touch me Gyomei, I need it so bad please please please –

He’s fantasizing about what you sound like during sex long before he feels comfortable with it, his mind conjuring up all these questions and hypothetical scenarios without his control. He’s idly wondering if you’re more of a moaner, all high-pitched and girly, plentiful sounds that are expressive enough for him to very easily and quickly be able to read exactly what you’re feeling, exactly what you’re wanting. Or perhaps you’d be a little deeper, more of a groaner, more likely to let out sighs rather than whines. Or perhaps you’re just very quiet - he’d be happy with that, too, finding that the minimal sounds he does manage to get out of you are all the more rewarding, all the more precious and worthy of cherishing.

(He’s even found himself, in a moment of dissociation as he tries to sleep, mimicking what he imagines your noises would be like – he catches himself after the third moan slips out, immediately stopping himself and becoming mortified because oh god, does he now not even have autonomy and control over his own body and actions?)

And once he’s stolen you away, his hand forced by some external event, Gyomei’s love and appreciation for your voice persists. He’s still captivated by it, except now he’s paying even more attention, listening to your heartbeat and the way you breath, finding himself pressing his ear up against walls when he wants to give you space but still needs to hear you.

Once your sexual relationship begins, he’s absolutely addicted to drawing all sorts of sounds out of you – he wants to hear your every moan, your every comment, every everything because he wants to know exactly how you’re feeling and what he can do to make it better for you.

He’s always encouraging you to be louder, to be more expressive, always asking you questions during sex in attempts to get you to be more vocal. It’s selfish, sure, but with the way his cock throbs at the sound of your voice, can be really be blamed?

You just have an effect on him – one he absolutely adores, shivers running up and down his spine merely at the sound of you breathing.

His Fingers

Even outside of the bedroom, Gyomei is reliant on his fingers. It’s a necessary part of his job – wielding his axe and flail, praying, even simple day-to-day activities. They’re thick, and they’re strong – calloused and weathered with the scars of battle and a tough life, and Gyomei has remarkable dexterity and control over them.

And while he may be blind, Gyomei notices almost immediately that you seem to take a liking to them, once your fear and apprehension towards him starts to wear off, once you start to see him as less of a threat and more as a provider, a lover, even.

So while he’s never really given them much thought, there’s just something about how you react to his thick, scarred digits that makes him positively swoon with happiness – it starts off relatively platonic, with you simply touching his fingers. Letting one of his hands rest in your lap, your smaller fingers comparing sizes, tracing scars and callouses, idly toying with them as you talk about something seemingly trivial to you.

(Little to you know that Gyomei is listening with rapt attention, every one of his senses heightened because you’re touching him, and it feels so soft and sweet and adorable that he almost thinks he might combust, his cheeks feeling warm and something fluttering in his stomach.)

It’ll move to you asking him to rub your shoulders, letting out little moans at the feeling of him running thumbs against your back, digging in – carefully, of course – against the tight, sore muscles of your shoulders, all the while Gyomei has to focus on continuing his job and relaxing you, ignoring the rather insistent erection pressing heatedly against his pants as a result of your sounds, the feeling of your skin, and the proximity of your scent.

And of course, you absolutely adore his fingers in the context of sex - one of them is enough to have you pleading with him to wait, please, the stretch is too much, you need a second to adjust, immediately pausing or pulling back, listening to you and asking if you’d like him to try again, if he should go slower, if you’d like to be done and instead do something else, or nothing else at all.

(He hopes, prays, even, that you’ll let him try again, that you’ll let him sink his fingers into you, curling and rubbing and mapping out every inch of you like some sort of sacred knowledge, like knowing you inside and out is his only purpose.)

And while Gyomei has never been an especially prideful guy, he can’t help the surge of satisfaction that rolls through him at the knowledge that he’s enough for you in bed, that he’s able to satisfy you and give you what you want at any time, sometimes even with just his fingers alone.

He had no experience before his infatuation with you began - he’d never even kissed someone, let alone fingered them or been inside them, but once he realizes how badly he wants to make you come, how desperately he needs to hear up-close the way you sound as your orgasm crashes through you, he’s suddenly learning as diligently as he can, taking into consideration your every whimper, moan and gasp.

Soon, he’s able to pinpoint your spot within the first three thrusts, and once he feels the way you tighten around him, almost as if you were sucking his fingers in further, deeper, he gets to work - he’s thrusting, curling, rubbing and stretching you out just how you like it, hearing the symphony of your noises and cries, along with the lewd squelching noises of his fingers pushing and pulling out of you again and again.

And when his calloused fingertips find your already swollen and sensitive clit? Honestly it’s game over – they’re never leaving the spot, quickly learning precisely how you like to be touched, the accuracy and ease of the movements nearly unfair as you squirm and writhe and gasp out his name.

Gyomei is determined, and he will get you to come, if it’s the last thing that he does. After all, how can he call himself good enough of a lover for you if he can’t even manage to do that?

DRIVE:

Before his infatuation with you began, Gyomei’s drive was quite literally nonexistent. The thought of sex hardly ever crossed his mind, and if it did, it was immediately shoved away, pushed aside for more important matters in his everyday life. Survival, hunting demons and saving innocents took all of his free time and energy, and touching himself was both unnecessary and a stark reminder of not having a partner.

(Something that doesn’t bother him up until he meets you – because now he’s suddenly hyper aware of what couples do. He’s constantly thinking of holding your hand, brushing back your hair and cupping your cheek, softly pressing his lips to the corners of your mouth and against your jugular, holding you in his arms at night to keep you protected from both the cold and any wayward demons. And of course, the other things couples do – the things that make him feel like some hormone-driven teenage boy for being so easily flustered, for being so horribly eager to try them out with you.)

His libido was essentially non-existent, and while he’d sometimes overhear Tengen talking in shockingly explicit detail to Rengoku about his latest sexual escapades with his wives, he genuinely never felt the need to even so much as think about intimacy like that, let alone indulge in it.

But once you worm your way into his heart, suddenly the urge to be with you in an intimate manner is just too much to ignore. Of course, it’s still very gradual – it takes years of friendship in order for Gyomei to even form romantic feelings towards you in the first place, much less feelings to this degree. And even once they’re realized, it’ll take a long while before he moves past fantasizing about simply sitting by your side and slowly breathing in the air you’re exhaling and instead towards fantasizing about fucking you until you’re crying.

But as time passes and he slowly gives in more and more to his better judgement, Gyomei finds himself idly toying with the thoughts lingering at the edges of his subconscious – ideas of how you’d feel underneath him, how your lips would curve against his skin, how you’d keen and sigh his name. It becomes too hard not to imagine the way your pretty cunt would suck in his fingers, clenching down and fluttering around him as he curls and thrusts them, listening to the beating of your heart and slowly but surely finding every spot that drives you absolutely crazy.

His drive is still quite low even once he realizes his infatuation with you (simply finding that while he very, very much wants to have sex with you, it’s not something he needs on an hourly or daily basis), but the more lewd, dirty thoughts about you are most certainly still swirling in his mind.

And really, how can he be expected to not fantasize about you?

You’re so beautiful, inside and out, and Gyomei is sure that if you were to allow him to touch you in such an intimate way, he'd be in heaven. The softness of your skin, the tightness of your throat, the warmth of your pussy…

(He’s heard, once again mainly from Tengen but also from others he’s unfortunately overheard, that vaginas tend to be warm, hot even. Initially, he’d just thrown aside this information, having no use for it, but the comments flow back into his head as he tries to picture what your cunt must feel like. Warm makes sense, but then he’s thinking of how it’s supposedly so very wet, assuming the woman is aroused, and Gyomei can only gulp at the thought, imagining the wet schlock noise that would ring in his ears when he’s got you bouncing in his lap. And of course, the tightness – he’s gripping himself harder at the mere thought, gasping sharply as he brings his fist up and down, varying the strength of his grip as he imagines where you’d be tightest, how your walls would squeeze and massage at him just how he’s been told it is.)

And you make it very, very hard to keep the thoughts from entering his head once he's accepted his sexual attraction to you.

When he notices the little sound you make when you throw your arms over your head and stretch, how can he not think of the way you’d squirm and cry out when he gently, sweetly presses a finger inside of you, curling and rubbing at the spot that Tengen promises will make you feel good? And although he knows it’s probably a bit inappropriate to be thinking of you in such ways despite you not being married quite yet, he honestly can’t help it - you’re too attractive to him, you mean to much for him to not want to be with you in every possible way.

After all, Gyomei wants to do everything in his power to make you as happy as possible, and if it means burying his face between your legs for hours on end and bringing you to your high a few times, he’s already plopping down onto his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

(And even if you don’t really want it, Gyomei is still more than happy to taste you, practically begging you without saying the words, reminding you that he can make you relax, please allow me to pleasure you, it should help with your headache. And while it’s mostly for you, genuinely, there’s still a selfish part of him that’s hurriedly settling your pretty cunt over his face because he wants your thighs caging around his head, the taste and smell of you enveloping his senses, to have every ounce of your attention solely on him him him.)

He's not perpetually desperate for you in a sexual sense, but once Gyomei’s infatuation settles in for long enough, he will not turn you down should you offer.

That said, Gyomei will never force anything physical onto you in any capacity.

(And this is true In all senses – obviously he won’t force you into sex if you don’t consent, but he also won’t do things like holding your hand or calling you petnames, wanting everything in your relationship to be as reciprocated as possible. Except, of course, where your safety is concerned – if he looks the villain for kidnapping you, so be it, but at least he isn’t pinning you down and taking what he wants from you. Though with his stature, you’re aware that he could take practically anything he wants and you’d not be able to do a thing about it.)

While he isn’t especially experienced with romantic relationships, he’s more than aware that consent is everything, that each action and step should be accepted by both parties, whether it be a peck on the cheek or bending you over the nearest counter and leaving you sore.

Gyomei hates when you cry, and as the target of his obsession, this works in your favor - while you’re likely to develop sympathy and possibly even some warped sort of love for him, you won’t ever have to worry about being taken advantage of, or being put in a situation in which you’re forced to do something physical that you’re uncomfortable with. His top priority in any situation is you, and how can he justify shoving his tongue down your throat if you’re cringing, pushing at his far too muscular chest, showing obvious signs of fear?

How can he enjoy spreading your legs and running a thick finger up and down your folds when you’re shivering, whimpering with a few tears trailing down your cheeks?

He’d never forgive himself if he touched you without your consent, if he hugged or kissed or - heaven forbid, fucked - you without your explicit agreement, and this honestly ends up advantaging him in a strange way. It’s wrong and you know it, but eventually you’ll begin to grow fond of his gentle touches, his way of treating you as if you were made of glass, far too fragile and breakable for this world.

Perhaps it’s Stockholm Syndrome or the extreme isolation of only seeing one other person on a consistent basis, but eventually you’ll stop caring, justifying your growing yearning for his touch as simply a natural response to your situation. And at some point, you’ll want him to go further - no longer is a soft caress of your cheek enough; no, you want him to press his thumb against your lips, tracing the outline and pushing in just enough to pop it past your lips, settling on your tongue and telling you in that calming, deep voice of his to suck.

At some point you’ll decide that instead of him simply placing the palm of his hand on the top of your head as a sign of subtle, noninvasive affection, you’ll want him to instead have you on your knees before him, that same hand pressing your head down as you choke and gag on what you’re sure is a very, very sizeable cock. And once you voice these needs, gathering the courage and confidence that he won’t reject you (he would never, no matter how compromising or humiliating what you’re requesting of him is), Gyomei will be shocked, flustered, nervous, even.

When you shyly tug at his belt, kissing along the line of his jaw and whispering his name in a way that gets shivers erupting over his whole body, he won’t fight you. And all throughout the process he’s asking for your consent, refusing to move his hands until he gets explicit verbal confirmation that he can touch your back, your waist, your tits, your thighs, your ass, your cunt, your everything.

(Honestly, the question of are you sure, is this okay, does that feel good that constantly falls from his lips is almost too endearing, the ever-so-slight tremor in his voice giving away just how excited and nervous he is to be getting so intimate with you, as if the very, very insistent bulge pressing against your ass isn’t enough to tell by.)

It’s in moments where he’s completely vulnerable with you that the Stockholm Syndrome really accelerates: he’s slowly drawing circles against your clit and listening as if his life depends on it to the changes in your breathing, your moans, feeling the way your hips and thighs twitch at certain stimulation. It’s sweet, really, how attentive Gyomei is and just how anal he is about making sure that you’re comfortable with everything, and with each soft moan of his name and each orgasm he coaxes out of you, Gyomei can only thank whatever is listening, savoring the taste of you like a starving man and trying to memorize every inch of your body.

(It’s in the times of post-orgasmic bliss that he finds himself incredibly grateful for having prioritized your comfort and not pushed you into anything too early – sure, covering his mouth with the section of his happi you’d touched early in the day and absolutely yanking at his cock, his fist moving so quickly it’s nearly a blur wasn’t ideal, but it lead to this. All those evenings spent desperately trying to orgasm to release some of the built up sexual frustration and to minimize your chances of seeing the rather massive tent in his pants were worth it – anything is worth it to have you cuddled up in his arms, cheek smoothed against his bare chest, your soft breaths puffing against his nipple and making him lick his lips. Anything at all.)

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Oral Fixation

Specifically, Gyomei absolutely adores going down on you.

In general, he’s a giver in bed. He’s not a selfish lover by any means – in fact, he’s almost infuriatingly generous, prioritizing your pleasure over yours no matter the situation to the point that it’s almost irritating. And because he’s so cautious and aware that he’s significantly larger than you and thus has a cock proportionate to his height and stature, he knows that he needs to take things slow and spend a very, very long time preparing your body to take him.

And Gyomei’s personal preference is to use his tongue on you – to spread your legs and leave you squirming against him, the taste of you invading every one of his senses and only driving him to lick with more fervor, to suckle harder, to give you more more more because he needs you to be ready and able to take his cock or he thinks he might go insane.

He likes the intimacy of using his tongue on you – it means you trust him, he thinks, and there’s something so wonderful about the lewdness and vulgarity of it all. Having his mouth on the most sensitive, personal place on your body, all while your thighs cage his head in, your hips twitching and your fingers tunneling through his hair. He loves the way he feels so close to you – like he’s experiencing the most real, raw part of you that he can, the feeling almost as euphoric and intimate as having his cock nestled inside of you, warm and snug and full.

He loves the smell of you – it’s musky and earthy, something that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head and something resembling a groan slip from him at a mere whiff of between your legs, often leading to his hips bucking on their own, unconsciously moving to come closer to the source of your scent, his body physically unable to stop itself from trying to rut and fuck into you.

(Something that embarrasses Gyomei slightly, if only because he finds it rather pathetic just how poor his body-control becomes around you, ashamed at his inability to stop himself from responding so carnally, so perversely.)

He’ll often lean down and press his face against the pretty hair covering your cunt, nose-deep into it as he inhales, pants growing tight embarrassingly fast because oh fuck, he’s practically Pavolv’d himself into orgasming the moment he smells you, arousal blooming through him even though he hasn’t touched himself even the slightest.

And he’s not shy to tell you that you smell good, either – he’s always praising you in bed, but he’ll murmur to you that you smell divine, the compliment sounding throatly and groaned, and he’ll always finish it off by pressing soft, adoring kisses around the junctures of your thighs and pelvis, making sure every inch of space has been touched by his lips.

(And he gets very, very into it, too – he’s groaning lightly against your skin, letting his lips linger, letting his tongue come out to rub at the skin of your inner thigh, sucking slightly and letting go with a wet plop sound that makes your face feel hot and your stomach twist. It’s often at this point that he’ll wind up unconsciously very slowly grinding against whatever object is available, often the blankets you’re resting on and even sometimes your leg when he’s feeling especially needy, often when he’s returned from a prolonged mission. On those rare occasions, you may even feel something wet and very, very warm seep against your leg, hot cum already staining your skin and only serving as an omen for what Gyomei wants to do to you.)

He’ll trail kisses up to your clit, little kitten licks while he listens and gauges your reactions, trying to discover if you’re more in the mood for circles, figure eights, stripes, or – when a strange, unusual bout of possessiveness surges through him – the kanji for his own name.

(He’ll always grip onto you harder when he does this, still trying to be mindful of his strength, but with enough force to leave you completely immobile, utterly subject to whatever he wants to do to your body – a fact that both frightens him and excites some small, carnal part of him.)

He’ll station a thumb to work the pattern against you, rhythmic and steady, while his tongue darts out to dig between your folds, pressing shallowly into you while you twitch and whine, his thumb insistent against you. He’ll take his time to explore you, leaving no area untouched, and he’ll pull back with a few hearty sucks against your labia, licking his lips as he presses kisses against your stomach.

How would you like to come, my love? He’ll ask between kisses, the emphasis on the word ‘my’ subtle but still there. If you want to come solely from his tongue licking and sucking at you, he’ll be more than happy to – he’ll shift his positioning, laying on his back with you perched on his face, keeping his tongue stationary and instead moving you to the rhythm he knows you like, just so that all you have to do is sit there and take it, leaving your body completely in his control.

He’ll bring you to your high solely through sucking at your clit if you’d prefer, puckering his lips and keeping the pressure up, running his tongue over the sensitive skin and keeping them attached even when you buck up, your hips moving uncontrollably as you near your orgasm.

He’ll do both, if you want, able to multi-task and keep everything exactly as you like it, desperation motivating him because he needs to feel you come for him, to feel the way you muscles clench and spasm around him, to hear your pretty cries and feel your fingers dig against his scalp, pulling and yanking and making him groan lowly at the pain-twinged pleasure.

He just loves to please you really, and he can spend hours between your legs – genuinely, and without a single complaint. He’ll bring you a single orgasm or twenty, whatever you want of him, all you have to do is sweetly ask, to say his name and say please Gyomei, need another one, you feel so good and I want to come for you again all the while you grind against his tongue.

(If you really want to get him going, do all that and grab his free hand, slipping a finger or two into your mouth and sucking yourself, making sure it’s wet and sloppy and full of drool. He’ll pause for a mere second, before swallowing hard and immediately diving into your cunt, motivated because oh god, you never use your mouth on him – his own instigated rule, simply because he’s terrified he’ll choke you and kill you should he lose control and thrust down your throat. But this? Oh, perhaps he does have a penchant for your mouth, too, the oral fixation extending both ways and leaving him dizzy and light headed because even your fucking mouth is perfect, all warm and wet and smooth, making his cock leak so much precum that he idly wonders if he’s undergoing a single long, drawn-out orgasm because of the sheer volume.)

And Gyomei will be eager for the entire time he’s between your legs, keen to take you in any position – you laying down, from the back, you sitting on his face, anything that feels right – in any setting. He just loves the way you taste – how it’s so earthy, heavy against his tongue, natural in a way that makes him desperate for more, finding himself craving the taste at the most inopportune of times.

(Thank god for the looseness of the uniform pants – you can notice the tent in them, of course, with just how often he’s sporting an erection in your presence, but this way his fellow slayers won’t notice – which is good, because as your sexual relationship progresses, it’s a near daily basis that a passing thought of your taste hits him, literally making him salivate and having to leave the room briefly.)

He just really, really likes using his mouth on you, and he won’t hesitate to offer himself up at even the slightest change of you wanting it. Even the slightest chance.

Praise

He’s not terribly vocal in bed, but when he speaks he makes it count.

His natural sounds during sex are much more controlled – he’s always letting out these long, shaky exhales, his lips parted slightly and his eyebrows drawing tight because fuck you feel good. He’ll groan your name and often hiss lightly through his teeth, soft little ah-ah sounds falling from his lips when you’re sucking on him just right and riding him with the rhythm and angle he likes best.

And yet, he was very, very quiet at the beginning of your sexual relationship – only breathing heavily and giving you a slurred, rushed I’m coming right before so much cum is stuffed up into your cunt that you’re literally leaking around his still-hard cock inside of you. He was quiet mostly because he didn’t want to turn you off by letting out some of the more intense noises, groans that start low but turn into this higher, whinier sound, or chants and mantras of your name like a prayer when he’s gently rolling his hips into you, every muscle in his body clenching in an effort to restrain himself and not absolutely pound into you like he so desperately wants to.

He didn’t want to scare you or make you uncomfortable, but as he grows more familiar with your body and your sexual preferences, Gyomei finds that complimenting you seems to fall naturally off his tongue.

He already thinks of you as perfection in human form, idolizing you to such a degree that he knows it’s unhealthy but he can’t find it in himself to stop. He’s never seen your face, of course, but he’s sure that you’re beautiful, fingers having groped and traced out every feature of your face, every slope and curve of your body (even the inside of your body, too, of course) more times than he can count.

And before he knows it, all sorts of praises are filling the wet, thick air between you as he fucks into you – his voice is still low and timbered, the vibrations making shivers shoot up your spine and your nipples harden up, his strained praise of you take me so well, love only serving to get you going faster, grinding and scooping your hips more aggressively and feeling the way he sucks in a sharp breath and tenses up underneath you.

A lot of his praises focus largely on your performance during sex – always complimenting you for the way you feel, telling you that you feel like heaven and that you’re perfect and that you’re everything I’ve been dreaming of quietly under his breath the first time he carefully, almost fearfully cups your tits in his hands, squeezing gently and waiting pointedly for your response, forcing himself to not cave and squeeze as hard as he can.

He’s complimenting parts of your body, too – telling you that your skin is so soft, that your lips taste so good, that your ass is so warm and perfect to grip onto while you’re riding him. Of course, not in such vulgar terms – he only gets crude when he’s right on the brink of orgasming, some of his more lewd, risque thoughts coming to life because fuck fuck fuck it’s like you’re milking him for everything he’s worth, cunt sucking him in so tightly that he thinks he might die and oh god oh god oh god –

Even then, it’s still nothing terrible, but he’ll switch out some of the sweeter terms for cruder ones, calling it a cunt rather than your warmth or something equally virginal, really.

(Which makes sense, considering that it’s extremely obvious the first time that you touch him that he is in fact a virgin, his startled little gasps at every touch even against his torso leaving some sort of power trip rushing straight to your head because while he’s this hulking, huge, powerful man, you have him crumbling with a simple brush of your index finger, every muscle in his body flexing so hard it nearly hurts when you lick at his tip for the first time.)

Instead of asking you with a rather polite please go faster, angel when he needs you to bounce on him at a quicker pace, he’s throwing his head back a bit, Adam’s apple bobbing as he clutches onto you, losing his composure and telling you that you feel so – so good, oh keep going, don’t stop, you’re making me so close to coming – please tell me I can finish inside of you…

Which brings up another major aspect of his praise kink – Gyomei always seems to be asking for permission, even borderline begging at times. It doesn’t read as begging often, though, simply because he's still the one in control most of the time, even if you’re on top or dictating the pace. But he’ll always slip in a please, or bite his lip and wait for you to give him permission, managing to stave off his orgasm long enough to hear you moan out a yes, please come inside me, and suddenly he’s calling you beautiful and clutching onto you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear, cum spraying into you and leaving you squirming because you can feel just how hot it is and just how much there is.

During his orgasms he’s particularly vocal, not to an exaggerated degree but always babbling in that deep, groaning voice that gets high at the very end about how you’re perfect, how you take him so well, how you’re made for him, how he loves you he loves you he loves you he loves you –

He genuinely finds you to be perfect, and every sexual encounter with him will leave you uncomfortably aware that he feels this way. He’s always complimenting you, and due to his lack of vision, the compliments are often extremely specific and leave you more puzzled than flattered.

He’s telling you that you’re the perfect size for him (this is often size closer to his orgasm, when he’s marveling and unable to fathom just how fucking tight you are around him), that you smell like how he’s always imagined (followed with a loud, audible sniff that’s trailed off with a moan, his voice higher than normal), that you’re so soft and squishy (this is always punctuated by particularly hard thrusts if he’s fucking you, and he’ll bury his face against the warm skin of your neck, hands groping at any fatty, squishy part of your body in a frenzy that’s rather uncharacteristic of him).

He just finds that while he’s normally able to stay composed and can be judicious about just how much he reveals he knows about you when he’s not touching you, the moment your skin comes into contact with his, a bit of his judgements flies out the door, instead focusing on the way you feel, how he’s been dreaming about this moment for months, guiltily wringing his cock dry at the mere prospect of getting to touch your used clothing, of getting to hear you breathing in his ear while he thumbs at his tip and lightly squeezes his balls.

You’re just so, so damn good – and in those moments where his admiration and obsession with become dangerously on display, you’ll feel equal parts disturbed and flattered, because really isn’t it just so damn pathetic that you’re able to turn such a large, important, strong man into a groaning mess that’s holding onto you for dear life with just a grind of your hips and a few well-timed, sultry phrases in his ear? Pathetic, sure, but also erotic, sexy in a way that scares even you for feeling it.

But Gyomei can’t seem to care, unable to stop himself form laying on the praise thick, not even conscious that he’s doing it – you just affect him that much.

Orgasm Control

But specifically, Gyomei wants you to control his orgasms.

Most of the time, Gyomei assumes a more dominant role in bed. He doesn’t really adhere to the dominant and submissive roles per say, but it’s rather because he holds so much power over you outside of the bedroom that it naturally follows between the sheets. You’re his captive, after all, and while you’ve slowly come around to him, perhaps even returning his feelings in some sort of deranged way, Gyomei is still undeniably the one in charge in your relationship.

So while he’s not shoving your face into the mattress and mounting you like some sort of animal staking his claim on you (though if you begged him hard enough, he might consider maybe doing something along the lines, but significantly toned down and with a constant question of is this alright, my love asked before each and every motion), between his size and his aura you’ll often find at the start of your sexual relationship that you’re following his lead, doing what he wants to do.

And this bothers Gyomei – he doesn’t like the fact that you still feel a shadow of fear for him, obvious in the way that you look to him for guidance and approval during sex, even though you have at least as much experience as him if not more. It makes him uncomfortable and reminds him of the reality of your situation, something he wants to escape from when he’s being intimate with you.

He wants to think of you as wanting to be naked in his arms and kissing him rather than you having talked yourself into it simply because he’s the only human being you regularly have contact with now. And to remedy this, Gyomei does his best to let you dictate the timing of his orgasms. He has impeccable self-restraint and control, and while it’s not necessarily easy, he’s pretty adept at holding off his orgasms.

(It’s a lot easier to come on command, of course, simply because all he needs to do is focus on the feel of you under his palms and around his tongue or cock, listening to your heartbeat and the sound of your voice and he’s already halfway there, only needing a single, final push to get him groaning and letting go.)

And while he doesn’t explicitly say it at the start, you’ll notice pretty quickly that he only lets himself go when you beg him to, only warning you with a clipped I’m close to coming as a prompt for you to tell him to either hold it in or release.

You’ll soon figure it out, and Gyomei absolutely loves the power structure that forms when you finally understand what he’s trying to do. There’s something thrilling about letting go of his control and handing it totally over to you. No longer does he have to be the strongest, wisest, or most senior – no, now he can just be Gyomei, just be your lover, the man unequivocally whipped and subject to your beck and call.

It’s freeing, almost, and he looks forward to seeing what mood you’ll be in each time your clothing gets peeled off. He’s not sure which mood he likes most – there’s something arousing about the way that you tease him, denying him his orgasm over and over and over, leaving him pent up but still attentive to your words, following your instructions and holding himself back, even when you’re doing things you know drive him crazy.

(Like bouncing on him just right, the feeling of your ass clapping against his thighs making his mouth feel dry. Or when he’s hovering over you, fucking into you slowly and deeply, and you go and wrap a leg around him, drawing him closer, begging him to finish inside but stopping him just moments before his release, telling him nuh-uh, not yet, you only get to come inside me when you’ve earned it. Or one of the rare times you’ve convinced him to let you take him in your mouth, teasing him with tracing his tip over your lips and collarbone, alternating between suckling at his tip and pushing your breasts together to rub up and down his length, narrating to him the whole time exactly what you’re doing. They all make his face go slightly red, his fists clenching up and the muscles in his arms bulging, veins standing out and leaving you to drool slightly, entranced that this behemoth of a man is listening to your words like gospel, forcing himself to be good and do exactly as you say. Even if you’re not an especially dominant person, there’s still something that’ll get you going about that, some sort of power trip that leaves you feeling light headed in the best possible way.)

The edging only serves to make his orgasm stronger, to make everything feel more intense, his eventual orgasm ending up being way more powerful, arcs of cum shooting from his swollen, red tip with such intensity that it feels almost painful against your skin.

(And he’ll finish wherever you tell him to, too – his preference is always inside of you simply because it feels the most intimate and it satisfies some small possessive side of him, but Gyomei will do whatever you want – you want him to finish on your chest? He’s painting your tits in white, droplets dripping from your nipples and drying in thick smears against your skin. Grab his hand and let his fingers feel over the mess he's made and he’ll lowly gasp, a smaller, less impressive spurt landing freshly on your chest, the feeling of his cum on you enough to get the last, sad little bit out. He’ll finish on your back, your ass, your stomach, your thighs, anything you want – just say the word and he’ll do it, eager to please you and make you enjoy your time with him, even if it means leaving his seed somewhere other than where it really belongs – inside you.)

But of course, Gyomei also loves the other side of you dictating his orgasms – that is, similarly to his ability to hold himself off, his refractory period is short. If you were to take advantage of that, you'll see him at the closest to pussydrunk you’ll ever get – make him come in quick succession, your hand steady and quick as you jerk him off, and you’ll see how the first orgasm is the familiar heavy load, the second is slightly reduced, the third even more so, and by the fifth orgasm he’s shooting blanks, abs clenching and unclenching so quickly that you almost feel bad for him, but the sounds he’s letting out are filthy. His normally low and masculine voice rises with each one, until he’s letting out something that isn’t quite a whimper but isn’t not one, either.

He loves the way you bleed him dry, your voice soothing and alluring even as you push him to the edge of his comfort zone, tears pooling in his eyes as you tell him to keep going Gyomei, I know you can give me another one, please give me another one paired with a wet, needy kiss to his lips.

You unlock all sorts of kinks and sides to him that he wasn’t aware even existed, and he’ll let you play with him as much as you please, eagerly setting down onto your shared bed, spreading his legs and helping guide you to your place in his lap, already rock hard below you.

He’s too big and powerful to be called pathetic, but he sure toes the line when you’re touching him, when you’re driving him absolutely insane.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Size Kink

Though, only in very specific circumstances. By and large, Gyomei is painfully aware of just how extreme the size difference between the two of you is – and regardless of your height or weight, you are smaller than him. Small enough to make him worry constantly about accidentally hurting you, terrified that he’ll somehow crush you or bruise you or simply be too much for you. It’s his number one concern when doing anything sexual with you, worrying that even a single finger slipping into your cunt will make you squirm with more than just pleasure.

But by the same token, there’s something so inexplicably right about just how much bigger he is than you. It’s shameful, he thinks, and it makes him feel like some sort of freak for being attracted to the size difference, but it makes him feel stronger, more masculine, feeling like a true protector and provider for you because he can encompass your whole body simply by hovering over you.

And he’s reminded of it at every turn – his hand against your waist covers half the area, the skin soft and plush and warm underneath him, but he can feel the curve of your hip, the expanse of his hand just that much on your body. He can feel the way your fingers struggle to fully grab around his cock, fingertips barely touching even as you squeeze him tightly, and while it seems to frustrate you, Gyomei can only headily swallow, cock twitching in your hands because god, there’s no way that will fit inside of you, will it?

And yet as he swallows, oh so slowly eases you down as you straddle him, going slow and giving you ample breaks to adjust to his size, there’s something about the way he can feel you tremble, your cunt stretching to accommodate him that makes him fist at the sheets, struggling to maintain his composure.

(The warmth and wetness of your walls certainly don’t help his predicament, absolutely soaked and sensitive from the some three orgasms he’d already pulled from you in preparation.)

He’s cautious and terrified that he’ll hurt you, of course, and his concern for you weighs out over any sort of sexual pleasure he gets from the size difference, but it’s still present at the back of his mind, toying with him and begging him to just shove himself inside of you, to take a quick, harsh pace like his body is dying to, to use you as some sort of living cocksleeve for him to fuck into and fill up. He won’t ever do that, of course, but it’s one of the main motivations behind his deep, far-reaching thrusts, enjoying the way you gasp and claw at him when he’s nudged up right against your cervix, pressing and filling you to the point of you almost feeling that you’re being split in half.

He preps you well enough that you’re always able to just barely take him, too worried that he’ll hurt you otherwise, but he still can’t deny the allure of just how different your bodies are.

(And this extends beyond the bedroom, too – he loves the way you fit against his side when you cuddle against him, or how he has to lean down for you to press kisses against his face - something he absolutely adores and very does not mind leaning over for.)

It’s just sweet in his opinion, and while it gets blood rushing south more easily than he’d care to imagine, it ultimately only serves as another reminder that he needs to keep you safe and protected, that you’re too weak to survive in the real world without his aid.

(And, of course, some selfish part of him is satisfied with the knowledge that now that you’ve had him, you’d never be satisfied with another man’s cock, never able to feel the level of stretch and fullness that he can give you. Not that he’d allow you the opportunity to try with another man – he’s not terribly possessive, but the thought of someone else touching you, fucking you, is enough to get his nostrils flaring, rage simmering through him because he absolutely does not want anyone else getting even remotely close to you in that capacity.)

Thigh Riding

Gyomei lives to please you in bed. Every sexual encounter with him sees your pleasure as the absolute priority – he’ll have pulled some three orgasms from you before he even thinks about reaching one himself, before he even really pays attention to the fact that he’s so hard he’s soaked the front of his pants through.

And he’s not picky about how to get you there – namely, Gyomei doesn’t mind being quite literally used for your pleasure, his every limb and feature available for your use. He’ll let you do whatever you want to him; bending him into all sorts of positions, giving him directions for how to finger your pretty cunt, laying down and letting you grind and hump at his face like he’s a mere pillow.

He loves to be of service to you, and he finds that the best sex is where he’s nothing more than a toy for you, at least at the beginning – hence, Gyomei grows to absolutely love having you ride his thigh. He’s huge, a hulking man with muscles so thick and defined that you’ll quite literally be drooling the first time you see them, sucking in a sharp breath when you touch him for the first time.

(And he’ll feel a mixture of pride and bashfulness grow inside him when he hears your little gasp – he’s overjoyed that you seem to like what you’re seeing and feeling, some small, anxious part of him having been terrified that you’d be repulsed by his size and the scars littering his body, that you’d find him to be too muscular, too intimidating. And you can tell, too, because the way that he visibly becomes harder afterward the gasp is a clear indication that you’re doing something to him, your mere presence and breathing getting him hard as a rock.)

He likes the physicality of the act – he keeps you steady on his thigh, the muscle large enough for you to straddle, and the feeling of your hands gripping onto his chest for support makes him oddly giddy.

The first time it happens, Gyomei honestly isn’t sure what you’re trying to do - when you straddle his thigh rather than his waist, his lips part slightly, confusion evident across his features. But as your hips start moving, your exposed, wet cunt sliding against the toned, broad expanse of his thigh again and again, he’s suddenly grasping onto our hips, helping guide you up and down the length of his thigh, occasionally tensing his muscles in order to hear you gasp and cry out his name.

He wants to do everything he can to service you, to help you reach that wonderful high, and the only thing that’s rolling through his mind at that moment is how perfect you feel, the way his name slips from your lips as your body shakes in pleasure, how he can feel the pulses and clenches of your cunt even as you pick up the pace.

And when he snakes a hand down to thumb against your clit, he nearly comes from the sound that escapes you - it’s so wanton, so lewd and dirty but so fucking hot, and suddenly all he can think of is the repeated phrase of make her come, make her come, a mixture of desperation and determination leaving him frantically rubbing at your clit.

Gyomei will offer his thigh to you whenever you feel like riding it, and once you’ve finished, your body exhausted and laying down next to him, he’ll sneakily rub along the area where your slick has rubbed off onto his thigh, bringing his fingers up for a taste and groaning as your flavor coats his tongue, free hand reaching down to palm at himself, squeezing at his balls and shuddering. Gyomei can and will do anything to make you feel good in the bedroom, and he’ll never turn down the opportunity to see you fall apart on his thighs.

(And if he’s feeling particularly needy or knows he’s leaving for a long mission away from you, he won’t bother to wash off his legs afterwards – he'll let your slick dry against his skin, wearing it like a sort of badge of honor, feeling connected to you as he slaughters demons even while you’re miles and miles away from him. It’s dirty, sinful, even, but it’s enough to keep him satisfied, to let him bear to be away from you while he does his duty. And yes, he’s running his fingers along the area occasionally and sniffing, his knees getting ever so slightly weak because the smell has the taste of you flooding his mouth, the sound of your moans ringing in his ears, even phantom touches of yours erupting all over his body.)

BIGGEST FANTASY:

As a general rule, Gyomei prioritizes your pleasure in the bedroom. He’s not a particularly sexual man, and so he views intimacy as being all about making sure that you enjoy it to the fullest extent possible – in many ways, he sees himself as merely a tool for you to use to reach your high.

(And if he happens to orgasm – which he always does when it’s you touching him – then great, but it’s not a necessity.)

And this is largely true – he really does want you to enjoy fucking him, and he’ll go to extremes just to make sure everything is as perfect as possible.

But Gyomei is only human, and as such he harbors a few fantasies that are entirely selfish, entirely about him – one of which develops by complete accident. He’s so terrified to hurt you that he’s constantly looking for ways to satisfy you without using his cock, because although he loves the feeling of your lips, fingers, or cunt wrapped around him (to the point that just thinking about it makes his composure falter ever so slightly, his jaw going a bit slack and his Adam’s apple bobbing harshly), he’s always concerned that it’ll be too big and you could hurt yourself if he fucks you with it.

And so, during the rare times he’d get off before he begins any semblance of a sexual relationship with you, Gyomei’s exploring alternative options.

And while it isn’t necessarily a way to help you get off, per se, he’d been idly gripping himself while thinking one evening, biting his lip and feeling awfully shameful of his actions but unable to bring himself to stop. He’d reached down further, sucking in a sharp breath as he carefully and delicately cupped his balls, idly squeezing and rolling them between his fingers.

But he must’ve been too deeply in thought, distracted by the idea of you, that his hand continued down, reaching and pressing against his skin, until a sudden, odd sensation made him pause, eyes going wide. He’s never even considered anything involving either your ass or his own, but at the single press of his fingers against his hole, the strange, fluttery feeling in his chest makes him feel a bit light-headed.

It’s dirty, taboo, and he hadn’t explored the thought any further that night simply because he was too embarrassed to have found it pleasurable, but it sticks around in the peripheral of his mind. There’s this ever-present question of what if, a sort of far-off fantasy that he toys with every once in a while, when he’s particularly needy and missing the feeling of your skin on his or your attention on him.

And the idea of you taking your time, worshipping his body and guiding him through a new, pleasurable experience makes more than just his cock swell, because there’s something so loving and calming about it, and letting himself be vulnerable in that way is something he hasn’t done for years – something he can’t afford to do, no matter how wonderful it sounds.

Of course he’d never, ever bring up the idea to you for two reasons – it bothers him a bit that you wouldn’t be getting any direct pleasure or stimulation out of it, and he’s too embarrassed to admit that he wants you to touch his ass, afraid that you’ll find him disgusting or flatly reject the idea. He'll keep quiet about it, and if you were to bring it up, you’ll see the way he subtly perks up, body tensing as he swallows, telling you that you don’t have to, I understand that you may not wish to.

But if you’re insistent, and you see the way it affects him, Gyomei will be putty in your hands – you can do anything to his ass, and he’ll take it so well, the only sign that you’re affecting him being the small, barely-there moans leaving his lips, a slight flush across his cheeks, and the copious, copious amounts of precum oozing from his swollen tip.

So really, play around – he’ll never request it, but it’ll only make his feelings for you grow stronger, his desperation and dependence on you growing because only you can make him feel this way.

“Gyomei, I want to try something new tonight.” You start, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips. He’s got you straddled in his lap, large hands resting on your hips and his back leaning against the near wall. At your words, he nods, encouraging you to continue.

“Anything you wish, angel.” His voice is low, deep, excited in a way that you can ever so slightly pick up on.

You take a deep breath, leaning up to whisper into his ear as you brace yourself on his chest. “Gyomei, I want to touch you. All of you.”

His hands lightly squeeze at your sides. “You have all of me, you know this. I am all yours, and you can do whatever you please with me.”

You laugh slightly and it makes Gyomei shiver, his grip tightening just enough to make you uncomfortable, but you don’t say anything. “No, I want to touch you where I haven’t before – somewhere new.”

You reach back and grab one of his hands, guiding it to press against your clothed ass, his index fingers landing on the indent between your cheeks.

Gyomei gulps. He’s silent for a moment, mind racing, but the semi-hardness underneath you throbs at your words, and you only smile as he shakily exhales, murmuring an “Are you sure?”

Carefully taking his earlobe between your teeth, you grind down onto him, your thumb finding his nipple over the fabric of his top. Humming, you let go of his skin with a kiss, telling him, “Yes, please… lay on your front for me, please Gyomei.”

Which leads to where you are now, with your big, strong captor laying on his front, arms kept tucked at his sides. This angle makes his muscles stand out, his sculpted back and the definition of his thighs nearly making you drool. And of course, the tan skin of his ass, muscular enough to make you grab handfuls of each cheek and spread them apart to get a good look at him. Coarse black hairs dabble over his skin, and Gyomei finds himself oddly self-conscious as he feels you staring. He’s laying with his head to the side, his breathing still a little quick, and he waits with baited breath for you to do something, to say something, anything.

What he isn’t prepared for, though, is to feel your soft lips press against the sensitive skin of his cheeks, making him jerk ever so slightly and stiffen up under your touch. Your thumb rubs soothing circles against his skin as you kiss a trail down from his tailbone to his thigh, the hardness of his muscles never ceasing as you continue.

“Gyomei,” you whisper against his skin, “relax for me, please. I want to take care of you.”

He hesitates, but forces himself to be less tense, only slightly shifting under the weight of your lips. You smile at that, planting another kiss. “So good f’me.”

That gets something small and uncharacteristically high sounding from low in his throat, but you don’t comment on it.

Your thumb comes down to press softly against his puckered hole, and Gyomei sharply inhales at the sensation, immediately clenching and shaking slightly at the feeling of you increasing the pressure, just idly rubbing circles over it.

The way you retract your hand without warning almost makes Gyomei grunt, confusion and disappointement contorting his face, but then your thumb is returning, something warm and sticky coating your thumn, and suddenly you’re pushing in, further and further until you break past the tight ring of muscle, Gyomei’s breath goes ragged because it feels strange –

It feels good, though, and as you settle in to your first knuckle, his toes curl slightly, the sensation odd but not unpleasant.

“How does it feel, Gyo?” You ask, pressing more kisses along his back and squeezing at his ass. He can’t quite answer, too overwhelmed by the feeling of your thumb inside him. Smiling, you lightly nibble at the skin of his lower back. “Know what I’m using for lube?”

He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to get used to the feeling.

Pressing your thumb just a hair further, you smile at the way he jolts, thigh muscles tensing hard enough to see visible definition. “It’s me, seeing you like this is making me wet enough that I’m using my own slick to prep you…”

That gets Gyomei groaning, the sound muffled by the pillow underneath him, but audible nonetheless. His cock’s painfully hard, pressed up against his stomach, and he can feel the wet pool of precum already staining his skin and the fabric of the sheets below him.

Humming, you press another inch or so in, curling your finger slightly and listening the way his breathing changes, trying to identify what he likes most.

“So pretty, Gyomei,” you start, and his eyes snap open when he hears the familiar sound of your fingers sinking into yourself, the small sigh you make only making him clench around your thumb and his cock throb underneath him.

Your thumb’s all the way in now, and as you slowly, shallowly begin thrusting it, you time it with your own pumps inside. “I’m fucking myself at the same pace as you, that way it’s like we’re together.”

Your voice makes him melt, and as you angle your thumb just right, a gasp tunnels its way through him, ripping him apart and making his hips jerk forward, humping at the sheets below him.

You smile. “There, huh?”

And immediately you’re abusing the spot, pressing tightly against it and rubbing it in a hithering motion, Gyomei’s hips twitching wildly at the feeling. He’s chanting your name under his breath as the pleasure begins mounting, eyes shut again and eyebrows drawn tight.

He’s embarrassed, truly, because even something as small as your thumb has him falling apart like this, desperation lacing his movements because this is building up to be a different feeling from his normal orgasms, something entirely different that makes his whole body tense up and stutter, a muffled groan sound, “It-It’s coming – “

And suddenly cum is caked along his front, your eyes watching transfixed as the visible portion of his balls clench and spasm wildly, his ass flexing and the tightness nearly forcing your thumb out. Instead, you keep pressing against his prostate, watching the way he clutches onto the fabric below him, grip so strong that the fabric rips under him, his strength uncontrollable as his orgasm rocks him.

It’s easily a twenty second affair, cum pouring out of him and visibly seeping into the fabric surrounding him, making you lick your lips because oh, isn’t this precious? Your big, sweet, strong Gyomei falling apart with your thumb up his ass, something like whimpers falling from his lips because you’re still rubbing inside him, reaching deeper with every curl and leaving his back to tense up, shoulder blades visible as he fights off the acute feeling overstimulation.

You only press a kiss to the back of his head, pausing your movements for a single moment as you murmur his name in his ear, telling him with a near purr, “You’ll give me another one, right? I know you can do it, my pretty boy.”

And the way he shudders, hand snapping out to grab onto your thigh as he nods tells you enough, as does his muffled, choked “y-yes”.

#yandere kny #yandere kimetsu no yaiba #yandere ds #yandere demon slayer #yandere gyomei #yandere gyomei himejima #_lee's profiles #_kny #_gyomei himejima #yandere smut #kny smut #kny x reader #gyomei himejima x reader

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esther-dot · 2 days ago

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Was gonna do a poll then realized that with how often this has been mischaracterized as show bs by the rest of the fandom, we might want to run through some of the book hints for Sansa being the girl in grey first. So…

The one thing we know about Sansa's future is that she will find her way to Winterfell. ASOS features a prophecy telling us so:

I dreamt of a maid at a feast with purple serpents in her hair, venom dripping from their fangs. And later I dreamt that maid again, slaying a savage giant in a castle built of snow." (ASOS, Arya VIII) The snow fell and the castle rose. Two walls ankle-high, the inner taller than the outer. Towers and turrets, keeps and stairs, a round kitchen, a square armory, the stables along the inside of the west wall. It was only a castle when she began, but before very long Sansa knew it was Winterfell. [...] She picked up a broken branch and smashed the torn doll's head down on top of it, then pushed it down atop the shattered gatehouse of her snow castle. The servants looked aghast, but when Littlefinger saw what she'd done he laughed. "If the tales be true, that's not the first giant to end up with his head on Winterfell's walls." (ASOS, Sansa VII)

Doesn't make her the grey girl, but it’s fun that we’re told she’s going North via prophecy, and Jon is told a sister is coming North via prophecy. I’m sure it means nothing.

We have a quote which points to a reunion between Sansa and Jon by virtue of her moment of despair being a prelude for her wish coming true (there are no heroes/Edd, fetch me a block…wait a sec, that involves Jon too???):

Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise. (AFFC, Alayne II)

More & meta links under the cut (I kept it as short as possible, promise!)

Obviously, the reunion could happen after Jon has retaken Winterfell, except we have this line which indicates a Stark will be present for that:

Battles had been fought at Winterfell before, but never one without a Stark on one side or the other. (ADWD, Jon VII)

We also have breadcrumbs leading North for Sansa by @istumpysk :

"I never knew a wolf to run up a streambed for miles," said Reek. "A man might. If he knew he was being hunted, he might. But a wolf?" - Theon IV, ACOK x The Liddle took out a knife and whittled at a stick. "When there was a Stark in Winterfell, a maiden girl could walk the kingsroad in her name-day gown and still go unmolested, and travelers could find fire, bread, and salt at many an inn and holdfast. - Bran II, ASOS x If Dontos and this northern girl helped murder our sweet king, it seems to me that they would want to put as many leagues as they could betwixt themselves and justice. Look for them in Oldtown, if you must, or across the narrow sea. Look for them in Dorne, or on the Wall. Look elsewhere. - Brienne II, AFFC x Or would she seek her own blood instead? Though all of her siblings had been slain, Brienne knew that Sansa still had an uncle and a bastard half brother on the Wall, serving in the Night's Watch. Another uncle, Edmure Tully, was a captive at the Twins, but his uncle Ser Brynden still held Riverrun. And Lady Catelyn's younger sister ruled the Vale. Blood calls to blood. Sansa might well have run to one of them. Which one, though? - Brienne II, AFFC) [link for much more + a map)

And most importantly, in the vision itself we have a hint that the girl is Sansa, as noted by @starwarsprincess1986

[link]

We even have a tentative travel timeline thanks to @aegor-bamfsteel [link]

Some fans believe Alys or Jeyne is the girl in grey, but neither girl’s path fits with Mel’s vision:

GRRM has the map for a reason, in order go along with the story and where everyone is at in the chapters. FArya is coiming from Stannis’ camp in Crofters’ Village, which is located in the wolfswood west of Winterfell, on the west side of the kingsroad and on the wrong side of Long Lake. Whereas Alys Karstark was coming from Karhold, which is located on the east side of the North, but it’s no where near Long Lake. This makes neither girl the one Melisandre saw in the flames. [link]

That's a good argument that neither Jeyne nor Alys is who Mel saw, and paired with GRRM’s widely noted thing for the number three, it’s pretty compelling:

Then there’s the GRRM rule of 3s; who the characters think it is, who the audience thinks it is, and who it actually is that has been foreshadowed all along. Jon’s other sister he knows was in a forced marriage has barely been on his radar. by @aegor-bamfsteel [link]

Also, Sansa is Ned’s narrative heir which would explain why Martin would want to write her return North as an echo of her father’s journey home after the rebellion as detailed by @une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir [link]

Of course, we have parallels from Jon’s side too. As many fans have noted, Jon getting murdered when he’s wanting to save a sister can be read as a callback to Brandon, but Jon dealing with a prophecy that’s eating away at him makes for an interesting parallel to his father. In both instances, for Brandon and Rhaegar, it is not any girl, but a Stark girl who is central to the matter. In fact, Sansa has specific parallels with Lyanna, and if she is the girl in grey, it would mean she and Lyanna both flee from an unwanted marriage and meet with a Targ which interestingly enough allows the conversation that Jon’s story is having with pre-canon Targ and Stark men to continue. He might save his “sister” where Brandon could not, and where his father spirited the Stark girl far away to a place she ultimately died, Jon will return his Stark girl safely home.

[Elaboration on the Sansa and Lyanna parallels in this tag and in a recent post by @julibf ]

There’s also the succession issue which both Jon and Sansa’s story have prominently featured with LF wanting to use Sansa to claim the North and Stannis wanting to use Jon, and of course, both are significant in the debate about Robb’s will which will create a fun wrinkle:

There is a conflict between them too - until they learn that Bran and Rickon are alive they both are kinda heirs of Starks and Winterfell, both are ruler coded since AGOT and their political strengths complement each other's weaknesses. Moreover, both can support each other's claim. Sansa Stark while being legitimate heir in many lords eyes is still married to Lannister and everyone knows it and she is also a girl who doesn't know how to wage a war. On the other hand Jon Snow even with Stark blood printed on his Ned Stark (who is still beloved in the North) face is still a bastard and can't interfere with claim of legitimate heirs (given that Robb's will is still unknown). One of them on his/her own can raise a lot of questions but two can make a decent claim. by @asoiaf-essays-collector [link]

All of this set up is wasted if they are not both feasible options (in the North) for the Northern Lords to back, allowing the political drama to unfold. (And then imagine when Bran and/or Rickon shows up alive!)

I’d argue this bit hints that the girl in grey will not only make an appearance, but will have real significance to Jon’s story beyond Alys’ brief appearance:

[link]

There’s also the the possibility of Jon post assassination being a play on “the Stranger,” and Sansa a “silent sister” to consider:

[link]

And I can’t do a recap of this theory without acknowledging The Meta. Written all the way back in 2013, this post predicted that Jon and Sansa would not only reunite but reunite first of all the Starks:

If one believes in dramatic irony, it is that thoughtlessness in regards to each other....that gives them the best chances of being the first (if not only) Starks to reunite. [link]

So, is Sansa the girl in grey?

Feel free to add on additional arguments and/or your favorite bits of evidence. I’ll post a poll in a few days!

#jonsa #tagging jonsa because y’all know what will happen if I put it in any other tag 😅#girl in grey #the girl in grey

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aemondapologistfrfr · 2 days ago

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I Just Need You

jace x innocent!f!reader

Summary: You seek comfort from Jacaerys during a storm and he does everything he can to help settle you.

Warnings: 18+ mention of a glass of wine, swearing, masturbation(m), fingering, nipple play, oral(f), face sitting, p in v, loss of virginity, Jacaerys the Generous

Authors Note: first time ever writing for jace - i’ll allow a public crucifixion if i butchered this 🤗 anon request! also nothing specific about reader but she does live with them on dragonstone

Word Count: 3.5k

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ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

It had been storming all day and you had hoped that it would let up before you had to retire to your chambers for the evening. But of course, you had no such luck. Your handmaidens had tried a steaming bath and tea to calm your nerves but to no avail your heart still pounded rapidly with every crash of thunder.

You tried and tried to convince yourself it was just the dragons below but with every strike of lightning you would jump and pull the covers closer. The breeze from the window has been blowing out your fire and the cold has begun to creep in. Slowly your nerves begin to rise again and the shadows cast by the bolts in the sky send shivers down your spine.

After an hour of tossing and turning fitfully on your bed, you push the covers off and rise. The stone floors chill your feet and only make your adrenaline spike. Grabbing the candle almost burnt out from your side table, you step into your slippers and walk over to your chamber doors. You pull open the heavy door and peek out and sigh in relief at the empty hall.

Lightning flashes illuminating the stone walls and send shadows dancing far above your head. You hold tighter to your candle and start in the familiar direction as fast as your feet allow.

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Jace loves the sound of the rain beating against the stone. Sleep has escaped him, not that he cared because it allowed him to have more time to relax and let his mind wander to what has truly been keeping him up. The dress, a generous term, that you wore to dinner was nothing more than a napkin. You had coo’d and preened about how your handmaidens had worked dutifully to make your vision come to life and he wondered if that vision was to be the temptress of this desolate island.

When you reached across the table he was sure your breasts were going to spill out and he cleared his throat, standing to reach the wine for you. When you looked up at him with your sweet smile he felt his trousers begin to tighten as he filled your cup. Gods and the way you squeezed his arm and let your hand linger there sent his head spiraling. Regardless that the touch was innocent or not it still left him wishing your hands were elsewhere. This line of thinking is the exact reason he’s spread out on his bed with his cock in his fist and his eyes screwed shut.

His grip is light and teasing as he envisions you looking at him with a tilted head and a furrowed brow, asking if you’re doing it right. His stomach tightens when he swipes against his tip imagining it’s your lips placing a soft kiss on it. “Fuck, just like that.” the breathy words leave his mouth as he jerks his hips up into his hand. His grip tightens when he pictures you wrapping your warm mouth around his cock. “You’re doing-“ there’s a quick succession of knocks at his door.

“Fuck,” he whispers, grabbing his sheets as the door starts to open. “Give me a mo-

“I’m sorry.” you shut the door behind you and pad over to his bed. Jace groans, shoving a pillow over his cock as you set the candle on his table.

“What’s wrong?” he tries to control his breathing. He looks over the length of you and wishes he didn’t. Your nipples are poking through your flimsy nightdress and the hem barely reaches past your small clothes. “Are you okay?” his eyes make it back up to your face and he looks at the pout gracing your lips.

“The fire went out in my room.” you chew your lip.

“Why didn’t you call your handmaidens?” he doesn’t mean for his voice to sound so clipped but the feel of his cock pressing against his pillow is less than desirable right now.

“I’m cold.” you whine wrapping your arms around you. He swallows knowing you’re not doing it intentionally but you're pushing your breasts out further and he has to look away.

“Have your furs escaped you as well?” he looks out his window at the storm still waging on.

“I’m scared of the storm.” your voice barely a whisper. “Jace please,” you push your bottom lip out and he slowly turns back towards you. “Please.” he sighs and pats the empty space next to him.

“Come on then.” he gasps as you pull the sheets back. “Hold on.” he fists the sheets still covering himself, groaning at the pillow sliding against his cock.

“You always let me under the covers.” you whine pulling on the sheet again.

“Yeah but- I-“ he mentally berates himself at this situation. He sighs, meeting your pleading eyes once more. “I’m not wearing anything. Just go sit on the couch and I’ll find some pants.” he nods at you.

“If you prefer to sleep in the nude I can too.” you offer him a soft smile and start to pull up your nightdress.

“No, no. Wait. That’s not-“ the thin piece of fabric is pooled on the ground before he can finish his sentence. What the fuck is going on? Jace's head spins as he looks at your bare chest and watches you grab for your small clothes next. “Fuck, stop.” he sits up and stops your hand and he groans as the sheet and pillow fall away from him.

“Did I do something wrong?” your face deflates and he wants to jump out his window at the expression.

“You’ve done nothing wrong.” he cups your face. “I promise.” he nods. “I’m going to go get a pair of pants and you’re going to put your nightdress back on and we’ll lay down. Okay?” he searches your eyes.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” you blink up at him.

“Why would I be uncomfortable?” he furrows his brows.

“Cause this looks like it hurts.” you start to reach for his cock. “It’s red and looks like it’s crying.” he grabs your wrist before you can grab him and looks at you with wide eyes. He’s rendered speechless as he blinks at you trying to form a sentence. “Does it?” you tilt your head and start to move your other hand towards it which he stops once more.

“It does. A bit but it’s not your fault.” not intentionally anyways. “I don’t..” he shakes his head, still trying to find the words. “Fuck it.” he mutters under his breath. “Get in bed and I’ll go get my extra furs.” he watches a smile start to form on your face as he releases your wrists.

“Thank you.” you pull him into a hug and he freezes. “You’re so warm.” you hold him closer, burying your head in his neck. “Maybe I don’t need furs. I just need you.” your soft words go straight to his cock.

“I’ll be right back.” he starts to pull away.

“No.” you hold him closer and start to crawl onto the bed.

“You’ve abandoned your furs and nightdress for a sheet?” he holds your hips to stop you from sitting in his lap.

“I’ve abandoned them for you, Jacaerys.” your hand’s make their way to his curls. “For your warmth and embrace. You always hold me when it storms. Why is tonight so different?” you try to scoot closer and he groans feeling your chest press against his.

“Cause my cock is out.” you let out a whine at his words.

“If it hurts so bad let me make it feel better.” before he processes your words you have your fingers wrapped around his shaft.

“Gods.” he groans, wrapping his hand around yours.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, pulling back. “Did I hurt you?” you search his face.

“Quite the opposite.” he lets out a breathy chuckle.

“So you want me to touch your cock?” you tilt your head.

“I mean yes but-

“Tell me how.” you wrap your fingers back around him. “I want to help you.” you pump your hand once. Jace's head is soaring trying to figure out if this is real or the best dream he’s ever had. When your thumb brushes against his leaking slit he decides he doesn’t care and stops your hand once more.

“Let’s lay back.” you nod and follow him up to his pillows before curling against his side. You bring your hand back to his cock and his fingers wrap around yours. “Like you were doing before. You can go quick or slow.” his stomach tightens as you both pump him. “You can tighten your grip.” he gets out between his teeth as you follow his instruction.

“What about the part that’s crying?” you look up at him as you swipe your thumb against it.

“Fuck,” his hips jerk up. “You can do that.” he nods.

“Okay. Let go. I want to try on my own.” he removes his hand and you both look down and watch your hand stroke against him. You try different speeds making sure to swipe at his crying tip every once in a while and your head snaps up when a soft sound comes from his lips. “Am I doing it right?” you chew your lip.

“Yes. Gods, yes,” he pants and you watch his stomach flex as you stroke him faster. “Fuck just like that.” he tilts your head up to him. “Can I kiss you?” his hips jerk helplessly up into your hand. The second you nod he’s pressing his lips to yours.

You lean into him more and he brings a hand up to one of your breasts, pulling a gasp from you. “Is this okay?” he mumbles onto your lips and your quick nod has him kneading against you with more fervor. You bring your other hand down to swipe against his tip while you stroke him quickly. Jace pulls back from your mouth gasping as you continue your movements.

“Oh,” you look down as his cock starts to cry more. “Is this-

“Yes this is good. So good, fuck,” he curses lowly as his pleasure washes through him. “Okay, you can slow down.” his voice breaks as you continue with your pace. “Please, I-“ he whimpers and feels his legs start to shake as his pleasure still lands against his stomach. He grabs onto your hands and pries them off of him.

“I’ll get a cloth to clean you up.” you hum and go to sit up.

“No,” Jace shakes his head. “We can just use..” he looks around not wanting you to leave his bed anytime soon.

“Mm, we can use my small clothes.” you nod quickly and scoot back to pull them down. He catches a glimpse of your slit and he feels his cock twitch. “Oh,” you look at your small clothes. “It looks like my cunny is crying too?” you look up at him and take in his parted lips.

“Why would your cunny be crying?” Jace chuckles watching your cheeks flush.

“I don’t know. It felt warm when I was touching you. Now it feels kinda sticky.” he looks down and sees you rubbing your thighs together.

“I can,” he clears his throat. “I can help if you want.” you nod at him with a small smile. “Come lay down.” he helps you lean back against his pillows.

Jace presses his lips to yours softly before licking along your bottom lip. He slowly presses his tongue into your mouth and you gasp holding him closer. As he’s occupying your mouth his fingers roll one of your nipples earning him a soft whimper from you. He brushes his thumb against the hardened peak while you writhe beneath him. His hand travels down your body and he lets one of his fingers ghost up the side of your slit.

“Jacaerys,” you whine, spreading your legs wider for him. He dips his finger into your wetness and slides it up to your slick bud and you jolt looking up at him. “Mm yes,” you gasp, holding on to his arm as he slowly circles around your bud. He leans down and wraps his lips around one of your nipples and you whine.

He chuckles as he takes the hardened bud between his teeth and feels more pleasure seep out of you. One of his fingers trails down and slides along your entrance and he groans as he feels it fluttering around nothing. His thumb rubs quickly at your bud as he teases your core all the while his tongue is lashing against your chest.

“Jace, I don’t know, I-” you whimper arching off the bed when he speeds his fingers up. “Something- I, Jacaerys.” you cry as your pleasure slams through you.

“How did that feel?” he kisses back up your chest to your mouth.

“Can you do that again?” you whine into his mouth. “I’ll help you with your cock too. Please, please.” you grab his hardened length once more.

“I can take care of myself.” he chuckles, removing your hand. “We can try something else.” he leans back to search your face.

“Yeah, anything.” you nod, chewing your lip. You watch him lay back on the bed and he starts to pull you over. “What do you want me to do?” you tilt your head looking down at him.

“I want you to sit on my face so I can kiss your cunny.” he chuckles watching your eyes widen.

“Jace.” he chuckles at your scandalized tone.

“If you don’t like it we can do something else.” he rubs his thumb into your hip. His chest swells as you start to straddle his head and he places his hands on your hips leading you down to his waiting mouth. He licks up your center and you shutter above him. “Is that okay?” he looks up at your face.

“Yes.” you pant nodding your head. He repeats the action and listens to your soft whimpers. He pulls your hips down and presses his tongue into your center. “Mm, Jace, I-“ you gasp as your legs start to shake. He slowly starts to rock you against his mouth and broken moans fall from your mouth.

The sounds you're making are going straight to Jaces cock. He takes one of his hands from your hips and brings it down to his leaking cock. His hips jerk into his hand and he groans into you as you slowly start to rock against his face. The whine that comes from you when he encases your bud only spurs him on more. His tongue flicks against you quickly and your body goes taut.

“Jacaerys, I- please, Gods please,” you cry out as your pleasure washes through you.

He continues to lash his tongue faster and your whines and gasps become more high pitched. You’re pleading above him and he tightens his grip on his cock wishing it was your crying cunny. He groans when your legs tighten around his head as your pleasure starts to seep out of you.

“Jace please, I- It’s,” a small scream comes from you and your eyes roll back as your body is pushed over the edge. He pulls back as your pleasure coats his face and his shoots across his stomach. He slides his tongue against your slit once more and your hand tangles in his hair.

“Okay, okay.” he chuckles, rubbing his hands up your back. “You doing okay up there?” his fingers trace down your spine.

“I wanna lay down.” you loosen your fingers in his hair.

“Then come lay down with me.” he starts to lift you off his mouth. “How are you feeling?” you curl against him and he pulls the covers over the both of you.

“Good.” you press your lips to his chest. “Tired.” you look up at him and he scoots you up to press his lips to yours. “But I just wanna keep kissing you.” you start to crawl on top of him.

“We should get some sleep.” he chuckles, digging his fingers into your waist.

“We will.” you press your chest against his. “Later.” he groans and wraps his arms around your back. He lets his hand slide down to your ass and squeeze. “Jace,” you gasp, pressing against his cock.

“Fuck.” he digs his fingers into you. “I think we-

“Oh,” you gasp as you rock your hips and feel him slide through your wetness. You press your lips against his and continue your movements as his fingers try to still you. “I like this.” you bury your hands in his hair.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” he kisses down your neck. “We should go to bed.” he mumbles, loosening his grip and letting you rock against him again.

“I want more.” you whine rubbing yourself on his cock. “Jace please,” you softly plead and he lifts your hips up trailing his hand between your thighs.

“Let me know if it’s too much okay?” you nod, burying your head in his neck. He circles his finger around your entrance before slowly pushing it in.

“Mm,” you whimper and his breathing deepens listening to your soft noises. “Jacaerys,” your voice cracks when his thumb brushes against your bud.

“How does it feel?” he whispers, pressing his lips to the side of your head. He listens to your small gasps and rubs his other hand on your back. “Tell me.” he coaxes, pumping his finger faster and your legs start to shake.

“Good,” you whine. “More.” you plead and you gasp feeling a second finger pushing at your entrance. “Yes, Jace,” you moan at the stretch of the second finger and push your hips down onto his hand.

“Your cunny feels so good.” he chuckles, starting to move his fingers faster. Your gasps become higher pitched and he smirks hearing your pleasure louder than the storm outside.

“I want your cock.” you lift up from his neck and take in his flushed face. He pushes his fingers faster and watches your eyes close as the most ethereal sound leaves your lips “Please.” your head falls and he feels you pulse around his fingers.

“Are you satisfied now?” he smirks as you collapse against his chest with your cunny still fluttering around his fingers.

“More.” you plead breathlessly, kissing across his chest. “Please.” you whine when his hips jerk up.

“You’re sure?” he rolls your hips into his.

“Yes.” you nod your head. “Please.” you whine letting him lift your hips, he grabs his cock and slides it up your slit. “Ja- mm,” he slowly presses his tip in, groaning at the way your cunny envelops him.

“Are you okay?” he rubs your back and you nod your head. “You feel so good.” he pushes another inch in while listening to your whimpers. You softly press your hips down and whine at the stretch.

“Jacaerys,” you whine and he holds his arm around you tighter as he starts to press into you again as you kiss across his chest. He pushes the rest of the way inside lowly cursing when your walls tighten around him. “Feels so full.” you whisper.

“Let me know when I can move.” his breath catches when you roll your hips. “Gods,” his fingers dig into you. He slowly lifts your hips and slides you back down watching your face twist with pleasure.

“Yes.” you shake in his arms as he starts a slow pace.

He pumps into you listening as more whimpers spill from your mouth as you slide against his chest. He’s trying his hardest to hold off on his pleasure but the feel of you squeezing him and the sounds you make are sending him closer to the edge. You start to push your hips down to meet his and he starts to hammer up into you.

“Jace, I,” you claw into his chest. “I’m, please, Jacaer-“ you let out a small sob as your pleasure rips through you.

“Fuck,” he groans slamming up into once more before he spills inside of you. You’re fully collapsed on top of him as his hips still softly jerk up into you. Small whimpers come from you as he holds you closely and pets your hair. “Are you ready to go to sleep now?” he hums, lifting you off his cock.

You nod your head and he pulls the blankets over you before wrapping his arms around your back, letting you sleep on his chest. He presses his lips against your forehead and rubs your back until he hears your even breathing when sleep takes over.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

masterlist 🔌

noooooo dont let me fall for jace rn

taglist ✍️

@ka1afbr @ninihrtss @daintylittlesunflower @primroseluna @alexxavicry @misspendragonsworld @papichulo120627 @ashovertheriver @gabriella-aesthetic @moonymoo1 @faenyra @uwuuness @lizzylovebooks280501 @nostalgiagoth03 @multilover19 @summer-and-sunflowers @eternalwinters

#jacaerys the generous first of his name #pls let me have done him justice #jace velaryon #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #prince jacaerys #jacaerys strong #jacaerys smut #jace x reader #jace x reader smut #jacaerys valaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader smut #x reader smut #x reader #x reader fic #hotd smut #hotd fanfic

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holylulusworld · 2 days ago

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Care for you

Summary: He takes good care of you.

Pairing: Biker!Ari Levinson x fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, heavy daddy kink, caregiver Ari, comforting, protective Ari, sick reader, mentions of menstruation, kinda DDLG dynamics

A/N: This snippet takes place a few months after “Pick you up”. It can be read as a stand-alone fic but makes more sense if you know Pick you up masterlist.

You sneeze, again. A little louder this time. For days, you didn’t feel well but tried to hide your condition from Ari.

He had his hands full with the club, and their business. The last thing your daddy needs is a sick baby whining for his attention.

Today, you grabbed your warmest and softest blanket and joined the big bear in your pillow fort to sleep the cold off. Rest, lots of water, and your safe place is all you’ll need. You're sure about it.

Work can wait. You called in sick and won’t need to worry about a thing but to get healthy again. Sighing, you snuggle into the pillow smelling like Ari.

“No,” you whine as you sniff at it, only to smell – nothing. “I want to smell him.”

Turning around, you start to whimper. You’re sick and tired. All you wanted was to smell Ari, to feel safe. But no. The cold took this from you too.

“No…” you sniffle now, desperate to have anything reminding you of your protector around. “His shirt.” You grasp for the shirt he leaves for you on the pillow fort and press it to your nose. “Achoo…” you sneeze loudly. “No…I can’t smell him.”

“Baby kitten?” You gasp, hearing Ari return. He left only half an hour ago, and you assume he must’ve forgotten something important to come back home. Clasping one hand over your mouth, you try to not cough. If Ari hears you’re sick, he’ll not go for a ride with his friends. “Y/N? Where are you.”

You bite your index finger. If you do not answer him, he’ll get scared and search for you. If you answer him, he’ll know you’re hiding at the pillow fort. The place you only seek out if something’s wrong.

“Baby kitten, please tell me where you are. I’m worried!” You hear him step closer, pacing back and forth.

“In here,” you finally murmur, not to worry Ari even more. He doesn’t deserve to be scared.

He crouches down to poke his head inside the pillow fort. Ari frowns deeply, watching you clutch his shirt to your chest.

“Okay, Y/N. What did you not tell me?” He searches your face, watching your lips wobble. “I need to know if something is wrong. Did someone at work say something bad? Did you not sleep well?”

“I,” you sniff. “I got a cold and…” you giggle as you point at your crotch. “Aunt Flo came tonight too. I don’t feel good.”

“You’re sick?” He kneels in front of the pillow fort. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick? I could’ve—” Before you can answer, Ari crawls inside the pillow fort to press the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re going to call in sick. I’ll get something to help you feel better.”

“What about your trip?” You ask. “I don’t want to ruin your fun.”

“You’re not ruining my fun,” he huffs. “The guys will understand you’re more important than a stupid trip. Let me take care of you.” Ari leans over you to press a soft kiss on your forehead. “Give me a minute to call them and make tea.”

You smile at Ari. He once again put you before his friends and the club. “Thank you, daddy.”

“All for my baby kitten,” he hums against your skin. “Do you need a heating pad too? Do you have cramps? Do you have a sore throat too?”

You nod, silently telling Ari everything he needs to know.

“I’ll be right back, Y/N,” he says, before leaving the pillow fort.

Ari called his friends, telling them you were sick. You didn’t expect them to come around and bring their friend everything he’ll need to take care of you.

Steve got you hot chicken soup. His mom’s recipe. Sam brought cold medicine and tissues, while Bucky got you lots of ice cream.

The rest of the gang came around to check on you and Ari, offering their help if needed.

After he rubbed balsam for colds into your skin, and helped you take your meds, Ari put a heating pad on your lower abdomen. He didn’t care that you told him not to get close to you. Ari wrapped you in his arms and offered warmth and safety.

“You’ll get sick, Daddy,” you murmur in his chest. You don’t want Ari to leave, though. “I can sleep alone.”

“No,” he simply says and kisses the top of your head. “If I get sick, we already have enough medicine.” Ari chuckles when you whine against him. “I won’t get sick, promised.”

“I’ll take care of you if you get sick,” you rest your head against his chest and close your eyes. You’re warm, and safe in his arms, so you sigh happily.

“We always take care of each other. Always, Y/N…”

Tags in reblog.

#ari levinson #tw: daddy kink #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x y/n #biker!ari levinson #biker au #Care for you

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witchygagirlwrites · 2 days ago

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Lucky Bluejay

Jay Halstead x Reader

Since you were young Bluejays were your goodluck charms. Every time you were at your lowest one was there watching over you. It wasn't until you joined intelligence that you figured out life may have led you to your very own lucky bluejay or well a blue eyed Jay anyways..

It started when you were six. Bluejays. You were at your cousin's house for the summer, outside playing hide and seek. You almost hid in a bush but a bluejay got your attention and you followed it, the next second your uncle screamed because a rattlesnake crawled out from under the very bush you almost hid in.

The next time you remembered was when you were eleven. You weren't making friends in a new grade, they didn't like the new kid. You were sitting by yourself in the break area outside. A bluejay came and sat next to you while you read. You ended up making friends with one girl simply because she went bird watching with her aunt.

For years it seemed every time you needed a little bit of protection, even if it was just emotional one of those little blue birds would show up.

The one that really stuck with you was when you were seventeen. You got in a car wreck, it was pretty bad. They had to end up cutting you out of the wreckage. The only thing that helped you hold onto consciousness was focusing on a bluejay that was sitting atop the fire truck parked close to your car or what was left of your car. Every time your eyes would start to close the bird would flap its wings or make some noise so your eyes would refocus.

The doctors told you at the hospital if you would’ve lost consciousness at the scene you probably would’ve never woken up again. The day you turned eighteen you got a tattoo of a bluejay on your right shoulder blade. Just a reminder to yourself that apparently somewhere out there someone wanted you to keep going.

The day you graduated from the academy you felt your heart skip when you spotted two bluejays sitting in a tree across the way as if they were watching the proceedings themselves. Your little lucky charms giving you a tip of their wings on the next step of your life.

You were approached by Sergeant Trudy Platt for an open spot in intelligence. When you questioned why she’d come instead of Sergeant Voight she’d smiled “Hank figured you’d be more likely to say yes if I asked”

You’d worked with everyone in the unit in passing. You knew they needed a new detective considering Voight was down a man but hadn’t expected yourself to be a draft pick. “Ok” you agreed because you couldn’t say no to that big of a step up in your career.

_____________

You stood next to Voight while he officially introduced you to everyone in the unit. “I remember you. Al used to say you were a damn good cop” Adam said and you smiled “I’ll take that compliment any day Ruzek” Kim smiled “We rode together a few months. Good to have you here”

One by one everyone welcomed you. Voight nodded to Jay Halstead who was coming up the stairs just as he’d gotten through with introductions “You know Halstead?” “Yes sir. I worked with him and Lindsay a time or two” he nodded “Good. He’s your partner”

Jay looked from Voight to you “Welcome to the unit” you smiled “Thanks”

You let your head fall back against the seat in Jay’s truck. Your neck was killing you, your back was cramping and this guy hadn’t moved in hours. The wire tap was getting nothing but snoring at this point. “What’s wrong?” he asked, cutting his eyes at you.

You groaned lightly “Old injury wanting to flare up, just happens if I sit too long” he nodded “From that wreck?” you raised an eyebrow at him “I was talking to Hailey about that, not you” he grinned “Sorry, I felt I had the right to know any past injuries my partner has had” you shook your head “Next thing you know you’re gonna be getting Will to pull my medical records or calling that buddy of yours to dig into me deeper”

He tilted his head as if he was considering it and you started laughing “Or here’s a thought Jay, if you wanna know anything about me, just ask” He nodded, turning his eyes back towards the house “Ok, how bad was that wreck?” “They had to cut me out. Doc at the er said if I hadn’t stayed awake they probably would’ve lost me”

“Damn and at seventeen?” you nodded “Some idiot blew through a red when I was on my way home after school” he shook his head “Ok, next question..why did you turn that guy down at Molly’s the other night?” “Woah! Foul play there Halstead! Not partner talk!” you laughed and he grinned “You said if I want to know to ask”

What were you supposed to tell him? You had slowly started to fall for him? That any guy that tried to get your attention didn’t have the right shade of blue to their eyes or the right grin when they spoke to you. You shrugged “Maybe he wasn’t my type. No more questions. The patrol should be here soon to relieve us”

He nodded and got quiet for a moment before saying “Got any tattoos?” “Halstead I swear!” you threatened and was rewarded with the sound of his laughter. “C’mon..I just wanna know. You don’t have to show me” you cut your eyes at him and smirked “One” then turned your eyes back to the house, listening to him mumble under his breath trying to figure out where your tattoo was.

“I’m fine Jay! The vest caught it!” you tried to convince your partner but the sharp intake of breath that came from you did little to convince him. He stepped closer, blue eyes holding you in place “Take your vest off. Now” you raised an eyebrow “We’re the same rank detective. Do not order me”

His eyes softened “Sweetheart please” you let him undo the straps on your vest and lift it over your head. His hands were warm, lightly tracing over your side to make sure he couldn’t feel anything broken. “Told ya the vest caught it” you argued and he glared at you “You’re still going to med. A quick X-Ray. Just to make sure” you knew you couldn’t argue, after Kevin’s collapsed lung that one time it was protocol.

“Fine but you have to stay with me” he grinned “Deal”

____________

You were sitting on the bed with your arms crossed, glaring at Jay. Luckily you’d worn a sports bra to work that day so you’d only had to strip your shirt off to put the gown on but you were forced to sit and wait for the tests to come back. Will stood at the foot of your bed with them “Nothing’s broken or cracked. She’s fine”

“See? Worried for nothing” you told Jay then looked at Will “Can I leave?” he laughed “Yes you can” you didn’t even care they were in the room, your sports bra covered more than most tank tops. You reached for your shirt and slipped the gown off but mentally kicked yourself when you heard Jay say “Is that a bird?” followed by Will’s laughter “I believe that’s a bluejay”

You felt your face warm as you slipped your shirt on and hopped off the bed “Let’s go younger Halstead” “Bye detective” Will spoke so you glanced over your shoulder at him “Bye Will”

______________

“Why a bluejay?” you were trying desperately to avoid answering Jay’s questions. You didn’t want him to tease you about why you loved the birds. You couldn’t take him making fun of you “No reason” you lied and he nodded “So we’re lying to each other now huh?”

You sighed “Ok, promise not to laugh?” he made a motion like he was crossing his heart “I swear” you went into telling him every time you’d had interactions with the bird. He listened intently, looking at you as the traffic allowed. Your stomach twisted waiting for teasing but instead he smiled “Hell if they kept you awake I like bluejays now” you felt your face warm slightly “Really? You don’t think it’s weird?”

He shook his head “Sweetheart you don’t know weird superstitions until you’re in the army” he went into telling you about a few guys he served with and you felt the knot loosen. He was the only person who’d never teased you about the birds.

“Stupid thing!” you growled kicking the side of your car. It wouldn’t crank, it looked like it was going to start raining, you were exhausted and hadn’t eaten anything all day because you’d dropped your lunch and had yet to make it home.

You dropped your head over onto your arm and was on the verge of tears when you heard someone call your name. You looked up to see Jay, he was wearing that damn blue henley you’d long since fallen in love with and that smile that twisted your heart a million different directions “What’s wrong sweetheart?” he asked once he was closer.

You hit your car again “It won’t start, I’m tired and hungry and it’s about to start raining” he laughed lightly “C’mon. I’ll buy you some dinner and get you home then if it’s not raining I’ll come back and see if I can get it going. If not I’ll pick you up in the morning and call my car guy to come see what’s wrong”

You laughed lightly and he raised both eyebrows “Are you laughing at me offering to help?” you shook your head and reached a hand out to run across his chest, pulling the shirt up to emphasis it “My luck with blue jays coming to my rescue holds out” he shook his head with a grin “You’re better be glad you’re so fucking cute or the weirdness may win out one of these days”

“You think I’m cute?” you asked and was rewarded with a blush gracing his face “Just get in the truck before it starts raining” you leaned up and placed a kiss on his cheek “You’re pretty fucking cute yourself Halstead” then ran to get in his truck as the first raindrops started falling and he ran to catch up with you.

#jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x you #jay halstead fanfiction #chicago pd fanfiction #chicago pd fic #chicago pd fanfic

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moutainrusing · 1 day ago

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problems

962 words, jegulus, platonic prongsfoot, platonic moonchaser, wolfstar

He was not bad. He was not engaging in incest. What the fuck, James? Shit, he’d just sworn. And again. In his head. It was fine. It was not fine. He was in love with his brother’s brother. Shit, he shouldn’t say it like that.

James was in love with his best friend’s brother.

Except he thought of his best friend as a brother.

So was he now thinking incestual thoughts? And how to stop? And on a scale of rottenness, how bad was he? Should he get thrown out for this? Put in jail? Someone needed to absolve him of this crime. It didn’t feel like a crime.

That’s the rottenness speaking!

He shouldn’t be in love with the brother of the person whom he thought of as a brother.

But he didn’t think of Regulus as a brother— Shut up, James. Just accept that you’re awful. He didn’t want to. He argued with the voice in his head – he was going insane – he refuted it, I’m not awful, but it rolled its eyes at him, the disembodied voice now had disembodied eyes, and James should be send to a psychiatric ward to be fixed for his mental problem of having a crush on his brother’s brother— He was normal. He really was. He just needed to keep it to himself and bottle it up and hopefully he wouldn’t do anything illegal.

Maybe seeking help was a good idea. He’d say, Hey, McGonagall, sign me up for therapy? You see, I have a problem—

You have many problems—

Shut up, voice, anyway, I have this problem where I’m crushing on my brother’s brother, please fix me—

You can’t be fixed.

James really hated his brain. If it weren’t for his brain, he wouldn’t be here finding Regulus attractive, because he wouldn’t have the thoughts to do so. He would be empty and calm and peaceful, the ultimate goal of meditation, and that was a good idea, he should meditate, breathe in deeply, cleanse his mind of all this dirt, and stop thinking about the dirt!

He was meditating.

He had problems, and he would pretend they didn’t exist. That’s not meditation, James.

The voice was supposed to go away when he cleared his thoughts.

He sat cross-legged on his bed, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, trying to fill his brain with only air and nothing else. He was lighter than a cloud, nothing weighed him down, he’d float away and be forever untied from the Earth and all his troubles. Far away in space, where time would lose all meaning, and he would simply be particles of dust in a nebula. Imagine being a nebula. A lovely haze of starry explosion.

Regulus was a star.

James took in another deep breath, trying to suffocate his thoughts with the expansion of his lungs, he’d make room for nothing else except air and air and air and he couldn’t breathe—

“James!” Remus’s voice cut through to him, with a hand on his back, thumping it once, before he returned to the room and opened his eyes.

He latched onto Remus, flickering over Remus’s expression, and he knew exactly how to get rid of the concern written across it. All he had to do was make Remus hate him, so he blurted, “I’m in love with my brother’s brother.”

Remus’s eyes widened slightly, before he coughed, choking on a laugh, “Don’t say it like that, James, or people will get the wrong idea.”

Wildly, James gesticulated, “There is no right idea!”

“James,” Remus calmly caught James’s arms before they swung off his body. “It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t—”

“Regulus isn’t your brother,” Remus stared at him seriously. “You’re doing nothing wrong.”

“But—”

“You’re allowed to think of him in a romantic way. He’s not related to you, he’s a person you met on the journey of your life, and it’s okay for you to fall in love with him. Sirius is another person you met on the journey of your life, and you’re allowed to think of him in any way that you want to as well, and you chose to think of him as a brother. That doesn’t mean that all the random strangers in his family are also yours.”

James collapsed into Remus’s arms, head on his shoulder, mumbling into his neck, “I’m being stupid, right?”

He could imagine Remus’s smirk as he replied, “Nah. You’re never stupid.”

James scoffed, still clinging to Remus as he sought out more advice. “How should I tell Sirius?”

“Tell me what?” The door slammed shut as Sirius entered the room. He paused, looked at James and Remus, and pointed between them incredulously, “Are you telling me that you’re dating?!”

Laughing, James slipped out of Remus’s hug to sling an arm around his shoulder, “Nah, Remus is a brother to me.”

Sirius’s eyes widened, “What?! No, I’m not in love with my brother’s brother!”

Aw, he and Sirius were so similar. James burst out laughing at how stupid his honorary brother was.

With a deadpan expression, Remus added to Sirius’s distress, “I’m also younger than you.”

Dramatically, Sirius protested, “I’m not a pedophile!”

Jumping to his feet, James realised, “Regulus is younger than me! I’m an awful human being—”

“You’re a pedophile for Regulus?!” Sirius turned on him. He waved a condemning finger, “And you’re incestual!”

“You’re incestual!” James contested.

“Neither of you are incestual nor pedophiles,” Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. He continued with a heavy sigh, “James, Regulus is in love with you too.”

Before Sirius could question this onslaught of upsetting revelations (apparently there was reciprocated romantic love between his brother and honorary brother), Remus mumbled as an afterthought, “And Sirius… I’m in love with you too.”

#marauders #james potter #jegulus #james x regulus #regulus x james #remus lupin #james and remus #sirius black #james and sirius #platonic prongsfoot #platonic moonchaser #regulus black #jegulus fic #jegulus microfic #marauders microfic #wolfstar

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whosmoraless · 2 days ago

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Walking back... well, that's certainly easier. Walking doesn't require having to use every muscle in his battered body and deal with the constant pull of gravity while being battered by high-speed winds all the way across Brooklyn. The mere thought of it makes his stomach churn.

But walking means more time alone, just the two of them. Walking means more awkward silences, more too-complex emotions than either of them can deal with between them, more of that guilt hanging in the air, pervasive as the chill.

Miles swallows harshly, not all that keen on more time alone with Peter. But what choice is there?

"’kay," he hedges. “Let’s get this over with.”

…

The walk home was, as expected, unbelievably awkward in its silence. But by some miracle, nothing happened on the way back - a surprise given New York, but one Miles won’t question.

The lack of strain helped Miles’s concussion, at least. Coming back felt like breaking out of that awful, sluggish, half asleep state between consciousness and a nightmare; with the same disorientation.

Now he’s just… fully aware of how awful he feels. Of how fucking bizarre it is to just be walking across Brooklyn with Peter at butt-fuck in the morning, nothing but an oversized coat hiding Miles’s battered body and his torn suit, both spiders trying to pretend everything is Normal and Fine and failing spectacularly. Miles spent most of the time staring at the sidewalk, or right into the horizon; the way back home etched into his brain from muscle memory and muscle memory alone.

But even then, he steals side-blinks at Peter before quickly looking away whenever Miles senses the man looking in his direction. Like if he stares the wrong way for too long, an explosive will go off.

(Which, given the tension between the two, wouldn’t be an inaccurate comparison.)

…

Soon, the familiar brownstone apartments come back into view, and Miles almost cries from relief just from being home. But then the next reality check hits him - he’s gonna have to find some way to go in with a random middle aged man in tow without looking… weird.

Fire escape it is. Besides, his parents are at work, what’s the worst that could happen?

…

“¿QUIÉN ERES Y QUÉ ESTÁS HACIENDO CON MI HIJO?”

“Mom, please-”

“No. No, no, no, no talking back, no ‘mom please’; you don’t just- just just disappear in the middle of the night and come back like- this, and expect me not to worry,” Río rants, her speech growing faster with each word. Then she points at Peter, who’s rubbing a welt she made on his face by throwing a heat-seeking missile slipper at him. “And you still never answered my question!”

This literally could not have gone worse.

you ever find urself face-down in an alley at like 2am nd you realize, "oh, this might be how i die". every hope and dream ive ever had and everythng ive ever wanted to do and could ever do is all gnna be snuffed. oit right here in some rsndom street on a sunday night while im wearing fuckifjn spandex. and i have school tomrro1w but maybe i wont.

❆ · ( open starter ) · ❆

With a groan, Miles lets his phone fall out of his hand; it somehow being the only thing on him that didn't get broken.

Maybe he's being overdramatic. He doesn't care. Doesn't... really care about much at all, actually. Shock makes you do crazy shit-- like make a vaguely concerning Tumblr post after a bungled patrol then immediately shut his phone off rather than call for help.

Not like he could feasibly do the latter anyways. Last thing he wants is for Spider-man to have a medical record, much less at his mom's hospital. Would the bite have messed with his body enough that he couldn't go through normal medical procedures?

... besides, if Spider-man has to call for help, that doesn't make him much of a protector, huh?

What kind of a protector, a good one at that, gets his ass beaten within an inch of his life on what was supposed to a normal, routine patrol? Crawls away to a random back alley to lick his wounds alone? If anyone saw him like this, he'd never live it down-- assuming he were still alive to see the headline anyways.

Fluffy snowflakes start falling, ever so daintily landing on Miles's overheated body, on his eyelashes. (huh. When did his mask lenses get shattered?) They contrast with the night sky like stars. The city noises turn into a hazy blur, like it's all a million miles away. The cars, a dog barking, the faint background buzz of electrical wires.

Not a bad place to die, Miles thinks with startling calmness.

He didn't expect what he believes is the end of his life to be so.... calm. Atmospheric, almost. Not like he's complaining though; too out of it to be worried. His eyelids grow heavier and heavier. His thoughts slow to what feels like sludge.

He doesn't register the crunch of shoes on pavement approaching him.

#(( didn’t say it cs this was long enough but miles feels awful for making his mom worry😭😭😭 ))#(( she’s still gregnant here too like ))#𑁍 how my story's supposed to go #𑁍 janky old broke hobo spiderman #peterbsideparker #atsv #spiderman roleplay #marvel roleplay #miles morales rp #roleplay

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stilljuststardust · 1 day ago

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hii i would need some advice.

after finding out about manifesting it became tricky for me to care about the 3D, not only in the good way but also the bad. like - I dont do stuff because i tell myself that I have it anyways you know. im still taking the Basic care of myself but i stopped studying and doing anything, I kinda just bedrot because "i already have it all" why would i do anything. I dont know how to battle that and logically tell myself to do something.

thank you

Why manifestation doesn't mean nothing matters:

I went through the same thing and the truth was that I cared very much about the 3D I just was depressed and deeply nihilistic.

I want to address the beliefs you've stated about manifestation but I think you should focus on the underlying mental health issue. This has all the traits of a depressive episode and should be treated as such. I am addressing the manifestation aspect because clearly it has been fueling your episode and I hope that this will help change your perspective even a little.

"the 3D doesn't matter" is a really common phrase. When I first heard it I wasn't familiar with loa and it was instead something a friend kept repeating. It scared the shit out of me.

The phrase is meant to convey that circumstances zre never able to prevent your manifestation and that you get to determine what you want in your reality regardless of whether or not it has physically manifested yet.

What it accidentally ended up becoming was "nothing is real nothing matters" which if you have any kind of mental health issue is a deeply triggering phrase.

The 3D isn't worthless it just isn't a factor in whether or not you can manifest something. The 3D is real. The 3D is something that matters because it matters to you.

The 4D isn't some mystical far off land, it's literally just your thoughts, visualizations, and internal experiences, and I doubt that those are all in alignment with your goals right now. When I was depressed my inner monologue was less "my life is so great" and more "why aren't I doing more" so that feeling piled up on itself and bled into my 3D until I wasn't doing anything.

The 3D is malleable and you can manifest anything within it yes but why should that mean you can't care about it? If you're manifesting it's probably because you care about your life and want it to improve.

To be clear I don't believe that nothing matters but even if it didn't why should that mean we give up on the things that make us happy? Nothing matters so do whatever the fuck you want. This doesn't make you happy so why should you do it if suffering is also meaningless?

The underlying mental health issue:

Disclaimer: I'm not a professional anything I say about depression is from personal experience. Please seek professional guidance.

This has all of the common signs of a depressive episode. It seems to me that you have a serious underlying mental health struggle and you've been using "nothing matters" as a way to justify staying in it.

I would like to start with: there is nothing wrong with you and this is not your fault.

There definitely was a time I thought the same way because I was scared to try to get better. Starting recovery can be scary because often there is a backwards comfort in leaning into it because you're no longer putting pressure on yourself to "do better".

"Nothing matters so why should I try" isn't loa, it's nihilism, and a very common mantra for those suffering with depression. You're not alone in thinking it.

If you want my advice as someone who's been there:

Obviously no advice I give you is going to cure you but I can give you tools that helped me.

Meet yourself where you're at. Don't try to go from bed rotting today to climbing a mountain tomorrow. It's like how you can't jump from the first level to the boss fight of the video game. You don't need to have all of it under control your goal should start one step above where you're at. So instead of a whole list of things you need to catch up with just start with showering or your hygiene. Keep that as your only goal until it's become a normal part of your life again and implement new goals in a similar way.

Every video I ever watched on self improvement overwhelmed me with everything I wasn't doing. The weight of my expectations for myself was the heaviest part of my episodes. Eventually I committed to the idea that I had only one responsibility and it was showering, anything else is just a bonus. Be kind to yourself. If all you change is the way you talk to yourself about it you will feel better. It's easy to fall into cycles of beating yourself up for everything you wish you were doing but that isn't benefitting you in any way. Give yourself some compassion.

Links

Against nihilism - john green

How to handle the 3D when manifesting

Mental health subliminal

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impval · 2 days ago

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slowest heart

omega!Cate Dunlap x fem!alpha reader Warnings: a/b/o, mentions of rape.

Yeah, Godolkin is chaos incarnate. A bunch of young supers with so much freedom at Godolkin - it's like a recipe straight out of a reality TV show. It's like they wanted the place to turn into a teen drama. The idea of a deadly virus that could wipe out all the supers? In a world where superpowered beings are treated like celebrities and tools and threats, it was only a matter of time before shit like this happened.

Indira wanted to kill all the supes?

Oh goddamnit, no way, the villain is British? Fuck, what a damn stereotype.

When Jordan and their girlfriend came to you seeking your help, it was hard to focus on anything but Cate. Why would she get involved in something like this? Was she coerced? Blackmailed?

You like Cate.

You had always been drawn to people like her - sharp, powerful. Despite being an omega, Cate's powers and status meant that she was rarely, if ever, belittled or diminished due to her biology. People respected (feared) her.

Back when Luke was alive, you respected Cate's decision to be with him, even if you thought their relationship was a bit strange. They seemed more like a pretty picture than a real, happy couple. But after he died, you didn’t want to impose on her grief. Who hits on an omega right after her boyfriend died? It just felt wrong. So you kept your distance.

Experiments, Vought, the Woods.

You knew why Jordan and Marie approached you. You were possibly the only person on the planet who couldn't be mind-controled. The perks of your power. Jordan and Marie deal with Sam, and you..

In a timeline where all of this never happened, where this shitshow never started, you would never have met Cate. And everything would be so different. Carnage. Blood. Death. A missing arm. In another universe, you never would've been born.

But you were in this universe. The one where you did exist.

When you saw Cate, you knew instantly what Jordan was rambling about. The blood, the madness, raw and untempered, in her eyes. Now you could believe that she had killed Dean Shetty. You better understood now just why Jordan was so reluctant to deal with her and her power. The omega was terrifying, with a determination in her eyes that could only be halted by violence.

Or a alpha.

Heats. Just one word. And all it brought with it. The sweat, the pain, the lust. The loss of control that came with it. Cate had experienced all her heats on her own - because she was locked away in a room. Then it was her choice. Every single damn time. Even when Luke gave a gentle offer. Even when the alphas stared at her with hungry lust.

This time, Cate had ignored the symptoms - the aches, the need - because let's be real. With Luke dead, with Indira and her orders, she had bigger things to worry about than a simple heat. Cate wasn't going to let her own biology or desires distract her - because she sure as hell didn't deserve anything good. Not after all the crap she had done. The death, the pain. Cate didn't want this, but who gave a fuck?

Cate had come so goddamn close. If she held on just a little bit longer, a little bit longer, a goddamn bit longer...the Woods would be empty, just as she wanted. A pathetic, cheap version of redemption. That was all Cate could really do.

Her scent was not that of a sweet, submissive omega. Nothing fragile, nothing warm, nothing easy. Her scent was sharp, demanding, heavy, dominant. Screaming and loud.

She picked up on your scent long before you were even in front of her, eyes widening in quiet surprise as your scent washes over her. Alpha. Alpha, dammit. Honestly, you're way too soft for an alpha. Or lazy, but that depends on perspective. You've never seen the point in fighting for power, dominance, status. And you have never been on-board with the Stone Age alpha-omega bullshit.

As an alpha, you could pay no attention to the whole mess.

But Cate is an omega, and she could not. She had lived her whole life fighting for her own freedom, her safety, and her own body. Maybe it was that, that made her start spitting out threats the moment she saw you, baring her fangs. Like a wild animal.

Or was it your scent. It was soft - nothing like the dominating, heady scents of other alphas. Despite the fact you are, a goddamn alpha. And if Cate had paid better attention to her own body, the all signs - she would never have gotten into a situation that was basically every omega’s nightmare.

Looks like the epic battle is going to have to wait for a different time.

It's ironic that Cate was such a walking, talking disaster that a mere minute with you - a minute of conversation - was the only thing she needed to have her heat suddenly flare up, nearly bringing her to her knees.

No.

"No," Cate gasps, even as her hands curl around your shoulders. Her skin's clammy beneath your touch. "No," she repeats more firmly, even as her body arches against your chest.

Cate is afraid. She is well aware of, knows exactly what most alphas do to omegas. How the hell they use them as playthings. She had not wanted an alpha. Not even Luke, and despite how terrified it made her, a part of her was actually relieved when he died.

Her back strains as if trying to arch away from you and even her skin looks inflamed, the flushed skin of her face spreading all the way down her exposed neck.

She's so fragile in your arms, so impossibly light. Too thin, too bony, too weak. And fuck - you had never been a fan of Luke, but you had thought, believed that he mattered to her. That he cared. Apparently you were incorrect, he had clearly not given a fuck, because...

Her scent is bitter - the sharp tang of fear, of horror, and all the madness, the raging fire that had been flaming in her only a blink of an eye ago, has vanished suddenly. Your own alpha instincts are going wild.

Protect, claim, guard, mine, mine, mine.

This entire situation is so wrong.

Cate hates feeling weak and helpless like this. She can barely move, let alone control the pathetic whimper that drags itself out her throat as she's laid down. She doesn't want to be here. Cate knows you, understands that for some damn reason, her powers do not work on you. You are the singular person who is safe and who is immune to her powers and, what's worse - you're an alpha.

The room smelled entirely of you, it was your damn room, after all.

When you return with a pills and water, a flash of fear appears in Cate's eyes, and she starts to sit up - only to sink back against the sheets with a bitten-off cry.

There was so much of Cate in the room, her heat, the scent of omega that it took all of your will-power to not react. You moved away the moment you placed the pills and the bottle of water on the bed, ensuring there was distance between you and her - letting her at least keep the illusion of security.

Cate stares up at you, lips parted, breathing heavy and ragged as she tries not to let the pain show across her expression. She hates being so exposed, so vulnerable. You could do anything to her, and all she can do - all she's capable of - is lie here and take it.

And yet you don't do anything. You retreat, you give her space.

Fuck it all to hell. You could always just, leave - lock her in your room and go somewhere far away. Somewhere where you can’t smell the heat in her scent, or hear the whimpers, but for whatever damn reason - you don’t. Must be a sadist, because you are both suffering.

No demands, no commands. Despite your physical power, you're not using it over her. Maybe you're just biding your time, but you don't act like it, smell like it. Your scent is soothing, a warm blanket, a promise of comfort and safety.

Cate's breath trembles as she tears her gaze away. She takes a deep breath before pushing herself up on her hands. Despite her obvious pain, she tries to sit up straight. Cate has a fucking genocide to start, an entire revolution (a carnage) - but she is stuck in the cage of her own biology. What a shame.

The pack of pills in her hands do look like painkillers. The name is familiar, the look is familiar. She takes a couple and washes them down with water, praying it's not a trap.

It's not a trap.

Ten minutes later, Cate's trembling somewhat eases. The pain's still there, but it's numbed enough to be more of a dull ache. It's also enough for her to realise that you're still sitting there, and her tongue feels thick and heavy in her mouth.

All this time you work through every single damn breathing exercise you know, counting sheep, and trying not to think about Cate on your bed. You want to touch her. You long to take away her pain, caress away her suffering and mark that lovely neck of hers. You would be so goddamn good to her. Better than Luke, better than anyone.

But you continue to stay seated on the cold, uncomfortable floor.

"You're...not gonna touch me?" Cate asks quietly, and she'd be embarrassed by how weak and broken she sounds if she wasn't already overwhelmed by everything else.

You have helped other omegas in heat before - lend a helping hand. However, it was always at the consent, the request of the omega. You have never understood - cannot comprehend the alphas who have taken, without caring about others, disregarding the pain, the tears of their omegas.

Despite how loudly your instincts are roaring, demanding that you take her, you don't even move or try to touch Cate when she's made it so clear that she's terrified of it. You briefly wonder over why Cate is so terrified of you, of alphas (?). You truly don't want to think on the sickening possibility that it's from personal experience.

Your hands have clenched in your lap as you take a shaky breath, trying to stay in control. “You said no."

No.

One word. A simple, but powerful.

It's been a long time since Cate's had any sort of positive experience with an alpha. Luke, of course, was an alpha, but he was...well, Luke. He was with her only for status. In a way, he was using her. This is the order of things.

Cate has always known this.

Her own mother, a cruel, indifferent alpha who did nothing to soothe her daughter’s suffering. The media that has forever painted omegas as helpless and empty. The arrogant alphas on campus who would leer, smirk. Only Cate’s power, her status, and Luke’s status had provided her any form of protection.

Twelve (?) minutes ago Cate had been screaming threats and insults at you. It is obvious that Cate is crazy. It would be logical for you to do what every other damn alpha would do, subdue and take the bitchy omega, force her into compliance. Claim her and make damn sure that she doesn’t cause further problems.

She doesn't know what to say, much less how. Her brain's still half-melted, but there's one thought that just keeps repeating in her head.

safe safe safe

Safe? There’s no such thing as safe, never will be again. Not after what she did. Broken, broken, broken. Twisted and ugly. Pathetic.

But being here, in your bed, in your presence, is safe enough to allow her body to relax, just slightly to ease some of the cramping and tension. The pain still lurks, just waiting to rise at the first sign of any stress, and Cate isn't about to test her luck.

You can notice it even now, in the midlle of her heat. Cate is not okay, not okay at all. A heavy feeling settles deeply in your stomach. You should had asked Jordan more questions.

But you can begin now, and you’ve always wanted to get to know her.

Cate was with Luke, but he had never marked her. And then he'd died and it had turned out she was sleeping with Andre, but not once was your eyes drawn to the sweet, unmarked skin of her neck.

You swallow and can't hold in your damn curiosity any longer. “Why didn’t Luke mark you? You guys looked perfect together."

Luke and Cate seemed like the perfect couple. The most popular couple at God-U. The golden couple. Everyone looked up to them, and Cate would lie and pretend that her relationship with Luke meant anything at all. It was only Indira who had demanded, ordered her to be with him. Maybe Luke had instinctively known that she was manipulating him. Perhaps that’s why he had never marked her.

Now that she thinks about it, it's funny how much of her life was filled with lying.

"Appearances are deceptive," Cate mutters quietly, forcing herself to keep her breathing even.

Her mother locked her away, afraid of her power, of her touch. Indira had been kinder. She had touched her with such kindness, with a gentle smile. But she had also pushed Cate over the edge time after time - erasing memories, hurting and breaking people again and again. Cate had always been a needy, desperate, touch-hungry omega, yet it was Indira who had molded her into a pathetic, truly broken creature.

Cate can't help but scoff. If Luke had known how much of a manipulative psycho she really was, he'd never have touched her. No one wants that kind of crazy.

Cate's hands clench in the blankets, nails digging into her palms as she tries to calm her breathing. It's hard to remain calm when she still has a raging heat, and even just the thought of a mate triggers her instincts.

“Why…Why did you get in my way?” the question hangs in the air.

Why hadn’t you just stayed away, why had you even searched for her, why hadn’t you let her fall into madness?

Why are you looking at her so softly?

“Well, I would’ve missed this entire party, but Jordan literally stormed into the classroom, dragged me right out of there." you answer honestly. "They were so nervous, like the apocalypse was about to start."

Cate wants to scream and laugh. Indira truly did love her, it was true. She loved her, used her, and abused her trust. Yet Cate had chosen not to trust Indira, but instead her own friends, and where are they all now?

For those she called friends, Cate was nothing but a freak, a monster, a feral animal. They couldn’t even fucking face her. Of course they threw you at her. You, who couldn't be controlled by Cate.

Truly, Jordan was her favorite, the only one who was even close to a friend. Andre only desired her, Luke saw her as a damn trophy, and Jordan… the beta was the only one of them who tried to understand Cate.

You see something dark pass over Cate’s face, as if something in her heart, her chest is breaking right in front of your eyes. It only lasts a second before she buries it behind a anger, and pure stubbornness.

“Did Jordan tell you? About the Woods? About the things humans do to us. And all that bullshit is right underneath us, right now,” Cate spits, her voice bitter.

Cut, electrocuted, injected with gods know what. Students were nothing more than lab rats, nothing but specimens to be studied.

You never realized that you could have been one of them. You could not be more grateful that your power was not more interesting, that you were just yourself. You were fine with stupid jokes and a somewhat stable psyche. Brink had never shown the slightest interest in you, and Indira hadn’t even looked your way.

But Cate was not so lucky.

You refuse to take your eyes off of her. “Yeah, they told me. They also said that they had a plan to deal with it,” you said, hoping that they really did know how to handle it. Anything was preferable to letting the traumatized students out of the fucking torture chamber.

Cate gives a strangled sound before pulling the blanket tightly around herself, hiding her face from your gaze. She was sweating, shaking in your bed, surrounded by pillows and a blanket that served as a makeshift nest.

Right.

"So..a killer virus?" you can't help but ask.

"I helped Indira. I did what she wanted. That’s why Luke is dead. He couldn’t handle all of the bullshit." Cate touches her head and you know what she means.

Jordan has given you the details. Mind control, erased memories. You can’t help but pity all of them, losing memories, literal pieces of their own selves is awful. It was even worse when it had been done to them by a friend, someone they’d thought they could trust.

"I didn't want this."

You say nothing. There’s nothing that you can say. After all, you can’t bring back the broken memories without the pain. Luke won’t return from the grave. It would be a still huge fucking mess.

So you just stay quiet.

An hour, maybe two had gone by and still no one had sent even a single text. At this point, it was getting dark and you had absolutely zero idea of what was going on outside of your safe bubble.

Cate was as quiet as possible, but she was unable to stop herself from a pained sound, or an occasional tear. Even with painkillers, this heat is horrible.

Maybe it's the heat, or the pain, or just the intense vulnerability of the moment.

"Why would you even here? If not to use me? I'm crazy." she's almost scowling, but she can't keep the tears from welling in her eyes. "I have issues. I'm damaged."

Your head snaps up quickly, surprised by the sudden question.

Oh god, Cate… is beautiful.

Even with her hair slick with sweat, eyes bloodshot and face pale, she’s the most amazing thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. She doesn’t need force to make you do anything, you do it all willingly, on your own accord, of your own free will.

Your entire body, aching from the hard, cold floor, and desire. So desperate, so close to her. You lick your dry lips.

You hadn’t given her a second thought, back then. It was the incident, that’s what had made you notice Cate.

"We used to have a class together, you know? We sat next to each other, but we never spoke. I'm not even sure if you remember that I was there."

Two alphas flirted with you. Lots of muscles but not a single thought in damn head. One of them started grabbing you, right in class, like this was the norm. And you didn’t even blink, you dealt with them so quickly, that I didn’t have a chance to open my mouth. All it had taken was a single touch to you to get them to beat themselves between the legs down at the sports ground. And you just continued to read your book. I can remember thinking at the time: wow, what a damn shame she is with Luke, I totally would have asked her out.

Cate is looking at you, really looking at you.

You…

You remember that?

For Cate, it was just one of many occasions where she used her powers as a tool. It was a way to gain more popularity. To make herself look tough and powerful.

But you remember it as the first day you saw her, as the first time you became interested in her as an omega.

"You like me?"

Goddamn it, you didn’t want to say it, but you wanted to be honest with her. Your cheeks are burning red and you nod. “Yeah…I tried not to press you. You’re so… independent. Even when you were with Luke, you looked like you hated the idea of anyone having any power or control over you.”

It wasn’t just that she hated anyone having power over her. It’s more like she was so used to people trying to get control of her that even Luke’s very existence felt oppressive.

"I don’t like people telling me what to do." Cate mutters.

Even with her powers, she felt like she couldn’t be her own person. Even when she had all the power, she still felt helpless.

"I’m a difficult omega."

You can't help but laugh a little. "I’m a a weird alpha."

Part of her finds it amusing. Part of her finds it very attractive.

"You are a weird alpha." she agrees, giving you a slight smirk.

It is this realization that finally helps her to relax.

You want her, yearning for her. Cate knows what to do with you, how to use your want, your need, your desperation. Even immune to her power, you are still alpha.

Luke is dead, Indira is gone too, Andre doesn’t want to even look at her. Let Jordan and Marie deal with the Woods and all the consequences.

Cate, on the other hand...Cate can just let go.

"Come here."

Oh god. You weren’t expecting this-

But how could you possibly resist, when Cate looks at you with those eyes and asks (orders)?

You rise, your legs a little sore from the hard floor, moving in towards the bed, step by step. Until you are stood at the bedside, and waiting for her response before you move any closer.

She’s expecting you to push her back onto the bed. She’s expecting you to force her to submit, to tell her what to do.

But of course, you don’t do that. Instead, you hesitate, almost awkwardly, waiting for her to tell you what to do.

Even when you’re standing above her, standing beside the bed, you’re so sweet and submissive.

She loves it more than she thought she would.

She pats the spot next to her.

"Sit."

Maybe, maybe Cate has found the one she's been looking for her whole life. A person, an alpha with whom she'll be safe.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your pretty sure Cate can hear it. Your scent is mixing with hers and it just feels so… right.

You sit yourself down on the bed, still watching her, like a puppy waiting for a command.

Normally, Cate hates the way alphas smell. It’s a sharp, musky stench, like rotting meat. Like death.

But yours is different. It’s like cinnamon and firewood and honey all together. You smell like a home. A home that she just wants to get closer and closer to.

She scoots closer.

"Lie down."

Part of you just cannot believe that this is happening. That Cate, the girl you’ve wanted for such a long time, is looking at you like this now. The other, alpha, is singing - so ecstatic that she has finally noticed you.

Now you’re lying down, on your back. And Cate, despite being the omega of the two of you, is straddling you, sitting on top of you and looking down at you.

She’s not touching you yet. Her thighs are touching the sides of your hips. Cate is in complete control. And she isn’t even using her powers to do it.

She can see the way you are laying under her, unmoving. She leans down, her blonde hair falling forward and tickling across your face.

"Kiss me."

A simple order, and you follow it happily. Her lips brush against yours, tasting you.

You kiss her slowly, gently and lightly, your hands cupping her face. It feels so amazing to have her weight upon your body, to have her above you.

You don’t try to overpower her, to force into her mouth. You let her take control, like a good girl, and she can feel the way your body goes soft and relaxed under her. The sound of your lips against hers is the sweetest sound she’s ever heard.

Finally, she pulls back, panting, feeling the first waves of exhaustion. it’s not the right time, Cate thinks, annoyed at the timing.

Your lips are swollen, your pupils dilated wide. You are willing to give in, to be soft, pliable, obedient and give her everything she wants, everything she needs.

"Cate?"

“I’m…I’m fine. Just tired.” She admits, suddenly feeling a little bit weak and vulnerable in spite of her position on top of you.

Oh. Her heat must have taken a lot out of her, her body exhausted. She is sweaty, pale, and slightly shaking. You smile gently, stroking her cheek softly and reassuringly. “We can just lay together. Just sleep.”

For some reason, that’s exactly what she needs to hear. Cate is suddenly overcome with exhaustion when you say those words. Like just the reassurance of those few words was enough to release her from the stress.

Cate is in no rush. Now, with Indira gone, there will no longer be experiments. No more orders and violence. It will be just Cate and her life. If others want to deal with the mess, she let them.

And Cate...Cate will take what she wants.

She lets out a breath and suddenly lets herself soften, sinking down onto you so that her head is on your chest.

“Just sleep.” She agrees, nuzzling into you.

Her eyelids are so heavy. Suddenly, the exhaustion is all she can focus on. She’s not even aware of her own soft purring.

You wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, covering you both with the blanket. She’s unnaturally hot, and you know that her heat will very likely not go away until the early hours of the morning.

She’s been fighting her heat for this whole week. It’s been a struggle everyday to keep her body from acting up, to keep her mind in control. But now, she’s lying here, in your arms.

And finally, finally, she can sleep.

#gen v #wlw #the boys #gen v x reader #cate dunlap #cate dunlap x reader #gen v imagine

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loveacrosstimes · 17 hours ago

Text

The Nurse and the Rancher - Ch. 2

Summary: Claire, a 27-year-old nurse from NYC accidentally gets transported back to California in 1995. There she meets Jamie, a 25-year-old Scot who recently inherited his uncle’s sprawling ranch in St. Helena.

Claire trudged along an undefined path at the edge of town, clumsily retracing her steps. She hoped to stumble back to the dirt road along the forest where she’d fallen through time, away from the hustle and bustle of New York City where everyone was walking with purpose.

Towards jobs, towards love, towards passions.

Sometimes, failure and heartbreak.

Either way, time – or the lack thereof – propelled the ebb and flow of foot traffic, helping to move people along on their journeys.

Here, in Le Cressida, time seemed to meander, chugging along just enough to avoid rousing suspicion, but without enough urgency to produce anything worth getting out of bed for.

She’d not seen a single soul until she’d managed to find the convenience store nestled unreasonably deep inside of this place that looked like the remains of a dilapidated movie set.

Le Cressida – the name even sounded fake .

What was undeniably real, however, was the irreparable damage this California dirt was doing to her favorite pair of work shoes. Frank had gotten them after she’d spent months complaining of the way every other pair she’d found seemed impartial to hospital floors – like the cushion and support they were supposed to provide were suggestions .

Now, they were coated in such grime, there wasn’t a washing machine that could salvage them. And yet, this would be a worthy sacrifice for her if she could just find … this … fucking … trail.

Pushing out a deep breath, she continued along the path, hoping to snuff out the long, dirt road where the universe had spit her out like yesterday’s trash. It’d seemed long and unforgiving at the time, sprawled out in front of her like a looming side quest, relishing in her arduous journey ahead.

Now that she needed it, it was nowhere to be found.

In hindsight, a map would’ve been a better investment than a newspaper – but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

At least the sun wasn’t quite as vicious as when she’d arrived. A thin layer of clouds had gathered in the sky, blocking just enough heat and UV rays to provide her with a little bit of relief.

Walking several more hundred yards, Claire eventually ran out of trees, arriving to the edge of a wooden fence. She stopped, trying to remember if she’d passed one during her earlier trek into town. She didn’t immediately place it but kept walking until she realized what the fence was enshrouding: a modest bungalow that had seen much better days.

Worry rose where relief should’ve settled. There was no way she’d have passed this house and not remembered, or stopped to seek help, which meant that she’d somehow turned a wrong corner on her way back. She turned backwards, peering back over her journey, unsure where she’d gone wrong, a gnawing feeling building in her stomach.

If she couldn’t find the spot she’d somehow fallen through, how could she ever get back home? Granted, she hadn’t exactly figured out the logistics of a plan, but getting back to the spot was the first step to reversing this mind-boggling situation she’d found herself in.

With a loud sigh, she resigned her gaze upward, noticing that the thin smear of clouds were thickening and darkening before her very eyes. At this rate, she only had a few hours of daylight left – even less if a storm rolled in.

“Just what I need," she huffed.

Grabbing at the fence, Clair hoisted herself up backwards to give herself a better view of the area. Other than the house, carved amid the shrubbery, there was nothing other than thick trees stretching in both directions.

She bent down and planted one hand on top of the fence to steady herself as she hopped back down onto the ground.

Claire sunk into the fence, allowing the thick, splintery wood to support her for a spell. As a nurse, she was used to being on her feet, but not while traversing an unfamiliar state in an unfamiliar time, in godforsaken heat.

If she didn’t get out of the elements, she’d eventually collapse from exhaustion.

Pressing a hand into her face, Claire blinked rapidly, hoping that if she did it enough times, she'd wake up from what had to be a dream. It had to be. Because if it wasn't, she was simply a woman out of time with no means of providing for herself, or letting her loved ones know she was okay.

Loved ones. What loved ones. Frank was all but five years old in 1993, and still living in Germany, where his father was stationed in the army.

Meanwhile, her mother, Julia Beauchamp, hadn't even met her father yet -- in this timeline. But even if she had, it's not like she would be the mother she knew in the present or through her childhood. A comforting, level-headed, if not slightly reclusive woman, who occasionally stashed her with her grandmother for days, occasionally weeks, at a time.

Not that she’d minded. Her Grandma Agnes had been the living embodiment of a warm hug in her childhood.

Gulping, Claire realized that, for the first time in her life, she had no one but herself. The thought burned the inside of her nose, signaling that the tears were on the horizon. But they arrived quicker, heavier than she thought.

“Come on, get it together.”

Standing upright against the fence, she peered back towards the house.

From the road, she couldn't tell whether or not it was occupied or abandoned.

Given her position, she wasn’t sure what the better option would be.

On the one hand, she needed food, a change of clothes, and a decent place to sleep. But who in their right mind would take in a total stranger? Even if they were crazy enough, that doesn’t mean it’d be a smart decision for her – unless the home just so happened to be occupied by a sweet, little old lady, who thought Claire reminded her of her granddaughter. Someone aching to extend a little maternal affection.

A hot meal, a bath, a place to rest her aching body.

One sleep — that's all she needed. Enough time to come up with a real, viable plan, and figure out how to navigate this town she'd ended up in long enough to find the portal. Enough time to explain to Frank why she didn’t come back home on the night of their anniversary when their marriage was already hanging on by a thread.

And yet, that was the best-case scenario.

The house could very well belong to someone far less hospitable, who'd only make this journey more difficult for her; who’d ensure that she never had to worry about facing her husband after ghosting him on one of the most important days of their marriage, thus far.

Either way, she had to try.

Planting her hands into the fence, Claire hoisted herself up once more, just as she heard a car approaching down the dirt road. Well, less like a car and more like a black, mechanical whale, choking on the dry, California air.

It sputtered along the trail, gasping with each inch it gained, surrounded by a dust cloud befitting the dirty kid from Charlie Brown.

Balancing on top of the fence, Claire glanced back at the home, wondering if she should make herself scarce or if she’d be better off hitching a ride from whoever owned this very loud, very clunky piece of junk.

Afterall, the house would still be there to explore if they said no. And if they could drop her back off at the point where she’d come through – maybe this wouldn’t end up being the worst anniversary she’d ever had.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to give Frank another reason to think her heart wasn’t in their marriage. Maybe she’d be able to convince herself .

Claire approached the dirt road, nearly throwing herself in front of the car.

The old clunker skidded to an ungraceful stop a few feet in front of her. Before the occupants could survey the hurdle in their journey, Claire was approaching the driver’s side.

“What the hell are you doing, lady??” spit out the driver – an upper middle-aged man. There were also two, slightly younger men in the passenger seat and one in the back, too. “We got places to be.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Claire said, attempting to soothe his rancor, before turning her attention to the other men. “I was wondering if you gentlemen could help a lady out.”

The man in the passenger seat leaned forward, an unsettling glint in his eye. “Well, that depends on what kind of help a lady needs,” he grumbled in his best attempt at a seductive tone.

The comment garnered a chuckle from the man in the backseat.

“Hush up, Aaron. You too, Rob,” said the older man.

His tone wiped the smirks from their faces.

“What do you need, ma’am?” He asked. “We’re on a schedule.”

“A ride if you can manage. I was out here doing a house call today, but I’m not familiar with these parts, and I’ve gotten a little turned around.”

He eyed her attire. “You a nurse?”

“Yeah. For the local hospital … about ten miles out,” she said, remembering that detail about her story from the diner.

The hospital’s name didn’t surface as easily.

“Rosedale Medical Center?”

“Y-yeah, that one.”

He scratched his temple. “That’s a ways off … How’d you get all the way out here without any wheels?”

Oh right . If she was going to keep lying, she had to come up with a story that accounted for these little details that could trip her up – like this. “Uh, my friend dropped me off this morning,” she said quickly. “They were supposed to pick me up, but never showed up.”

His curious expression resigned into casual acceptance. “Some friend,” he said, humping his shoulders.

“Yeah, well they’re probably swamped at the hospital and haven’t gotten off yet, but as you can see, the weather is turning, and I’m trying to get out of here before the rain comes.”

That last part was true.

Sucking his teeth, he tilted his head. “I’d like to help you, but 10 miles both ways will set us back too much. And we have a lot of work to do.”

“That’s okay, actually,” she said quickly. “I’m actually just trying to get about a half mile or so from here to the road near my patient’s house. I kinda got lost and, I want to wait to see if my friend comes back up this way … well, that way,” she said pointing behind her.

In truth, she was hoping to locate the portal and figure out how to get back through – not that he needed to know that.

She swept her bottom lip into her teeth, hoping that her desperation would sway him.

It’s not like she had any cash to offer him — that jackass at the diner had made sure of that.

“And what if they don’t?”

“Well, then I’m no worse off than I am right now, am I?” She said with a sly smile to soften his grumbly exterior.

“I don’t know …”

“Aww, come on, daddio,” said one man.

“Yeah, the little lady asked nicely,” said the other.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Claire kept her focus on the driver, as he was obviously calling the shots.

“Okay, I’ll do you one better,” he eventually said. “How about you ride with us over to our place, spend the night there, we’ll drive you back to the hospital in the morning … the whole ten miles.”

Claire flashed him a panicked smile – there was no way in hell she’d take up shelter with three strange men overnight. “That’s such a generous offer, but I couldn’t impose on you like this.”

“Trust, you wouldn’t be imposing," he said. “Besides, we haven’t had a woman around the house since my wife died a few years back.”

A beat passed before she managed to push a conciliatory message out through her constricting throat. She doubted the feminine energy he was missing was anything she was willing or able to give him.

“Thanks …” he said dismissively, not noticing – or perhaps caring – about her discomfort. “So what do you say?”

She smiled politely. “I can’t, really. It’s too much of an ask.”

“Nonsense. Besides, you could earn your stay by whipping us up a quick meal. It’s been ages since we had anything decent to eat.”

“Hey, I do the best I can,” Aaron retorted, genuinely offended.

“Hush, boy,” the older man shot back – a reply that set off a back-and-forth between them that curdled her blood.

The absolute nerve of these men to think that after a long day at work she’d spend her evening cooking for them of all people. Nevermind the fact that she hadn’t actually made it to work – one second she was following a skeletal stray cat into one of the only working phone booths left in NYC, the next she was in hillbilly purgatory – it was still a nonstarter.

She barely enjoyed cooking for Frank, and she’d be damned if she was going to cook for another man on their anniversary.

“Gentlemen!” she yelled, cutting through the noise, “As I said, I appreciate the offer, but I really have to get home tonight. My husband is waiting for me, and he’ll have a fit if I don’t turn up.”

Refusing to wait for their response, and hoping to God that knowing another man had claimed her would be enough to satisfy their archaic sensibilities, Claire straightened her posture, and started back up down the road in the direction she’d come.

She hoped to hear the exasperated cranking of their car start up, then pass her by on their merry way.

These men obviously had nothing of value to offer her. And though a ride would’ve been nice, without them, she had time to regroup and maybe find some shelter for the night, since it was becoming clearer she probably wasn’t going to make it back to her home, her time today.

The cranking came, but not quick enough for her.

As she walked, a car crawled up behind her, but she kept her head forward until she couldn’t ignore their presence.

“What, you’re too good to cook for me and my sons?” Called out the father.

Claire drifted off the dirt road, onto the brushy overgrowth, hoping they’d realize she wasn’t going to bite, but her non response only made them slow down even more.

“Hey, bitch, my daddy asked you a question!” yelled one of the sons.

Clasping her arms over her chest, she pivoted to walk into the opposite direction, hoping they’d think she was too much trouble to pursue. But the car cranking down let her know that she wasn’t that lucky.

She quickly glanced back, noting the way the good-for-nothing father watched from the driver’s side. Before she knew it, the sons had exited the vehicle, and were quickly approaching her.

With no other options, she took off down the road, running as quickly as she could, kicking up dust with every step. It was barely a few seconds before she felt a man's hand yank her backwards by the arm.

“Get your fucking hands off of me!” She yelled fighting to free herself from his grasp, as the heady laugh of the other brother pierced her eardrums.

He stood close, watching his brother manhandle her.

The more she thrashed, the tighter he gripped.

With her other fist, she pounded against his forearm, but it made no difference. So she dug her nails into his arm as hard as she could, drawing flesh and blood underneath the surface, causing him to release a loud, screechy howl.

For a second she was free, the urge to take off – despite the other brother being mere feet away – strong. But then he whacked her with an angry, vengeful hand, across her shoulder. She fell to the ground with a thud, the approving laughter from the other brother, drowning out her own agonizing cry.

Claire pressed her hands into the ground to stand, the sharp piercing pain in her shoulder causing her to collapse onto her back just as the brother she struck closed in on her. She kicked her feet, attempting to keep him at bay. He absorbed every kick, every thrash, cursing loudly when her foot managed to hit him at the perfect angle.

But that only angered him further. He dropped down onto his knees, using his weight to subdue her.

“Get off of me, you bastard!”

Unable to fight him off, she grabbed a handful of dirt and grass and threw it into his face, temporarily blinding him and rendering her invisible, as he tried to rid his eyes of the debris.

Claire balled up her fist and hit him as hard as she could across the face, nearly cracking her knuckles in the process. The man wailed, falling over onto his side, giving her just enough leeway to try to escape.

But she was immediately kicked back down by the second man, whose casual delight had evolved into rage. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, voice dripping with grisly intent.

In pain, and worn down from the absolute worst day she’d ever experienced, her body froze into a defensive position, as if it knew that she could never overpower two adult men, especially those with such delicately bruised egos.

Would this be how she would die? Alone in the middle of Le Cressida, California, 29 years in the past.

She closed her eyes shut, not wanting them to be the last thing she saw before she met her end.

For a moment, her mind drifted to Frank, their modern, yet cozy, adorably decorated apartment just outside of the city. Their wedding day. Her parents. The babies in the neonatal unit who depended on her. All the wonderful things this life had blessed her with.

Yes, that’s how she’d go out – focusing on the goo — arggghh . A firm hand around Claire's neck ripped her from her thoughts, back into the present

She gasped, flailing as she fought to take a clear breath until the weight of the other brother’s body cemented her arms to her side.

“One meal – that’s all you had to agree too. But no, you thought you were too good! Not you’re gonna p–”

BANG!!!!

A deafening sound exploded behind them, piercing her eardrums, and, when mixed with her depleted oxygen, made her head spin. The only thing that kept her lucid was seeing the man's face shift from nefarious delight into bright white terror.

And then she heard it...

“You, you, step away from the lass! ” yelled out a distinctively familiar, comforting. voice.

Firm, commanding, imbued with a heavy, Scottish accent...

Note: I hope you enjoy! Also, I updated on AO3 as well.

#outlander #outlander fanfic #claire fraser #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp

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