#tonight i was truly alive | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

akunya · 2 months ago

Note

hello ive always loved your fics since nijien days and now more into love and deepspace, specifically sylus (the pipeline is universal, i’m afraid) so now, i beg for stalker sylus who is obsessed with everything you do, will fuck you in an alleyway please, cnc and mindbreak, thank you 🙏🏻

"window watching."

pairings: sylus x m!reader

summary: sylus can only take so much of your teasing before he breaks. unfortunately for you, his methods aren't so nice.

tw: NONCON, stalking, obsessive behavior, size diff., frottage, sph (if you squint), praise. implied kidnapping, handjobs, choking, coercion, dacryphilia etc.

notes: see how i didnt add stalker to the front of his name? i genuinely think he would stalk the shit out of you and it doesnt need to be an au, lol.

in all seriousness, i hope you enjoy it. i'm getting back into the swing of things... probably a bit ooc and doesnt follow the game lore (too much, that is).

im uploading this while sick, so i apologize for any mispellings/mistakes/etc.

please let me know what you think!

stalker sylus who cannot, at first much to his dismay, keep his eyes off of you.

everywhere you go, every time you think you have a sliver of privacy: he's always watching. whether its mephisto or one of the twins, he needs to know what you're doing at all times. taking note of what stores you visit, what time you usually come home, who you talk to. it becomes an urge he cant quite satisfy.

at first, he only watched out of boredom. yea sure, he needed you alive, so keeping note of your location was just another one of his duties. someone as naive and reckless as yourself was bound to get into trouble.

but gradually it gets worse.

"where are you off to now, kitten?" mumbling to himself, the man swipes across his phone screen, watching surveillance cameras with a bated breath as you walked home. your figure was a bit blurry, but that didn’t stop sylus as he watched intently. it was nothing truly unusual. around this time, you'd be already cozied up in bed, but it seems like work made you stay overtime tonight. "idiots.." sylus's brow furrowed slightly at the thought of you overworking yourself.

before you, he didn't care much for romance. friendship, trivial things: he thought those were what made a person weak.

but now?

every little thing you do drives him mad. the way you carefully fold your clothes after finishing your laundry to make sure your room stays clean. how you always greet the cashier at the nearby convenience store with a smile, thanking them for bagging your items. how long you take a shower for, which coffee shop is your favorite, even down to the type of shampoo and conditioner you use daily: sylus had it all down to a science. he practically knew everything about you.

even then, a question still rang through his mind. why would you waste your time with all of these other men?

he knew about that strange doctor who's gaze lingered on yours a little too long for his liking. sylus felt his fist clench when he would watch you talk to that painter too, jaw clenching in annoyance when he would see you walk home or to work with that blonde boy.

he shook his head, trying to snap out of his own thoughts. this wasn't about them. right now, this was about you.

it was another evening with you winding down after a long day of work. a tired sigh leaves your lips, and sylus’s cock throbs watching you undress as you slowly slip off your shirt. was it normal to be staring at another man like this? watching from cameras could only do so much, so this time, the villain found himself on a roof adjacent to your window. thankfully, you were too stupid a majority of the time to close the blinds, so he had a nice view of your nightly routine.

...which was mostly boring to watch, if he's being honest. you walked around shirtless for a moment, putting away your work gear and leaving your shoes by the door. it was a whole lot of nothing for a good 15 minutes, leaving sylus to rethink his choices for the night.

sitting on the cold bricks of the adjacent roof, he couldn't help feeling just a tinge of shame. "how pathetic, watching afar like some sort of pervert. i should just go in there and.." he scoffed, eyes narrowing in what seemed to be.. annoyance? the leader of onychinus hated chasing his prey like some sort of weakling. he was better than this. he deserved to have you in his arms, no matter what you thought or said.

however, his words abruptly came to a stop when your fingers trailed to the hem of your pants.

dark red eyes stared deeply at your hands as they softly pushed at the fabric of your boxers. languid fingertips played with the fabric, yawning as your thumbs hooked against the waistband and began to pull. further and further, pulling ever so slightly to show off a bit of your happy trail, the base of your cock threatening to peek for unwanted visitors to gawk at. sylus could feel himself leaning closer, the distance between the roof and your window suffocating as more of your skin was exposed.

almost, that is, before an imaginary light bulb in your head went off and you quickly took your hands out of your pants. "shit, i forgot to pick up dinner on my way home. i should do that now before i go to bed," you thought to yourself, whisking away from the window and grabbing a plain shirt to throw on. reaching for your keys and wallet, you opened the door and left your apartment as usual, unbeknownst of the dangerous man watching your every step.

sylus's own hands were nearly trembling. the ache and tent in his pants didn't help either, feverishly getting up and following you as you made your way into linkon city. he didn't have to ask mephisto or the twins to follow you - thankfully, the rooftops gave sylus a clear view of the streets below, and he could spot you out from anywhere. the man didnt bother to speed up either, knowing which store you were going to (you were very predictable, after all).

he also knew that there's a convenient dark alleyway just before you would turn the corner to go to the establishment. unfortunately, this vital piece of information slipped your mind, leaving you completely unaware and unguarded as rough hands yanked you into the darkness.

"mmph-!" you tried to scream, the hand covering your mouth muffling your pleas. even though you worked out and were pretty fit because of your hunter lifestyle, your strength was nothing compared to the man hovering above you, wriggling to no avail.

"shh, kitten. you wouldn't want anyone to hear us, would you?" the older man mocked, relishing in the fear and befuddlement in your eyes. it took a second for you to process that the other man was none other than sylus himself, smirking as you squirmed in his grasp. red eyes bore into yours, filing you with fear that rose every second. why did he have you pinned in some dirty alleyway like a thief? surely it wasn't money he was after.

the leader moved his hand from his mouth to your neck, holding you in place as you gasped for air. "s-sylus? what are you doing here?!" crying out, your body couldn't struggle anymore, so you opted for your hands gripping his wrist and trying to pull it off of your neck. "what does it look like im doing?" he scoffed, leaning in close to your ear.

"im here to see you, of course."

brow furrowing, you looked at him in confusion as you took in your surroundings. "a dark, dingy alleyway?" you thought aloud, looking him up and down. sylus fixed his posture as he looked down at you, your size difference becoming more obvious by the second. "oh, did you want me to come and knock on your door instead? i apologize, sweetie. you should've told me you wanted the big bad leader of onychinus inside your little headquarters." his grin infuriated you as you rolled your eyes.

before you could think of a clever rebuttal, sylus wedged his knee in between your legs, parting them open as his thigh pressed against your crotch. "i-i dont.." you muttered, voice raising in pitch to pair with your nervousness as he kissed your neck. he didn't bother answering your silly questions, simply smiling before biting into your shoulder. you hissed in pain, trying to push him off even more than before.

"you don't what, love?" his voice isn't serious at all for the situation you're in. cold skilled hands fiddled with your zipper, freezing for just a moment before gripping onto your girth. the sensation made you cry out again, unable to hide your face from your attacker, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. sylus coo'ed at your feeble attempts to push him away, unbuttoning and pulling out his own cock to hold against yours.

looking down, the size comparison of his cock against yours made your face feel warm. ""aww, look at you sweetie. you're all bark but no bite." the older man laughed again, fingertip circling the head of your cock as he teased you. you loathed the way you shuddered at his snide remarks, the sound of the bustling city just feet away making you panic again.

you raised your voice, "sylus, this isn't funny anymore, seriously! cut it out!".

the wordless tension spoke volumes.

sylus didn't laugh or comment on your refusal. instead, his grip on your neck only grew tighter, choking you against the wall as his other hand started to make a fist around both of your cocks. "do you see me laughing?" his tone was firm as he squeezed harder on your throat. you couldn't say anything back, choking out a sob as he slowly began to jerk you both off together, a low moan slipping from his lips.

"ive wanted this for so long, kitten. so fucking long." muttering, he continued to grind his hips against yours, the unwanted pleasure making your head spin. "i've had enough watching from afar. i think its finally time i get what i want, right?" he kissed the tip of your ear, toying with the cartilage between his teeth.

unable to believe what was happening, you could only cry out more strings of "please", "stop", "no": all music to sylus's ears. "you don't really want me to stop, right? look at how much your cock is leaking onto mine.." he chuckled lowly again, grabbing the back of your neck to force your gaze downwards.

he wasn't wrong, either - dribbling precum and throbbing the entire session, your dick looked just as eager as sylus's, twitching with every flick of his wrist. it wasn't your fault that sylus was way more experienced compared to you. whining, you shook your head again, trying to close your eyes shut so you wouldn't remember any of this. the outside world was so dangerously close, and anyone could catch you two at any moment. how disgraceful it would be: a well known hunter being caught rubbing cocks with the renowned leader of onychinus. you frowned at the thought, whimpering as sylus went back to kissing your bruised neck.

"you could come with me, yknow. back to the n109 zone, i'd take such good care of you." sylus whispered as he felt himself inch closer to his own release, hand pumping furiously between you two. hot tears streamed down your cheeks, your brain awry with the overwhelming sensations of pleasure and pain. "you could have anything you wanted. you wouldn't have to work another day in your life." he groaned, balls tightening at the thought of his own perverse fantasy, imagining you kept in his bedroom all day just for him to use.

"d-don't, sylus please -" you hiccuped, forehead resting on sylus shoulder as he toyed with you. "im gonna cum," sobbing as you held onto his biceps, not wanting to sink any further against the dirty alleyway wall. with so much teasing and dirty whispers from the other, you couldn't think straight, practically panting in sylus's ear as his hands jerked you both off closer and closer.

growling, sylus slotted his lips against yours, a surprisingly gentle kiss before muttering under his breath. "be a good boy and cum for me then," using your fluids as lube, the squelch of his tight fist jerking off your cock made you spill. moaning loudly, your nails dug into his arm as thick ropes of semen poured out, mixing with his load that came seconds after.

silence filled the space between both of you as you tried to catch your breath. your eyelids felt heavy, leaning onto sylus for full support as he rubbed your back. you couldn't quite process what just happened, brain feeling much too fuzzy for any thinking right now.

perhaps it was a mix of exhaustion from your normal workday and your encounter that made you pass out on the older man's shoulder. nonetheless, he was not going to let this opportunity go to waste. pressing onto the comms headpiece in his ear, sylus spoke as quietly as he could not to disturb you.

"luke, kieran, bring one of the cars to my location. i have a little kitten coming home with me today."

#sylus x male reader #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace x male reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x m!reader #sylus x m!reader #male reader #m!reader #mlm blog #male reader blog #my fics..#x male reader #lads sylus #lads x reader #lads x male reader

603 notes · View notes

rynwritesreid · 6 months ago

Text

Feel so close| Spencer Reid

A/N: if anyone has any good ideas for angst or fluff, or wants to send some requests through. Please do. I obviously love all of your smut requests (i truly do) but I would also love some angst and fluff ones (heavy on the angst ones).

Summary: It’s yours and Spencer’s wedding night and you want to give him what he has always wanted.

Content: Fem!reader. Fluff. Smut. 18+ MDNI. Oral (r!receiving). Creampie. P in V. Slight dom/sub undertones. Breeding kink. Very fluff filled sex I won’t lie. Porn with a plot.

Masterlist| requests are open| Navigation

Spencer was so close to living his dream life, and he could not be any happier. He had just seen his dream girl walk down the aisle to become Mrs Reid. And while he couldn’t be any happier, there was one thing, or really rather a few things, missing that would make his life perfect.

As he watched the last of the guests fade away, he couldn’t wait to take you to your shared hotel room. He couldn’t stop staring at you, knowing that tonight was the beginning of your forever together.

As you both entered the elegant suite, Spencer couldn’t get enough of how you looked in your wedding dress, but he also couldn’t wait to get it off you.

His hands trembled with anticipation as he reached out to caress the delicate lace adorning your shoulder. The room was aglow with the soft light of a dozen candles, casting flickering shadows across your face.

He leaned in to press a tender kiss against your lips, savouring the sweetness of the moment. “I love you Mrs Reid.” Spencer whispered, his voice filled with love and adoration. You smiled back at him, feeling a rush of warmth and happiness in your chest.

“I love you more, Dr Reid.” You whispered back, your voice barely above a breath.

His heart swelled with joy at your words, feeling like the luckiest man alive. He gently lifted you into his arms, carrying you towards the luxurious four-poster bed adorned with rose petals.

“You know there is only one thing right now that could make me even happier.” Spencer grinned mischievously as he lowered you onto the soft mattress, the petals fluttering around you like a fragrant snowfall. His eyes sparkled with desire as he leaned into whisper in your ear.

"What's that?" you asked, your voice laced with anticipation, your heart pounding with excitement at the prospect of what was to come.

“If you were to become pregnant with my child.” Spencer gently confessed; his voice filled with hope.

“I’m sure we can make that happen, Spencer.” You whispered back, a playful glint in your eyes. “I know you have always wanted to be a dad.”

Spencer's face lit up with pure happiness at your words, his heart overflowing with love for you. Without wasting another moment, he captured your lips in a passionate kiss, letting all his emotions pour into the moment.

Spencer carefully started to undress you, his movements slow and reverent as if unwrapping a precious gift. The air was thick with desire and anticipation as he leaned in to kiss every inch of your exposed skin, worshipping you like a devoted lover.

“You are officially my pretty girl now.” Spencer murmured against your skin; his hand was placed on your stomach “I can’t wait to see carrying my child.”

With a loving smile, you traced your fingers along his jawline, savouring the moment. “And I can’t wait to start a family with you, Spencer,” you whispered, feeling like the luckiest woman in the world to have him by your side.

Once your dress had come completely off, Spencer couldn’t take his eyes of your white lingerie that hugged your curves in all the right places. Desire burned in his eyes as he slowly removed his own clothes, every movement deliberate and filled with longing.

In that moment, nothing else existed for Spencer except for you, the woman who held his heart in her hands. As he kissed you with a hunger that spoke of all the love and passion he felt.

Spencer slowly started kissing his way down your body, leaving no part of you neglected. His mouth was tender and passionate as he explored every inch, savouring each taste and touch. You laid there, feeling like the most desired woman in the world, your body responding to his every move.

His hands traced delicate patterns over your skin, sending ripples of desire through you. His lips then lingered at the base of your neck, and you could feel the heat from his breath. It was a gentle yet powerful affirmation of his deep love for you.

Your breathing became shallow and quick as Spencer continued his exploration, and you found yourself arching your back, inviting him closer. He seemed to sense your need and desire, and his own lustrous eyes betrayed the intensity of his own cravings.

When his lips finally reached the most intimate part of your body, a soft gasp escaped your lips. His touch was gentle yet so powerful in its ability to awaken you, and you knew that no one else could make you feel this way.

As his lips continued to lavish attention upon you, your entire body seemed to come alive with electricity, every nerve ending firing in response to his tender caresses.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, and whispered, "Spencer, I need you inside me more than ever. I want to feel you, I want to feel you complete me." Your voice trembled with desire as you spoke.

Spencer looked into your eyes, his love for you a fiery catalyst. He positioned himself over you, the anticipation making his heart race with excitement. With a deep breath, he slowly entered you, the feeling of the warmth and tightness of your body around him, unparalleled.

He slowly began to move, his rhythm in perfect harmony with the pulse of your body, matching the rhythm of your breath as his love for you grew with every stroke.

Spencer once again placed his hand on your lower stomach, he knew realistically he couldn’t feel himself, but he cherished every moment, every sensation, every feeling of being deep within you. He kissed you gently, passionately, and whispered soft encouragement, "It won't be long before I can feel you carrying my child."

Your breaths became more ragged, you wanted nothing more than to make Spencer a dad, to let everyone know you belonged to him. And so, you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper inside you, increasing the intensity of the moment.

Spencer's eyes locked with yours, the love and desire in them impossible to resist. He moved faster, his pace becoming more urgent, as he sought to fulfil your shared dream. Your bodies moved in perfect sync.

Every muscle in your body tightened in response to his touch, as your climax drew closer with each thrust, a primal urge to merge with him and create new life together overwhelmed you.

Spencer wasn’t far from his own release. His heart was pounding in his chest, and a sense of awe and gratitude washed over him as he felt himself getting closer.

With one final thrust, Spencer cried out your name, his pleasure mingling with the tenderness of the moment. His heart overflowed with love and gratitude.

He collapsed onto you, his breath ragged and his heart pounding in your ears. You held onto him, feeling the pulse of his heart against the warmth of your skin, and a bond stronger than any connection you'd ever known.

~Join my taglist~

~Taglist~

@iluvreid @nomajdetective @drspencieee @katieeeee314 @evvy96 @oliviah-25 @starkid024 @emalynvtgtgfhvgg @krokietino @xohoneybun @spencerreidwifeee @purplepistachi0 @pleasantwitchgarden @bitchassbecky691 @piperb400 @queermaxwooo @gemofthenight @anna-belle-xd @catsareawesomek @drreidsfavwhxre @oureternalbond @beth-gallagher22 @keiva1000 @k3nzxx @lookingforgodintheclouds @firstunmannedflyingdeskset @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @r-3dlips @keiva1000 @peppersapro @just-a-harmless-patato @spenxerslut @skulliecadaver-blog @svnfully @reidsgirlhottie @amethysssssst @bluepuppethidinginafilingcabinet @lover-of-books-and-tea @Indigosamsblog @khxna @jem08 @ladylincoln @khxna @Kimm4710 @karenfrancoespinosa-blog @Ltscar9 @niktwazny303 @sleepysongbirdsings @st4rdusks @roowse @spicyspirit @etanordoesbullsh1t @reidsbiitch @ofagathachristies @hiireadstuff @18lkpeters @mgg123sr

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut #dom spencer reid #sub reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine

856 notes · View notes

xvysarene · 2 months ago

Text

𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝔻𝕖𝕖𝕕

Pairing: Sylus x Fem!Reader Prompt: “You’re pretty good at running away.” Words: ~2.8k Genre: Eventual fluff A/N: In a writing slump and kinda dislike how this one turns out but oh wells

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

“Marry me,” you had said.

Those two words—whether they were your saving grace or the beginning of your damnation, you weren’t sure.

Then, he surprised you when he said, “Okay.”

Nothing more and nothing less.

It almost felt like he had anticipated your arrival, barreling your way into the base upon learning of your father’s, one of Onychinus’s highest-ranking partners’, demise.

Seeing your stupefied expression, he nonchalantly shrugged. “It’s a practical solution to an unfortunate situation.”

That wasn’t your first time meeting Sylus, and you’d be far too naïve to think he would ever do anything for free. Every favour, every exchange, came with an unspoken contract—an inevitable quid pro quo.

But it was a choice between marrying him or being eaten alive in the N109 Zone.

“Although, I must ask—have you truly thought this through?” Sylus inquired, his gaze sharp.

There was a reason why you chose to move to Goldwood City once you had the chance; far away from the lawless land to start anew, free from the shadow of your father’s association.

As if the death of your mother caused by his recklessness years ago wasn’t enough, the old man had to pull you back into the very world you had succeeded to leave behind.

Staying away was a luxury you no longer had with your old man’s enemies haunting you.

Head held high, you met his gaze directly. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure of my choice.”

Oh, little did you know, that your return to the N109 Zone as Onychinus’s leader’s wife, would mean putting your heart on the line as well.

Perhaps it all started that one evening, when a nightmare jolted you awake, haunting you with the vision of your mother’s lifeless eyes and being captured by the people your father had entangled himself with.

Without even realising it, you were already standing at Sylus’s doorway.

“Why?” he questioned when you asked if you could stay the night in his. “Something wrong with your room?”

Indeed, he offered you your own space even though you were legally husband and wife now. It had been a relief at first, a perfect arrangement, until the nightmares escalated.

“It just feels too quiet tonight,” you lied, unready to fully bare your soul.

Sylus finally looked up from the papers he’d been reading, one eyebrow arched. “Not used to being alone at night back in Goldwood?”

Your face flushed at the implication. Just as you opened your mouth to deny it, something in his expression shifted.

It was so fleeting and subtle that you weren’t even sure if you had imagined it.

He raised a hand, halting your reply. “Actually, never mind about it.”

When he simply returned to his papers, offering no clear sign of whether you were welcome, you frowned.

You were about to take your bruised pride back to your room when you heard him let out a resigned sigh. “Are you coming or no? You’re letting the draft in,” he said, pulling back the duvet on the vacant side, inviting you to settle in.

His acceptance was surprising, but you quickly climbed into bed before he could change his mind, feeling a surge of relief and security with him close by.

If you were too close for comfort, he didn’t mention it.

Sylus was so warm that you shuddered from the sudden temperature change. The base, with its perpetual chill, was a stark contrast to his body heat.

“What are you reading?”

“Mundane proposals,” he muttered, tone laced with boredom as his eyes skimmed the pages in front of him.

With your interest piqued, you scooted even closer, your hair slightly brushing his arm. “Anything I should know about?”

When you told him that you wouldn’t settle for being a trophy wife, he offered you an administrative position in Onychinus, which you happily accepted.

“I feel that these are better off in the trash.”

A small chuckle escaped you, drawing Sylus’s attention. He cast a glance downward, amused by your reaction.

That somewhat prompted him to give a brief outline of the proposal, perhaps to get him through it too. And he was right, it was so dull that you felt your eyes fluttering closed, lulled by the deep timbre of his voice.

“—heard that the twins take good care of you.”

“Hm?” You peeked one of your eyes open, though it was futile as it soon closed again.

Whenever he was away, Luke or Kieran—often both—were always by your side, becoming more than just your guards; they were your mentors, teaching you the complexities of Onychinus’s operations, and they were slowly becoming your…

Friends. A foreign term to you.

Friendship had never been something you could afford, not with the constant paranoia of trusting the wrong person, no thanks to your father.

In your drowsy state, you remembered mumbling, “I feel at ease when I’m with them.”

“At ease, huh? That’s a rare concept around here.” Sylus’s voice cut through the fog of your drowsiness.

Your mind, still wrapped in the haze of sleep, seemed to speak for itself. “You also make me feel more comfortable than I expected.”

Looking back, you laughed mirthlessly at your own stupidness. Where was that defense mechanism you had sworn was ingrained within you?

You knew better than to allow yourself to be vulnerable, to let someone slip past your guard easily in such a short span of time.

Especially someone like Sylus—a man cloaked in power, whose intentions were always enigmatic.

“You’re pretty good at running away.” The voice, carried by the wind, reached your ears. “Pretty good, but not the best.”

“Here to claim your bargaining tool back?”

His footsteps stopped a few paces away from you. Refusing to meet his gaze, you remained looking ahead. The once vibrant colours of sunset faded into darkness, as if the sky itself mirrored the ache seeping deep inside your soul.

Sylus let out a deep sigh. “How much did you know?”

A few days ago, while you were sorting through Onychinus’s papers, you stumbled upon an old, yellowed document hidden deep on a neglected shelf, seemingly placed there to remain undiscovered.

As you read through the faded ink—an exchange made between your father and Sylus a long time ago, marked with their signs and bloodied fingerprints—it felt as though you heard your old man laughing from his grave, determined to terrorise you even in death.

That bastard had sold you to Sylus, bartering your life for a sliver of power within the N109 Zone.

“Did you have fun watching me pathetically beg you to marry me? Knowing all along that you’ve owned me anyway?”

The memory of his calmness that day burned in the back of your mind. Your intuition was right after all, he had anticipated you coming to him.

And if you were honest with yourself, it wasn't even your father you were so angry with—you’d always known what a monster he was.

No, what burned like a hot iron in your chest was the sense of betrayal, the sting of disappointment aimed squarely at Sylus.

How could you have been so blind, so gullible to believe that this man could be anything more than another player in your father’s ruthless game?

“I asked you that day if it was what you truly wanted,” he calmly said, “I never forced you to marry me.”

You bristled. He was right, of course.

“But you would make sure that one way or another, you would claim me as your possession, wouldn't you? Even from the moment we first met,” you spat.

It was a few years ago when you were first introduced to Sylus. Your mother had begged you to accompany her to a function, and how could you refuse when the guilt of leaving her in the N109 Zone with your father still weighed heavily on you?

For whatever reason you couldn’t understand, she had refused to move in with you.

The function was a blur of faces and conversations that made your head spin, the air thick with the aroma of expensive cigars and the tang of power.

You felt out of place, an outsider in a world that had once been your cage.

“Darling, I want you to meet someone.” Your mother’s tone was a strange mixture of joy and nervousness. She gently took your arm and guided you through the crowd until you stood before a tall figure, his presence commanding.

“This is Sylus, the leader of Onychinus,” she introduced. “He’s agreed to work with your father on some very important matters.”

You blinked in surprise. Somehow, you expected the leader of the most prominent organisation to be someone closer to your father’s age, but he was only a couple of years older than you.

Sylus’s features were sharp and striking, though it was his eyes that held you captive. They were intense, piercing, as if he could see right through you.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Y/N,” Sylus greeted. He took your hand in his, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your knuckles.

Your mother’s keen eyes noticed the crimson that spread across your cheeks, her lips pursing to contain a smile.

“Oh, Sylus, no need for such formalities,” she said lightly, elbowing you to greet him back.

You tried to compose yourself, but his unexpected charm and the way he looked at you left you flustered. “I—uh, nice to meet you too," you managed to stammer.

“Your mother speaks highly of you,” his low voice sent tingling sensation on your insides.

The soft rustle of grass as Sylus settled beside you made your skin prickle. Stupidly, you still craved his closeness.

The nightmares had ceased when you began staying in his bedroom altogether, finding security in the steady rhythm of his breathing beside you. But since fleeing the base, they returned relentlessly, creeping back each time you managed to get a shut eye.

He stretched out his long legs, the fabric of his jacket brushing against you slightly, his gaze fixed on the distant city lights glimmering on the horizon.

“I didn't want you to find out like this,” he finally said, voice low and measured, as if he had carefully chosen each word.

“Then enlighten me, Sylus, what was your grand plan? To control me? To tame me into the docile wife you always wanted me to be?”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek black box, pressing it into your hands. “This will explain better than any of my words.”

Slowly, you opened the latch, revealing a collection of emblems—some new, some tarnished—from various N109 Zone fractions. Resting on top of the seals was a folded envelope, its edges frayed.

Sylus nodded towards it, urging you to read the letter inside. As you unfolded the paper, the familiar handwriting of your mother’s came into view, despite the hurried and uneven scrawl.

What I could not say, his deeds will show. Have faith in him.

“Your mother approached me before the agreement with your father was finalised.” Sylus’s expression was unreadable. “She wanted me to protect you. From your father, and from anyone that might harm you.”

As the dots began to connect inside your spinning head, the realisation dawned. “And that’s why you asked for me in return? Why didn’t you tell me this when I first came to you?”

“Keeping you near would make it easier for me to ensure your safety, at least until I could handle all of your father’s enemies.” He shot you a sideways glance. “Do you think we’d be here now if I had laid it all out for you from the start?”

You both knew that if he had, you would have likely flipped him off and done everything in your power to escape his presence.

The cold metal emblems bit into your palm as you examined them, each one representing what had once been a looming threat. A deep understanding shifted your perspective entirely; this was what Sylus had been occupied with during the days he left you in the care of Luke and Kieran.

He had been thoroughly hunting down your father’s enemies, your nightmare, to ensure that you could finally be free from them.

It wasn’t his incompetence that had kept him from finding you days after your escape. No, he had been securing the final pieces of your freedom.

“What did you ask from my mother then? There must have been something you got, that’s how you grant wishes.”

Sylus gave a soft huff, as if he was on the verge of a chuckle, and shook his head. “Contrary to popular belief, I do grant wishes without expecting anything back.”

Your eyes flicked to him in surprise as he continued, “Nothing. I asked for nothing in return. Your mother earned my respect, and that was enough.”

Everyone understood that dealing with Sylus was a risk, a gamble that could even cost you your life.

Studying him intently, you searched for any trace of deception, but all you discovered was a grave sincerity. His eyes were unnervingly tender when he watched the shock painting your face.

“I’ve kept my promise to your mother. You're a free woman now, free to do whatever you want.” Sylus broke eye contact then, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he added, “We can also get a divorce.”

A divorce.

The word set something unsettling that clawed at your insides, sinking deep into your core, and catching you completely off guard.

For a moment, your mind replayed the way his intense red eyes met yours with kindness, to his touch that held a tenderness that couldn't be faked, and the subtle ways he had shown his care for nearly half a year now.

You hugged your knees tighter, the cold ground beneath you contrasting sharply with the warmth of your memories. “Is that what you want? For us to go separate ways?”

“What I want,” he began slowly, “never matters. This has always been about you. Your choice.”

A second passed, then ten, before you quietly whispered, “What if I choose to stay with you then?”

It was as if a wall had been erected again.

“You are not thinking with your head right now, but with your heart. You trusted me because you saw me as your only lifeline.” His voice was rough, edged with frustration.

“But what if underneath the leader of Onychinus, underneath the man that everyone fears, is the one I want to stay with, the one I feel at ease with? Not because of my father’s shadows nor his enemies.”

Sylus breath hitched, a sudden tension rippling through his frame as he struggled to keep his composure. “You don’t know me.”

His voice carried a warning, attempting to push you away, but you stood your ground.

In that moment, you understood why he often held himself back, creating distance whenever he found himself growing too close.

He was afraid of caring for you beyond what he thought his promise to your mother allowed, struggling to maintain the balance between his feelings and his commitment, fearing that crossing that line would mean violating his duty.

“Then show me.” You moved closer, invading his personal space. “Show me what’s behind all this.”

With resolve burning in your eyes, you cupped his face and leaned in. Your lips sought his, praying you hadn't misread him all this time.

That you wanted the warmth and tenderness you’d glimpsed in fleeting moments to be real and not just a reflection of your own desires.

For a breathless moment, he remained still. Then, something in him seemed to break, a crack in his armour. Strong, corded arms slid around you, pulling you closer until you both tumbled back onto the grass, entwined.

His hand brushed the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as his lips pressed into yours with a ravenous need.

It was a kind of kiss that laid bare the truth, shattered every wall, and left you panting for air.

Your breaths intermingled when you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. There was a vulnerable openness in there, a look concealed beneath the hardened exterior.

“You never read my mother’s letter, did you?” you suddenly asked him.

Confusion flickered in his eyes, his brows knitting together as he shook his head. With trembling fingers, you retrieved the letter from the box and held it up between you.

The dim light from the horizon cast soft shadows on the small message scribbled on the bottom of the paper.

Sylus’s eyes traced the words, his gaze shifting from the letter to your face as the message slowly registered.

Sylus—remember that you, too, deserve love just as much as she does.

It was as though your mother had not only seen the heart within him, but had also foreseen what he had struggled to admit.

With a gentle touch, your thumb brushed against his cheek, lips featherlight as it brushed against his once more. “Take me home, Sy.”

⤷ ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST

#ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐱𝐞𝐩𝐡'𝐬 writing nook #love and deepspace #lads #l&ds #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x y/n #love and deepspace x you #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x y/n #sylus x you #fluff

529 notes · View notes

sweetpascal · 9 months ago

Text

" someplace nice "

summary: when simon finally comes back home from deployment, he makes sure he spoils you in the best way possible. *wink wink*

warnings: cursing, teasing touches, husband!simon needs a warning of its own UGH, filthy car sex, messy pussy eating, wet noises, missonaryyy, filthy nasty dirty talk, we already know simon has the mouth of a sailor hehe

wc: 2.8k

notes: first of all, i wanna give a big big big shoutout to @suimon because without her AMAZING FUCKING PHENOMENAL works of art, i wouldn't have gotten out of my writing funk and they truly have inspired me 🫶🏼 second of all, i was on twitter and came across this spicy video and it basically helped me create whatever this is 😭 enjoy !

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

it wasn’t that you didn’t want to go out tonight. in fact, you’re ecstatic to go out with your husband. it’s only been two days since simon has been back from being deployed for almost one month. he had spent the two days sleeping and getting up to eat when it’s necessary, only to go back to sleeping. you didn’t care about that. you were just happy that he was back home. safe. alive. on the third day, he surprises you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers.

“we’re going out t’night,” he tells you, eyes all soft with a barely there smile on his lips when you go nose deep into the flowers and sniffing deeply with a pleased smile on your face. “i won’t tell you where. but it’s gonna be a nice place.”

that night, you got ready with nervous butterflies bubbling in the pit of your stomach. it had been so long since you and simon have been out on a date night. with his deployments and your full-time job, having time for yourselves, let alone as a couple was a rarity these days.

you sprayed yourself with simon’s favorite perfume of yours and did a once over in the mirror. your hair looked beautiful, your makeup was on point, your outfit wasn’t too flashy nor too casual - it was a body hugging dress with thin straps and tasteful cleavage and some wedged heels. as you walked downstairs, you saw simon waiting for you at the bottom with his keys in hand. he was dressed so nicely and the color of his dress shirt matched your dress. with tight fitting slacks and his ‘going out’ boots, you knew you’d be staring at him all night long. your cheeks warmed when you caught his gaze. his lips had parted and you could’ve sworn his eyes sparkled. although your heels added a few inches to your height, it was still nothing compared to simon. he still stood above you, two and a half heads taller.

“so.. how do i look?”

he didn’t like how hesitant you sounded. with a slow step forward, his finger hooked under your chin to lift your head up. god, the smell of him was mouth watering. you’re on your ovulating schedule so his natural musk combined with his cologne was like sinking your teeth into the tenderest meat there is. you nearly moaned. nearly.

“you look.. almost as beautiful as the day i met you,” he told you, so genuine, so soft, and so in love.

“almost?” you giggled and caught him off guard by pulling him down and clumsily kissing his chin instead of his lips.

“mhm,” he grumbled and led the way outside to his suv.

dinner went smoothly. simon had taken you both to a nice little italian restaurant downtown. it was the perfect place for a romantic night. the tables were dimly lit with candles and fresh flowers. he did everything a gentleman should do. pulling your chair out, knowing your favorite dish and ordering it for you, getting you your own dessert, paying. but the night still had a salacious vibe to it. for some reason, simon just couldn’t keep his hands to himself. his hand kept brushing up on your thigh, subtly hiking your dress up to feel your skin under his fingertips. you had to quietly scold him as the restaurant was nowhere near empty and your table wasn’t secluded from wandering eyes.

“can’t help it,” he told you in your ear, his voice all low and gruff and husky in a way that always had you tingling. “my wife s’just so fuckin’ gorgeous to look at.” and with that, he left a warm kiss under your earlobe, knowing exactly that was the spot he knew makes you whimper. and you did. only loud enough for him to her.

during the car ride home, it began to rain. it was damn near impossible to drive with the way the rain pelted hard and fast onto the windshield and roof. simon cursed under his breath, the hand resting on your thigh tightening for a brief second. you swallowed down a soft moan as it got lodged in the back of your throat. but simon, having the ears of a true soldier, heard it. he fucking hears everything. you hated and loved it simultaneously.

breaking free from your thoughts, the car swerves to the side to go down an empty road leading to an abandoned part. it was the only place farthest from town. no busy streets. no houses. no stores. it was deserted.

“si?” you were getting confused when he put the car into park and turned the ignition off. he turns on the top light and then turns to you. you expected him to give you a kiss with how he’s leaning over the console, but instead he reaches under your passenger seat, pulls the lever, and forcefully slides your seat further back so it puts a big amount of space between you and the dashboard. “simon?!”

“gimme a minute,” was all he says before getting out of the car and getting wet from the rain.

the door slams shut and you’re twisting and turning in your seat. it was pitch black outside with no streetlights, no house lights, no nothing. your side door is yanked open and simon hops in, slamming it shut and locking it after. he’s on his knees in front of you in the passenger side as you’re still in the seat, dumbfounded. he starts to unbutton his dress shirt as he stares down at you. the dim light in the car casts shadows on his face and he looks so fucking good.

your breathing starts picking up as he kneels before you shirtless. he then starts to unstrap your wedged heels, carelessly throwing them into the backseat. you finally let out a moan when he grabs your hips and forces you to slide down your seat and your thighs fall open.

“fuck, you smell so good,” simon grunts and buries his face between your thighs to mouth and nose at your covered cunt. he licks and sucks through the fabric, further getting it wet with his saliva. “taste like fuckin’ heaven.” he’s quick to slide your panties down and hoists your dress up to pool around your hips, fully exposing your bare cunt to his eyes and his eyes only.

“s-simon,” you whimper softly, eyebrows drawn and lips parted. the ache in your core began to hurt. your hips bucked and your thighs twitched. you didn’t know what you wanted. his hot, messy tongue. his long, powerful fingers. or his thick, hard cock. all you can utter is, “please.” please, anything.

immediately, he bows his head and licks a hot stripe from asshole to clit. he focuses more on your clit. he widens his tongue and uses his big hands to hook underneath your knees to press them into your chest. the wet slurps and hot puffs of air all over your messy pussy has you keening with uncontrollable twitches.

“ooh fuck, fuck, oh my god!” you grab onto his wide wrists, manicured nails digging into the skin for some stability. “fuck me. please, fuck me!”

when your voice gets all high pitched and whiny, simon knows it’s go-time. with one hand reaching down to expertly unbutton and slide down his slacks, he uses his other hand to spread your thighs open. your right foot rests on the window ledge. with the dim lighting and the rain pattering on the car roof, everything about this was romantic. simon lowers his head and gives your lips messy, hard kisses. all tongue. all teeth. heavy breathing and hushed moans. you tasted your slick and a hint of wine on his tongue. if that wasn’t the perfect combination, you didn’t know what was.

“you ready f’me?” his voice is so gruff and thick with lust. he taps the head of his leaking cock on your messy cunt. the lewd noises made you want to cover your face from embarrassment of how wet you are. “hm? ‘s this little cunt ready f’me to fuck her?” god, the things he says would be enough to make a deaf nun cry. but you didn’t care. you ached for him, everywhere.

“plea-please, si,” you weakly whimpered. your body was on fire and you were close to tears. wetness made your lashes clump and you sniffled softly. “need you. need it bad. need you.”

he tuts. he actually tuts. and the condescending smile he sends you makes you all the more embarrassed as your cunt leaked even more slick. “poor angel,” he croons and grins wolfishly. “poor, poor baby.”

and then finally, finally, he dips the head inside your pathetic little hole. and inch by inch, he slides in and then slides back out. he slides in again a little more and slides out again. the teasing torture was enough to make you start crying. simon’s arms wrapped around your trembling frame and he allows you to bury your face in his bare shoulders. you’re hugging his big, beefy body to yourself, your hands desperately holding onto his sides.

“i-i can’t ta-take it! fuck me, please, please, simon, please.” you’re babbling incoherently, sobbing softly into his skin and curling your toes as he grinds his cock up and down your cunt before finally sliding all the way in.

“there we go,” he coos in your ear. “there’s my girl.”

almost instantly, the sobbing stops and is replaced with garbled moans and punched gasps. your lips are open on his shoulder and drool slowly begins to seep out. you hug him closer as warmth explodes throughout your entire body from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

“‘m y’girl,” you can barely form a coherent sentence.

“that’s right,” simon huffs, now starting to work his hips faster against yours. “my good girl.”

his hips smack into yours, his thickness filling you repeatedly. over and over and over again. the lewd wet noises of your slick leaking onto his balls and maybe his thighs has your cheeks flaming up. simon pounds into you, forcing every moan out of your chest and spilling from your lips, no matter how bad you wanted to quiet them as you two were still in the car and anybody could pull up. everything felt so good. he starts speeding up his thrusts, now pounding into you at an alarming speed and causing you to scream hoarsely in the small space. and then he slows to a grinding halt.

“mm, mm, mm,” you whimpered in his shoulder, tears freely sliding down your cheeks from the excessive pleasure you're receiving with little kisses of pain.

simon hears your reaction and does it again, this time creating a rhythm. he’ll fuck into you at a high speed and then slow down. he feels your tits bouncing against his chest and the way your swollen clit is continuously bumping against his pelvis.

“yeah,” he grunts in your ear, tightening his arms around your non-stop shaking body. “fuckin’ take my fuckin’ cock.”

your eyes slowly cross as he slows again, only fucking you with deep, slow, grinding thrusts. you’re 100% sure you’re leaking onto the seat right now. you wouldn’t be surprised if you were. simon’s cock was heaven and hell. you were obsessed. addicted, even. it look a lot of practice for you to take every inch in the early stages of your relationship. he made sure to take his time training your cunt into swallowing his hardness. simon pulled up just enough to capture your lips in a hot, messy kiss. he grinds deep inside, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix deliciously. your hands desperately grasped the sides of his face, your tongue sloppily entering his mouth and circling around his.

“can’t get ‘nough of you” simon grumbles. he keeps kissing and kissing as he grinds his hips in slow, deep circles. “my wife is jus’ so fuckin’ needy, eh?” the subtle cockiness in his tone had your pussy clenching. he grins at that and pistons his hips, fast and hard and unrelenting.

“ah! ah! ah! aaah!” you squealed and scratched down his back. you’ve been on edge for however long. time was nonexistent and this was torture. you needed that final nudge. a certain thing that helped the rollercoaster of euphoria finally crash down from the tip of the hill. “n-need.. cum. need.. n-need to cu-um!” god, you probably sounded so pathetic.

simon grunts every time he delivers hard thrusts that would’ve made your entire body slide up the seat if it weren’t for his arms wrapped around you. your thighs twitched non-stop. your toes curled and repeatedly thumped against the window. clinging onto your husband, your moans start getting more high pitched and drawn out as you got closer and closer, but simon knew what you needed. he always knew what you need. he pulls back enough to direct his attention to your neglected clit, so puffy and swollen and glistening in your slick from having no attention paid to it. simon slows his hips again and grinds to a slow halt once more. his cock throbs as your walls twitched and tightened around him, eagerly sucking him deeper.

“you poor, poor girl,” he tuts, splaying a large hand over your tummy and humming pleased as he feels the bulge of his cock nestled deep inside. “jus’ need my thumb, eh?” with the first swipe, your nails dug deeper into his skin and your thighs nearly shut. and from that reaction, simon knew it was time to finally let his beautiful wife cum.

and for the last time, his hips smack against yours at a fast speed, pounding and fucking as if tonight was the end of the world and you two had to say goodbye to each other. when his thumb lays against your clit, rubbing circles at the same rhythm of his quick hips, the dam finally broke. your body forcibly arched and your head slides between the seat and the backseat window. simon forces your thighs to keep spread open and grunts into your throat as your pussy contracts around his cock. all of your moans kept spilling out - you couldn’t stop them even if you tried. it was like electricity was coursing through your body. the wave of euphoria crashed at an alarming speed and you’re sure you’re screaming, but it sounds like you’re underwater. simon was stunned, in all honesty, at how hard you came. and you just won’t stop.

“agh!” he grunts and pulls his thumb away from your overly sensitive clit. he instead wraps his arms back around your trembling body and does three good, hard thrusts before the knot tightened and tightened and he spills inside of you. he grinds deep and slow, making sure none is wasted and is settled thickly inside your womb.

heavy breathing and weak moans echo in the car. the heavy rain slowed to a gentle drizzle. your thighs couldn’t stop twitching. simon lowers his head and kisses your pulse point so very gently, humming pleased when you sign contently. he kisses the side of your face tenderly, tracing a line from your pulse, up to your soft jaw, and then your plushy cheek. your breathing finally slowed and you lift your head to look up at simon. a bead of sweat slid down his temple and you had half a mind to lick it away. the two of you look into each other’s eyes and there wasn’t a single thing that could make you look away. and there wasn’t a single thing that could ruin this moment. simon had to swallow down the lump in his throat.

“d’you realize jus’ how much i love you?” he asks you quietly, head tilting to brush his strong nose against yours. “i would go to the ends of the earth f’you.”

at this whisper of a confession, you sniffle and let out a watery laugh, a lonesome tear sliding down your cheek that is quickly wiped away by his thumb. he leans down and hovers his lips over yours. you take the last step and curl your fingers into his hair to pull him down. when your lips touched, it felt like everything disappeared at that moment. the two of kissed and kissed until you needed air. and even though, you would take gulps of air and find his lips again. his cock was still snug deep inside. even soft, he still had some length and weight to him. but you loved this. it made you feel more connected to each other. the rain had stopped completely now. you both broke your kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting. simon lightly thumbs at your lip to wipe it away.

“now, lets get you home.”

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader smut #simon ghost riley x reader smut #husband!simon

2K notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 2 months ago

Text

september love (e.m.)

eddie finds you awake on the first night he's home from the hospital, and wonders what you're thinking.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of canon ending of season 4, except eddie didn't die. mentions of hospital and medical procedures (in passing). sort of sad, sort of not. a little bit of angst? hurt/comfort. religious imagery (specific mentions of heaven).

wc: 1.7k+

an: this was just some sort of weird rambling upon seeing the poem mentioned above at like 11 pm? 1 am? who knows. time is a construct. also, reader is compared to a 'violent' dog/animal during eddie's recovery, and if you like this metaphor/vibe, then i strongly suggest and urge you to go read @myosotisa's fic Half Life. she does it far more beautifully than i ever could, and it is one of my favorite fics. ever.

Your head is on his chest.

Your temple and your ear are flush with the soft cotton of his wrinkled t-shirt, the one he insisted upon sleeping on his first night home, and it’s all you can think about. The smell of week old laundry, the stubborn linger of a cologne gifted too long ago to remember the worn name of. A steady heartbeat that still pumps along a little too slow for your liking. The rise and fall of each promised breath that you force your lungs to pace themselves with. Just enough heat radiating off of him to keep you warm, here in bed, here in the dim light of twilight as he rests.

No tubes and no IVs to worry about. No nurses barging in every ten minutes. No beeping of a dozen machines to be your symphony tonight.

No, you don’t need a machine now to keep track of his heart rate. You’ve learned to do that entirely on your own; your heart has learned how to match his with each dulled thump against the skin you cling to through this dingy old t-shirt.

It can’t be long after 3 AM, the moonlight almost as bright as a rising sun as it peeks itself in through the curtains of the window, as if whispering to check if you might still be awake.

And you are. And all you can think about, is your head on his chest.

It’s been over a month since you’ve had this type of moment with Eddie. A moment where you’re truly, sincerely, utterly alone with him. Privacy had become a delicacy that you weren’t aware of the fragility of. You hadn’t understood its importance until you had to bask in its absence, always on edge for the next body to walk into the room and take the air out of your lungs. Always anxious for the next sound of news, always worried for the next shoe to drop.

You’d forgotten what it had felt like for Eddie to twitch his fingers along your spine in his sleep, and for you to be the only witness to his quiet worship, even unconscious.

Your lips part, and you almost consider whispering hard truths into the trembling night air. There’s a million and one dying words cementing your tongue to the roof of your mouth, and you know that every single one you could even manage to utter would only make you sound like a broken record.

I’m sorry this happened to you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent it.

All things already said to him when he had been drifting in and out of consciousness in that hospital bed. All apologies already buried between muted sobs as you’d clutched his knuckles a little tighter than you should have, a little too selfish in the moment to wonder if it might be hurting him. The only thing on your mind had been keeping him, holding him, feeling him. He was alive – he was alive. And for the first seven nights of his endless rest, all you could wonder is for just how much longer that desperate prayer could ring true.

Would he leave you again? Would he lose the fight?

You can’t recall without bias which one of you had been the true wounded animal in that little room, scented with burning bleach and cacophonies of nearby patients just beyond the curtains.

Eddie, looking up at the police who had finally come once he woke, eyes big and teary as he’d tried to wrap his head around his new reality.

You, baring teeth and claws at them in the end, ready to bite hard at anyone who got too close.

It wasn’t just the police. It was everyone.

It was the same juxtaposition between the two of you at those nurses who would interrupt the nights, always frowning so dutifully at the sight of your carefully curled figure at Eddie’s side. When friends and family came to visit, and they all had the same look of disbelief. As if they were about to tell you that you had imagined it all; he hadn’t survived, he hadn’t come back to you, you were imagining it. You’d been all bark and awaiting bite towards Steve Harrington and the newly revived Jim Hopper, all the same. Their figures bore no difference to you when it came to protecting what was so holy to you. Him, Eddie, here and alive. Eddie, who slept enough for the both of you those nights. The pain in your back from all the uncomfortable hours spent in that little chair at his bedside was insignificant, all the headaches you’d endured from the smell of iodine that still clung to the air after every surgery were pitiful attempts at the Universe removing you from him.

If you could, you might try to recall your reaction when Dustin Henderson had babbled on through tears as to what had happened to Eddie when the two were left alone. His final act of heroism, or so he thought.

But you can’t. Right here, right now, you aren’t capable of living in the past. You’ve been haunted enough these last few weeks, and all your numb mind can handle is counting the beats of his heart. Like the rhythm of a song – 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4. Staccato verses that you sometimes whisper in time, getting worried when they don’t follow the infallible metronome you’ve set for him.

“You’re still awake.”

The murmur of his voice is a drink of cold water, startling in the dark greys and blues wrapping the two of you up.

You lift your head ever so slightly against your better judgment, “Go back to sleep, love.”

“Touche.”

You can see his grin even through the shadows. It’s weak, not yet quite as vibrant as it once had been, but it’s there. He’s still alive. He’s still grinning.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” The pads of his fingertips are more intentional against your spine now, longer strokes and mindless shapes, “I’ve got a penny in my pocket if you tell me.”

His words are only slightly slurred. Probably residual of the pain medication they’d prescribed him.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything,” you say, and you mean it.

You hadn’t been thinking. You had just been listening to his heart and his breaths, feeling the weight of him beneath you.

Little things you had taken for granted once upon a time. Never again, your soul aches as you let your head drop back to his chest carefully. Never again.

“You’re just laying awake, not thinking about anything, at…” he trails off, turning his cheek and squinting in the direction of the alarm clock across the room. The glow is dim, and you know you’ll have to change the batteries soon, “Four in the morning?”

4 AM. Last you had checked, it had been 3 AM. You hadn’t even noticed an hour had passed.

“Is that really so hard to believe?” you smile up at him, and it’s just as sincere as your words had been. When his honey brown eyes meet yours, warmth drizzles down your entire being. Across your brain, down your spine, wrapping around your limbs. You could spend an eternity here, simmering in his warmth, content to your heart’s fullest capability.

You’d almost lost him. You’d almost lost this warmth.

You take a second to memorize his features. Studying him as if you didn’t already know every curvature, every freckle, every winkle better than you knew your own soul. You’re looking at him as if you may never look at him again, and he can tell.

He doesn’t have to say that he gets it. His hand simply wanders up to cup your face, basking in you as you were him. Two souls, intertwining over overlapping legs and synchronized heartbeats, and he doesn’t have to say a word.

The moment his fingers card into your baby hairs, you’re turning your mouth quickly to that warm palm. One, two, three kisses. Quick pecks, rapid succession. A secret language that you know he, and only ever he, can begin to understand.

I love you.

It drowns out all sorrow, all guilt, all hauntings. Your cracked lips, and the feeling of those lines across his palms. If there is a Heaven, it’s not somewhere in a pearly gated kingdom above. There are no hark angels and there is no bearded man awaiting.

It’s here. It’s now. It’s 4 AM, in bed with your lover, getting to experience moments you’d come so close to losing for eternity.

Do the poets know? They must. All the love, all the adoration, in both your bodies is too abundant for them to not feel it. To not write about it.

“Go back to bed, love,” you repeat almost a perfect imitation of your first command when he had awakened, and this time, his eyelids flutter with your words, “I’m not gonna disappear between now and sunrise. I promise.”

“No,” he quickly whispers back as his eyes fully shut, and your palms smooth out the wrinkles of the shirt to feel the ridges of scars hidden for now. Scars he’s ashamed of, for now. Scars you’d one day show all the love in the world to, sacred proof that he came back to you, only once he was ready. One day. “But you’re looking at me like I might.”

His words are heavy in the shades of violet now sinking into the room. But the moon is high in her sky, and the crickets are chirping to the East, and he’s right.

You’re terrified the daylight will steal him from you. You’re terrified the new day might tear away all that you’ve sunk your teeth into.

“I’m not going to,” he mumbles around a yawn, arms slowly encasing you, pulling you in closer, “I’m not going anywhere. Yeah?”

He’s back with that warmth, coaxing you right back into heavenly notions with him. You let him; he baits you, and you follow.

“Yeah.”

It’s a sigh. Of hopefulness, of relief, of belief.

This time, the I love you is more than a prayer repeated in your mind. And he somehow manages to say it back, just as he begins to slip back under. Still holding you and hands still twitching where they rest against your back.

Let daylight come. You aren’t capable of worrying about it, or stressing about all that has happened. You aren’t capable of thinking about anything right now, because only one thing matters as your temple and ear find his heartbeat once more.

Your head is on his chest.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea@kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria@loveryanax@stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo@findmeincorneliastreet

#ghost's stories #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x you #eddie munson comfort #alright now to get ready for my tattoo appointment

455 notes · View notes

novaursa · 3 months ago

Note

can i request something with aemond?

him going to harrenhal and having visions of his niece who he’s like in love with and he’s just going crazy

He Never Wanted to Leave

- Summary: Aemond encounters your specter in Harrenhal, and you start to torment him days and nights alike - and Aemond never wanted to leave.

- Paring: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are now closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

Aemond Targaryen's chambers are shuddering with the chill of Harrenhal. The ancient fortress is filled with the weight of its cursed history, the very stones whispering tales of blood and betrayal. But tonight, it feels as though those whispers have become voices, murmuring secrets only meant for Aemond.

He sits on the edge of his bed, hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles are white. His usually composed face is marred by the strain of sleepless nights, his mind haunted by the act he committed. The fire that once burned so brightly within him now flickers with a cold, unrelenting guilt.

In the low light of the chamber, Aemond stares at the floor, his eye unfocused, as if he's trying to drown out the voices in his head. But then, he sees you.

You stand before him, as clear as day. You are not a ghost, and yet, you shouldn't be here. You're miles away, safe in Dragonstone or perhaps King's Landing, alive and breathing. But here you are, in his chambers at Harrenhal, as real to him as the icy air that clings to his skin.

He dares not blink, afraid that you will disappear. You are dressed as he remembers, a vision from his childhood, from a time when your presence brought him a comfort he could never name. The long, silken strands of your hair cascade over your shoulders, and your eyes—those eyes that once held such warmth for him—now burn with something darker.

"You're not real," he whispers, his voice trembling with a fear he hasn't felt in years. But his words are hollow, even to him. Because you feel real. The scent of you—a mix of salt from the sea and the wildflowers that used to grow around Dragonstone—fills his senses, so potent it steals the breath from his lungs.

You tilt your head, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. "Aemond," you say softly, your voice a haunting melody that echoes through the chamber. "Do you truly believe that?"

His chest tightens, and for a moment, he forgets to breathe. "What do you want?" His tone is harsher now, defensive, as if he can will you away with the force of his anger.

But you step closer, your bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. He watches, frozen, as you reach out a hand, your fingers grazing his cheek. The touch is like fire, searing through him, and his resolve crumbles. He shuts his eye, inhaling sharply. He can feel you, warm and alive beneath his fingertips.

"Do you remember the last time we were together?" you ask, your voice gentle, almost loving. "Before everything changed?"

Aemond shudders, the memory flooding back to him with a painful clarity. He remembers the way you smiled at him, the way you laughed at his dry jokes, the way you would look at him as if he were the most important person in the world. It was a time when you were still untouched by the weight of your family's feuds, when he could still believe that there was something pure in his life.

But that was before. Before the bloodshed. Before the war. Before Luke.

"Stop," he whispers, but the word is weak, a plea rather than a command.

Your hand trails down to his chest, resting over his heart. "He was your kin, Aemond. My blood. Do you think I could ever forgive you for what you did?"

His eye snaps open, and he jerks back as if struck, his face contorting with pain. "It was an accident," he says, but the words are hollow, even to him. The truth is a heavy weight in his chest, pressing down on him until he feels like he might break under the pressure. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I—"

"You killed him," you interrupt, your voice sharp now, each word a dagger to his heart. "You hunted him down, Aemond. You wanted to hurt him, and you did."

The room seems to close in around him, the air thick with the stench of his sin. "I didn't want him to die," he says, desperation seeping into his tone. "I swear to you, I didn't."

Tears prick at his eye, but he blinks them away, refusing to let them fall. "Please," he begs, his voice cracking. "Please, forgive me."

But you don't move, your expression unchanged, as cold and unforgiving as the stone walls of Harrenhal. "You took everything from me," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "And you think you deserve forgiveness?"

Aemond shakes his head, his whole body trembling now. He drops to his knees before you, the proud prince brought low by his guilt and shame. "I'm sorry," he breathes, the words tumbling from his lips like a prayer. "I'm so sorry."

For a long moment, there is only silence. The specter of you looms over him, a reminder of everything he has lost, everything he has destroyed. He feels the warmth of your hand on his head, your fingers threading through his hair as you once did when he was just a boy, lost in the world and seeking solace in your presence.

But this time, there is no comfort to be found.

"You cannot undo what you have done, Aemond," you say, your voice soft but unyielding. "The blood you have spilled will stain your soul forever. You will carry it with you until your dying breath."

He crumples further, pressing his forehead to the cold stone floor, his tears falling freely now. He feels your touch retreat, the warmth of you slipping away, and he wants to scream, to reach out and hold on to you, to keep you with him even if it is only a cruel trick of his mind.

But when he looks up, you are gone. The room is empty, the chill more biting than before, and he is alone with his guilt, his regret, and the weight of a sin that no amount of tears can wash away.

Aemond stays on the floor, broken and weeping, the sound of your voice still echoing in his ears, a reminder of what he can never have: your forgiveness.

Another day passes in the desolate halls of Harrenhal, but Aemond Targaryen finds no solace, no escape from the torment that gnaws at his very soul. The oppressive air weighs heavy, and the once proud prince can feel the darkness creeping ever closer, as if the very walls of this cursed place are conspiring against him.

He hasn’t slept since the last vision of you, your voice still haunting him, your words cutting deeper than any blade ever could. He tries to shake off the memory, to bury it beneath layers of anger and denial, but it clings to him like a persistent shadow.

As the evening falls, the flickering light of the candles casts eerie shapes across the walls, and Aemond finds himself seated in the same chair where he last saw you, his thoughts a tangled mess of regret and longing. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, but its warmth does little to chase away the chill that has settled deep in his bones.

He closes his eye, willing himself to forget, to block out the memories that threaten to overwhelm him. But as soon as he does, the air around him shifts, the familiar scent of salt and wildflowers filling his senses once more. His eye snaps open, his heart lurching in his chest as he sees you again, sitting on the edge of the bed, your gaze fixed on him with an unsettling intensity.

"You again," he whispers, the words trembling on his lips. He doesn't move, doesn't dare to breathe too deeply, as if the slightest motion might cause you to vanish like a mirage.

But this time, you don’t remain distant. Slowly, with a grace that is both mesmerizing and terrifying, you rise from the bed and walk towards him. He watches, transfixed, as you approach, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat a painful reminder of how much he still wants you, even now.

You stand before him, your expression unreadable, and then, without a word, you lower yourself onto his lap. The weight of you feels real, solid, and the warmth of your body against his is a cruel reminder of what he can never have. Aemond’s breath hitches, and for a moment, he closes his eye, trying to convince himself that this is all just another hallucination, another trick of the mind.

But then you speak, and the sound of your voice sends a shiver down his spine.

“Do you remember,” you say softly, “the day you hurt me?”

Aemond’s eye flickers open, and he meets your gaze, his face pale, as if the blood has drained from his veins. “I never meant to hurt you,” he replies, his voice hoarse with emotion. But even as he speaks, the memory comes rushing back, vivid and sharp, like a wound that has never fully healed.

You lean closer, your lips hovering near his ear, your breath warm against his skin. “You did, Aemond. You hurt me, and you knew it.”

He shakes his head, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turn white. “I was angry,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I—”

“You were jealous,” you interrupt, your tone unyielding, as if you are determined to make him face the truth he has been running from for so long. “You couldn’t stand the thought of me being with someone else, even though you had no right to me.”

The memory is clear now, as if it is happening all over again. He sees you standing before him, tears in your eyes, your face etched with pain as he spat cruel words at you, words meant to wound, to drive you away. He had been so consumed by his own insecurities, his own fears, that he hadn’t cared about the damage he was doing.

“I didn’t mean it,” he says, his voice breaking as he looks into your eyes, seeing the hurt reflected there. “I was a fool.”

“You were,” you agree, your tone cold. “But that didn’t stop you from hurting me. You wanted me to feel the same pain you did, to make me suffer for your own jealousy.”

He feels your hands on his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic, and the sensation is so real, so tangible, that it sends a wave of longing and regret crashing over him. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he says again, his voice trembling. “I love you.”

Your laugh is soft, almost bitter, as you pull back slightly to look him in the eye. “If that’s what you call love, then I pity anyone who falls under your spell, Aemond Targaryen.”

He winces at your words, the truth of them cutting deeper than he ever thought possible. “I was wrong,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was wrong about everything. But please… please, believe me when I say that I never wanted to cause you pain.”

You tilt your head, studying him with an intensity that makes his heart ache. “And yet, you did. Over and over again.”

He can’t deny it, can’t escape the truth that you are forcing him to confront. His hands, trembling now, reach up to cup your face, the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers making his heart twist in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he says, the words spilling from his lips in a desperate plea. “I’m sorry.”

You close your eyes for a moment, as if savoring the sound of his apology, but when you open them again, there is no forgiveness there, only a sadness that cuts him to the core. “Sorry again? Sorry won’t change what you did, Aemond,” you say softly. “Sorry won’t take away the pain, or undo the past.”

He nods, a tear slipping down his cheek as he holds you close, as if by holding you he can somehow make up for all the wrongs he has done. But even as he clings to you, he knows it’s futile, knows that this moment is nothing more than a cruel illusion, a reminder of what he has lost forever.

“I’ll never forgive myself,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. “But please… tell me you don’t hate me.”

For a moment, you don’t respond, your gaze locked on his, as if you are searching for something within him. Then, you lean forward, pressing a soft, almost tender kiss to his forehead. The touch is fleeting, but it sends a shiver through him, his heart breaking all over again.

“I don’t hate you, Aemond,” you whisper against his skin. “But that doesn’t mean I can forgive you.”

He closes his eye, his body trembling as he feels you begin to fade, the warmth of you slipping away like sand through his fingers. He tries to hold on, tries to keep you with him, but it’s no use. When he opens his eye again, you are gone, the room once more empty and cold, and he is left alone with the crushing weight of his guilt and the memory of your touch lingering on his skin.

Aemond slumps back in the chair, his body shaking with silent sobs, as the walls of Harrenhal seem to close in around him, the cursed fortress now his prison, his tormentor, and his confessor.

The morning sun is a pale, distant orb in the sky as Aemond Targaryen stands at the edge of the pond just outside Harrenhal. The air is cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and the faint, metallic tang of the nearby ruins. The water is still, a dark, glassy surface that reflects the twisted branches of the trees and the crumbling stones of the cursed fortress.

Aemond's eye scans the water, but his thoughts are far away, lost in a labyrinth of regret and guilt. The memories of the past few nights—of you—haunt him more than any ghost ever could. He had hoped, foolishly, that the daylight might offer some reprieve from the torment, that the sun's warmth might banish the cold grip of your specter. But here, at this pond, under the cold light of day, he finds no peace.

As he gazes into the murky depths, he sees not just his reflection but the shadows of the sins that weigh heavily on his soul. The stillness of the water is unsettling, almost as if it is waiting for something—someone. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the air feels thick, each breath more labored than the last.

And then, as if summoned by his darkest thoughts, you appear.

You emerge from the trees, your steps light and soundless as you approach him. He doesn’t startle this time; he’s almost come to expect your presence, even in the waking hours. But the sight of you in the daylight is no less jarring. The sun catches in your hair, creating a halo effect that makes you look ethereal, otherworldly. Yet there is no warmth in your gaze, only that same sadness, that same coldness that chills him to his core.

You stop beside him, close enough that he can feel the ghost of your warmth, and you stare out at the pond with him, your expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches out, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Finally, you break the silence, your voice soft and lilting, but with an edge that makes his skin prickle. “Do you ever think about drowning yourself, Aemond?”

The question hangs in the air between you, shocking in its directness, in its cruelty. Aemond turns his head to look at you, his eye wide with a mix of horror and sorrow. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die in his throat. How could he answer that? How could he admit that the thought has indeed crossed his mind, that the weight of his guilt is sometimes too much to bear?

But you don’t wait for his answer. You continue, your gaze still fixed on the water. “I do,” you say, your tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “Sometimes, I think about slipping into the water, letting it take me. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? Just to stop fighting, to stop struggling, and let the darkness swallow you whole.”

Aemond’s heart pounds in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a death knell. He can hardly breathe as he listens to you speak, the words wrapping around him like a noose, tightening with every syllable.“You could end it all,” you murmur, your voice almost seductive now, tempting. “No more pain, no more guilt. Just peace. Just silence.”

He clenches his fists, the nails digging into his palms, the pain grounding him, keeping him tethered to the reality that is slowly slipping away from him. “I can’t,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I can’t do that.”

You finally turn to look at him, and there is something in your eyes that makes his blood run cold—a sadness so deep it feels like an abyss, one that he knows he could fall into and never find his way out. “Why not?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. “What’s left for you, Aemond? What’s left after everything you’ve done?”

He shakes his head, his mind racing, searching for something, anything, to hold onto. But every thought, every memory is tainted, corrupted by the weight of his sins. “I… I don’t know,” he admits, the words slipping from him like a confession. “But I can’t… I can’t just give up.”

You take a step closer, your hand reaching out to brush against his arm, and though the touch is as fleeting as a breeze, it feels so real, so tangible, that it sends a wave of longing and regret crashing over him. “You’re already lost,” you whisper, your voice like a dagger to his heart. “You’ve been drowning ever since you let that darkness into your soul.”

He swallows hard, trying to push back the tears that threaten to spill over. “Why do you keep coming to me?” he asks, his voice trembling. “Why won’t you let me be?”

You tilt your head, considering his question, and then you smile, a sad, weary smile that makes his heart break all over again. “Because you can’t let me go,” you say simply. “Because you’re still holding onto the past, to the guilt, to the pain. And as long as you do, I’ll be here, reminding you of what you’ve done, of what you’ve lost.”

He looks away, back at the pond, at the dark, still water that seems to beckon to him, promising release, promising oblivion. The thought of it is tempting, so tempting, but he knows that even if he took that step, even if he let the water claim him, your specter would still follow him, even into death.

“I won’t do it,” he says, more to himself than to you, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. “I won’t give in.”

You sigh softly, almost as if you’re disappointed, but you don’t push him further. Instead, you lean in close, your breath warm against his ear as you whisper, “I’ll be waiting, Aemond. I’ll always be waiting.”

And then, just like that, you’re gone.Aemond stands there, staring at the pond, the silence pressing in around him, the weight of your words sinking into his soul. He knows, with a dreadful certainty, that this is far from over. You will haunt him, day and night, as long as he remains trapped in this nightmare of his own making.

But for now, he forces himself to turn away from the water, to take a step back, away from the edge, even as your voice lingers in his mind, a constant reminder of the darkness that dwells within him.

The walls of Harrenhal seem to pulse with a life of their own, as if the ancient stones are attuned to Aemond’s every thought, his every desire. The air is thick, charged with something electric, something dark. And within the oppressive atmosphere of his chambers, Aemond finds himself lost once more—lost in the presence of you.

You appear to him as you always do, suddenly and without warning, as though stepping out of the very shadows that cling to the corners of the room. But this time, there is no coldness in your gaze, no sadness weighing down your features. Instead, you look at him with the same fire, the same passion that once ignited the depths of his soul. And it’s enough to make him forget everything—his guilt, his pain, his regrets. All that exists in this moment is you.

Before he can speak, before he can even draw breath, you are upon him, your lips crashing against his with a desperate hunger. It’s a kiss filled with years of longing, years of unspoken words and suppressed desires. Aemond doesn’t hesitate—he responds with equal fervor, his hands moving to cradle your face, his fingers threading through your hair as if to anchor himself to you, to this moment.

Your bodies collide, heat and need overwhelming any semblance of reason. Aemond pulls you close, your bodies pressed together as if you are both afraid to let go, afraid that this fragile moment might shatter and leave him alone in the cold once more. He guides you back toward the bed, the world outside these chambers forgotten, discarded like an unwanted memory.

You fall together onto the bed, a tangled mess of limbs and desire. His hands roam your body with a familiarity born of memory, of dreams that have haunted him for so long. And yet, each touch feels new, electrifying. You arch into him, your breathless gasps filling the room, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from losing control.

As your clothes are discarded, piece by piece, Aemond’s mind races, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of emotion. He’s aware, on some distant level, that this can’t be real—that you are not truly here, that this is yet another trick of Harrenhal, another way for this cursed place to torment him. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if this is real or not. All that matters is that, in this moment, he has you.

When he finally sinks into you, the world around him blurs, and all that exists is the two of you, lost in a rhythm as old as time. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, over and over, as if by saying it he can make this moment last forever. His movements are frantic, desperate, driven by a need that has been buried for far too long. And you meet him, move with him, as if you’ve never been apart, as if you are still the only thing in his world that makes sense.

“I love you,” he breathes against your skin, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I’ve always loved you.”

You moan in response, your nails digging into his back, and the sound drives him closer to the edge, closer to the precipice of oblivion. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, the scent that has haunted his dreams, his waking moments. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and it makes him feel alive in a way he hasn’t felt since Rhaenyra stole you away.

“I never stopped,” he confesses, his voice thick with emotion. “Not for a single day. Not even when you were taken from me.”

Your response is a breathless gasp, a tangle of words and sounds that only spur him on. His movements become more urgent, more desperate, as if he’s trying to pour all of his love, all of his regret, into this one moment. And when he finally tips over the edge, it’s with your name on his lips, a whispered prayer, a final plea for forgiveness that he knows he doesn’t deserve.

Afterward, he collapses beside you, his chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. The room is filled with the sounds of your shared breathing, the only noise in the otherwise silent chambers. He reaches for you, pulling you close, needing to feel your warmth, your presence against him. But even as he holds you, as he brushes his lips against your hair, a cold realization begins to settle over him.

This moment, this passion—it’s not real. He knows it deep down, knows that the you he just made love to is nothing more than a phantom, a specter conjured by the darkness of Harrenhal. But even knowing that, he can’t bring himself to let go. He can’t bring himself to leave this place, to return to a world where you are forbidden to him.

His thoughts drift to the letter from his mother, the one he has read a hundred times over, the one that pleads with him to return to King’s Landing. Queen Rhaenyra sits the Iron Throne now, and the realm is on the edge of being consumed by fire and blood. His duty calls him, his mother calls him, but all of it feels distant, insignificant compared to the pull of Harrenhal, compared to the pull of you.

Here, in this cursed place, he can have you. Even if it’s only an illusion, even if it’s only in his mind, he can still have you. He can still feel your touch, hear your voice, lose himself in your embrace. And isn’t that better than the alternative? Isn’t that better than a life without you?

“I can never leave,” he whispers to the empty room, though in his mind, he’s speaking to you. “Not now. Not ever.”

The truth of it settles into his bones, as solid and unyielding as the stones of Harrenhal itself. He is bound to this place now, bound to the specter of you, and he knows that he will never break free. Even if it means forsaking his duty, his family, his very soul, he will remain here, in this place where the lines between reality and illusion blur, where he can hold onto the one thing that still matters to him.

In Harrenhal, he can have you. Forever.

And that, he realizes, is the only thing that matters anymore.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd aemond #hotd x female reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader

430 notes · View notes

dark-moonlust · 3 months ago

Text

Caught Between the Fae

This is a Patreon commission I finished yesterday. The commissioner chose to remain anonymous. I hope you enjoy this small story! It was so enjoyable to write and it's super steamy, too! I love every part of it 🖤

Pairing: 2 fae males (Nestor, Quin) x f!human (Layla)

Summary: Layla is a photographer in her mid-30s. During her exhibition event, two fae males, Nestor and Quinn, are drawn to one of her paintings and her beauty. They recognize her as their mate and quarrel over who will get Layla and her artwork. Finally, they decide to share her as she belongs to them both. They claim her as their mate and go into a mating rage, driving deep inside her and marking her with their cum.

Warnings: minors don’t interact, 18+!!, fingering, oral(female+male receiving), kinky talk, a little bondage, big 🍆, fae magic to fit, p in v sex, anal, double penetratiοn, lots of 💦.

Tonight was her big night.

Layla took yet another deep breath and strolled through the art gallery. Her heart thundered with excitement and a little fear. That night, her photography was the star of the show. All her pieces were there for all to see and judge. She truly hoped the people would admire and grasp the feelings and meanings behind each photo. Her work was her pride and joy.

As she walked the sleek gallery, the room was a whirl of positive reviews and the clinking of champagne glasses. The people liked her work! Feeling her anxiety lessen, she smiled, soaking in the energy as she mingled with the guests. She let herself enjoy the vibes, her soft curvy frame moving gracefully through the crowd, her fiery red hair catching the light, making her green eyes gleam with pride.

Taking a short break, she stood near the center of the room and tried to calm her raging heart. The gallery was a big hit and a dream come true! She still couldn’t believe it. She wanted to jump and laugh out of joy. As she scanned the faces of the audience, her gaze stopped on two striking men in front of her favorite piece: a photo of a moonlit beach at night. They were boldly gazing at her piece and then her way.

A jolt traveled through her. Their gazes practically saw through her.

Tall and towering, they were both, with pointy ears and supernatural auras exuding such intense power that caused her whole body to come alive and warm up as if licked by fire.

They were fae... what otherwordly beauty.

The one on the left had close-cropped blonde hair, deep purple eyes, and although he wore a sleek black suit, she could see his neck and hands, which were filled with tattoos that surely filled the rest of his body. The other male beside him was all dark and sensual mischief. He had long, curly, dark hair and ice-blue eyes that sparkled with a devil-may-care attitude.

They were attracting the eyes of everyone in the room; their presence electrifying.

From across the room, Nestor, the King of the Court of Nightmares, stood in front of Layla’s photo, his deep purple eyes drawn to every detail of the mounted piece. The gallery lights cast the perfect light, illuminating the moonlight beach. His fingers tightened around his glass as he swirled the dark liquid inside. Beside him, Quinn admired the same photo, his ice-blue eyes attracted to the art and the artist herself. He was the Emperor of the Court of Chaos.

“Stunning,” Nestor murmured in a low mumble, scanning the room, his gaze finding Layla and staying on her. “They shall be mine. Both the piece and the artist.”

Quinn chuckled, his eyes equally intent on the female. “You wish. You don’t have what it takes to appreciate them both.”

“And you do?” Nestor’s voice was higher than usual, turning heads. “Thinking too high of yourself, aren’t you?”

“This art piece belongs in my court, and little fireheart in my bed.”

“Fireheart…” Nestor whispered, his eyes tracing the fire-colored hair of his mate, the soft and curvy frame he hungered to have exposed beneath him. “I’ll never let you have them. She’s my fated one and the Queen of the Court of Nightmares.”

Quinn’s laugh was light and mocking. “I’ll bid whatever the hell you want. She’s my mate, the Empress of Chaos Court. She will be mine.”

“You? I don’t think so. I want her and that piece, and I’ll have them,” Nestor stated, his voice hard with authority. “You’d better wet your dick elsewhere.”

Quinn’s lips curled at his words. “I’ll wet my dick inside her, in every warm little place inside her.” The Emperor of Chaos stared at his mate, their gazes meeting and holding. She was gorgeous. In every way. Her red hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkled with passion. He wanted her. He’d never back down.

“She is mine.” Nestor’s eyes flicked to the other fae. “The moment I saw her, I knew she was my fated one.”

“And you think I didn’t feel the same?” Quinn spat back, with a hint of annoyance. Long moments passed before he added, “Perhaps there’s a reason we both recognize her so strongly.”

Nestor narrowed his eyes at him. “What are you implying?”

“Fate doesn’t make mistakes,” Quinn answered. “She belongs to both of us.”

“This makes sense…” Nestor trailed off, clearly considering the proposal.

Quinn chuckled warmly. “Finally, we agree on something. So, what do we do about it?”

“We claim her. Every part of her.”

It was that moment when Layla decided to approach them. She closed in on them, and they immediately framed her luscious body with their possessive, towering bodies on both sides. Layla felt hot all over, her frame shivering from the intensity of their aura and their mere height. The dynamic between the two fae made her belly clench with arousal and for a few seconds she felt such an intense magnetic pull towards them that she could barely contain it.

“Gentlemen… I am Layla, the artist behind these photographs. I’m honored by your interest, and I couldn’t help but notice your tension… is there a problem?”

“Good evening, Layla,” Nestor greeted with a sultry drawl. “I am Nestor, King of the Court of Nightmares. Your work is extraordinary, I must have it.”

Quinn grinned and stepped closer to her, his ice-blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “I am Quinn, Emperor of the Court of Chaos. Our problem is that we both desire this piece of art, though not as much as we desire you.”

Nestor shifted closer to her right side, his scent enveloping her. “You should visit my court, Layla, and be the crown jewel of my kingdom. Choose me, fireheart.”

“Fireheart?” Layla muttered, a little taken by the nickname and the intensity in his eyes.

Quinn hummed and let his towering form nearly envelop her left side. “We feel a connection to you, little one. A bond that cannot be ignored.”

Layla didn’t know whether to laugh or blush at their bold statements. The gallery suddenly buzzed with whispers and speculations as all eyes turned toward the three of them. Both fae males had surrounded her, and her cheeks felt hot, as did the rest of her body. Her pussy was also wet, aching with a need she couldn’t barely ignore. They weren’t just interested in her art—they wanted her.

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding.

How could she refuse the King of Nightmares and Emperor of Chos without offending them?

“Gentlemen,” she finally said, her voice wavering, “I’m afraid the artist—meaning myself—is not available for such… arrangement. However, the art piece is. I am sure we can find a way to resolve this without—”

“Without what?” Nestor’s eyes darkened. “Without accepting the connection you are feeling?"

Layla opened her mouth to reply, but Quinn cut her off. “Don’t deny it, fireheart. You feel it too. The mating bond, the desire.”

Layla bit her lip and unconsciously rubbed her thighs together. Liquid warmth pooled in her core. “I… I don’t think this is appropriate.”

“Yet your pussy is wet and aching for us,” Quinn whispered against her ear, his breath warm. “And it’s not going away unless we take care of you.”

“Accept us, little mate,” Nestor said, sending shivers down her spine. “We can feel your need. You want us. Both.“

“I—I…” Layla stuttered wordlessly, her eyes flicking between the two fae. She felt such longing and undeniable attraction for them. But how could she just give in?

“You are ours, fireheart. Ours to claim in ways neither of us could do alone,” Quinn nodded, his ice-blue eyes intense.

“B-b-both of you…” Layla muttered, her body tightening pleasurably at the mere thought of those two fae belonging to her.

“Hmm,” both men growled, their eyes caressing her face and red hair.

Layla nodded slowly, listening to her heart which was screaming for them. Immediately, Fae magic surrounded her, stealing her breath away. The gallery blurred and melted away, replaced by a lavish bedroom filled with rich fabrics and flickering candles. Nestor and Quinn embraced her from both sides, their hands exploring her heated body.

Nestor scented her neck, his fingers tangling in her loose hair as if he couldn’t have enough of her. Quinn kissed her shoulders over the straps of her dress, each lingering touch leaving trails of delightful warmth and heat. When their gazes locked on hers, she felt hypnotized by the mating bond between them. It was real; they belonged to her, and she ached with need, desperate to be touched by them.

“Yes, fireheart,” Quinn rasped, sliding down the straps of her dress. “You are our mate, and you will be filled by us both.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nestor said, unzipping the back of her dress, his fingers warm against her skin. “Do you agree, sweetheart? Do you want this?”

“Hmmm… I want you,” Layla breathed, adrenaline pumping in her heart.

Quinn’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. “Good girl,” he murmured, his icy eyes bearing into her emerald ones. They were enchanting, hypnotizing. “Now, let us show you what it means to be ours.”

Layla didn’t realize how quickly they scooped her up and propped her on the plush bed. They divested her of her clothing skillfully. Quinn peeled away her dress while Nestor unclasped her bra, moaning low as her breasts spilled free. He cupped them in his big palms and pushed them up to his hot mouth, suckling each pouting nipple. Quinn knelt at her half-closed thighs and gently removed her panties and shoes. Seeing how she hesitated once she was fully exposed to them, Quinn’s long fingers trailed down her belly, then lower, teasing the sensitive skin between her thighs.

“Open for us, little one,” Quinn said, his voice a seductive promise. “We’re going to fuck you deep, make you feel so good.”

Layla shyly opened her legs and suddenly both men were between them, each one securing a leg over their muscular thighs, their hands making sure she was fully open to their eyes. Using their magic, they removed their clothes, leaving her to gape at the two fae males, so big and powerful—in every way.

Nestor had a sculpted body covered in tattoos. His eyes were warm and inviting, his stomach taut, his thighs firm and in between... his cock stood proud, looking utterly inhumane. It was thick and very long, pulsing, its length surrounded by protruding veins. Quinn was no less captivating. He was just as tall, his stance emphasizing the force of his thighs and the raw power of his well-muscled body. His eyes swirled with blue ice as he pumped his rigid cock. It was deliciously curved and textured with ridges, a little thicker than Nestor’s but not as long.

Having both of them… Layla felt the dark desire, the intensity overflowing. The need. The craving. She wanted them. Wanted them more than anything in her life.

“Fuuuuck, our mate’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” Nestor growled. She looked so pretty and tiny in contrast to their raging bodies. Flushed face, nipples out, pussy exposed. He wanted to debauch her.

“Show us your pretty cunt, fireheart,” Quinn demanded softly. “Open those pretty lips nicely for your mates.”

Dazed by desire, Layla reached down and did as told. She opened her outer folds with two fingers, showing off her slit and the bud of her clit. Both men growled ferociously and stared for a few seconds.

“That’s it,” Nestor growled, bending to lick a thick stripe up her pussy. “So wet already for your mates.”

Layla gasped, all sane thoughts fleeing.

Quinn also leaned down to taste her pussy, kissing her throbbing clit. She saw stars.

“She is ready for her mates,” Quinn said with a smirk. “You’re going to take every inch of us, aren’t you, fireheart?”

Layla whimpered, her voice and body trembling. “Yes… Please…”

The two males smiled.

Nestor toyed with her pussy lips and Quinn rubbed her needy clit. Layla whimpered and struggled to arch off the bed. She squirmed restlessly, but their hold on her thighs was too secure, allowing no movement as their fingers probed and rubbed her pussy to their liking. She melted under their touch, her heart pulsing with the intensity of their bond.

“Such a sweet wet cunt," Quinn marveled, gathering her slick and rolling it between two fingers.

“Love your nipples, sweetheart,” Nestor drawled, moving to suckle one tit then the other, his tongue swirling around the hardened buds.

“Pl… ease,” she sighed, her body feverish with need. “Need you. Need you so much it hurts!”

"Hurts?“ Quinn said in a mischievous tone as he rubbed her clit round and round while thrusting a thick finger inside her. Layla cried out and Nestor claimed her lips, swallowing her moans.

“Hurts so good, hm, sweetheart?” Nestor drawled as their lips brushed, their tongues mating.

“Yesss, please, more please… hmnnn...”

No sooner had she said that than Quinn was tasting her mouth, kissing her possessively and deeply. His tongue licked into her mouth then his tongue danced with hers.

“What do you need, fireheart?”

Oh, how she adored the way they called her nicknames. She wanted to be theirs forever and get lost in their warmth and affection.

“Want you so much. I’m so empty…”

“Our mate needs to be filled,” Nestor said to the other fae. “But first she will cum for us.”

Quinn agreed in a low chuckle and finger-fucked her while Nestor pressed his thumb against her clit, rubbing over and over. Driving her higher and higher until she exploded, bliss and pleasure overtaking her until she couldn’t think or talk. Layla quivered and while she rode her orgasm, Nestor suckled her lower lip. Quinn moved to her breasts, his mouth nursing her aching nipples. Captive in their hold, she arched into their touch, drawn-out moans escaping her.

She was still dizzy from her orgasm when they shifted. Nestor sneaked between her thighs, slapping his heavy cock against her glistening pussy. The sound was wet and squelching, her pussy fluttering with the need to be filled. Quinn kneeled next to her head, his cock pulsing in the air, the tip leaking precum. Layla licked her lips, hungry to taste him.

“Open,” Quinn commanded softly, “wet my dick, mate.”

Layla obeyed, her lips parting to take him in. Smiling mischievously, Quinn thrust his hips gently, his leaking cock stretching her mouth wide and filling it up. At the same time, Nestor entered her pussy, his girth spreading her cunt and filling her up inch by delectable inch.

“Mhppphhh!” Layla gasped and gurgled around the cock in her mouth, her pussy filled to the limit by Nestor. Quinn gripped her fiery hair, guiding her head to keep sucking him. She was so full… Quinn’s shaft kissed her throat while Nestor’s cock kissed her cervix.

“That’s it… fuck, you’re perfect,” Nestor groaned, watching her pussy suck him in.

“Is it good, fireheart? Being fucked from both ends?” Quinn pulled his cock out of her mouth with a wet pop, his cock coated in her saliva.

“Hmnn! Want more!”

With a proud moan, Quinn shoved his cock back into her hot mouth, going deeper and fucking down her throat. Nestor watched the lewd sight with pride. Their pretty mate struggled a little, but she took Quinn’s cock like the queen she was, hollowing her cheeks and clenching her pretty throat. She stroked his balls, cradling them in her small hands, her eyes rolling back with each thrust from both of them.

Groaning, Nestor pounded deep into her cunt, making her pretty tits bounce with each sharp thrust. He kneaded her mounds, his thumbs pinching her nipples, causing her to gag and whimper around a mouthful of cock, her breathing heavy. Gods, she was so pretty like this, trapped between them, their cocks spearing her back and forth.

A few calculated thrusts, and she came explosively, her body shuddering. Once she rode the waves of pleasure, the fae changed positions again, with Nestor fucking her mouth and Quinn taking her pussy. The dual sensations were overwhelming, liquid pleasure coursing through her veins as they filled her relentlessly. The room echoed with the rhythmic slaps of skin against skin and her muffled moans as she took fae cock.

“Such a good mate for us,” Quinn said with pride. Her lips were swollen, her pussy drenched with her release. “Now it’s time to take our seed, hm?”

“Hmp, yes… want your cum,” Layla said in a seductive purr.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Nestor drawled. “Ready to take us both in your soaked cunt and tight little ass?“

“Hmm, gonna take you both,” Layla nodded, seeing the pride and desire on their handsome faces. “Need to feel you inside me.”

In a flurry of motion, they repositioned themselves so that Layla was straddling Nestor, her raw breasts rubbing against his muscled chest. Quinn kneeled behind her, his strong hands spreading her asscheeks, his thumbs teasing around the tight, puckered hole. Such a cute little hole. Layla whimpered when Nestor gripped her hips and guided her down onto his throbbing dick while Quinn thrust a magically lubed finger into her ass.

Layla groaned, desperation and desire in her green eyes.

Quinn kissed her spine. “Relax your pretty asshole and take my fingers, fireheart.”

Layla clutched Nestor’s shoulders and tried to relax while Quinn squeezed a second oiled finger into her ass, the thick intrusions making her gasp and shut her eyes tightly. The combination of Nestor filling her pussy and Quinn’s fingers in her ass was strange. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly at their mercy.

“So damn tight," Nestor muttered against her moaning lips, his shaft buried in the heat of her cunt.

Quinn added a third finger in her ass, pumped, and curled them inside her before replacing them with the head of his cock. The broad head spread her tight hole, forcing its way inside. Layla trembled at the dual invasion— they were so deep, stretching her wide around their inhuman girths. She glanced down at where they were joined, and with shock, she realized just how much more they had to go. Only a third of their shafts were inside her, and that both thrilled and scared her.

Nestor’s voice broke through her haze. “You can do this, sweetheart.”

“You’re so big…” Layla whined. She was human, could she really take them both?

“Deep breaths, mate,” Quinn advised gently. “Take a little more of us, hmm?”

“Feels strange…” Layla looked at them for guidance, her cheeks flushed, her eyes worried. She could feel their dicks rubbing inside her, and she took deep breaths that were mixed with cries of pain and pleasure.

“Let’s stroke your little clit,” Nestor murmured, his thumb stroking her bud, sending pulses of warmth all over her body. “Yesss, that feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm! Moree!”

“Such a good little mate,” Nestor cooed and proved his point by pulling out of her wet cunt then slamming more inches inside.

“Our mate needed a cock up her cunt and ass so badly,” Quinn growled as he worked deeper into her ass.

“You will take us, mate. Again and again until you reek of our cum. Our magic protects you. Relax your holes,” Quinn ordered in her ear.

Blindsided by the fullness of their penetration, Layla said yes in a series of raspy moans. Their fae magic infused her fully, empowering her and building her arousal. Before long, she’d taken the full lengths of their cocks. The fullness, the heat, the stretch— she was overwhelmed but in no pain. She curled between their powerful bodies, and when they started fucking her in earnest, she cried out, her nails digging into their flesh.

“Look at you,” Nestor growled, his purple eyes dark with lust. “So beautiful riding our dicks.”

“You’re perfect like this, fireheart,” Quinn whispered, his hands fondling her asscheeks. “So tight, so hot.”

Hands grabbed and fondled her as they pounded her, their cocks owning her depths. When Nestor’s cock left her pussy, Quinn plunged into her ass. Layla tried to get more friction only to have their strong hands restrain her. Nestor grasped her tits while Quinn secured her wrists with magical silken ropes, carefully tying her arms behind her back. The silk felt like a caress, soft and slightly loose.

She didn’t complain; she only trembled between them, her watery eyes begging them to claim her.

“If this is too much for you, fireheart, say “red” and we will stop. I promise you. Understood?”

“Yesss,” Layla nodded fervently. “Now… just fuck me.”

“Easy, sweetheart,” Nestor said, his hands gripping her thighs. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Layla was too far gone to think straight. “C-can’t! Want more!”

“It’s the mating bond. She is human, and it’s affecting her. Our magic is also making everything stronger,” Nestor explained to the other fae.

“Such a needy little mate,” Quinn rasped and pressed a harsh kiss to her mouth. “Bound and begging for us.”

Nestor grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You think you can handle us, huh? Think you can keep up with us?”

“Hmn… I can handle it,” Layla panted as they impaled her on their stiff cocks.

Nestor chuckled from under her, his fingers pinching her nipples. “Is that so? Well, let’s see how long you can keep that attitude.”

The two males exchanged glances before they resumed pounding into her. Nestor lifted her a few inches, then lowered her back down onto his cock. Quinn thrust his hips, fucking her ass in full thrusts that reached deep into her guts. They were both too thick, too hard, and too long, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

It went on and on; their stamina seemed endless, their cocks so impossibly hard and swollen with the need to cum. The scent of desire hung heavily in the air and she came again with uncontrollable, shuddering contractions, her holes clenching hard around their massive girths. The males followed right after her, their muscled bodies shuddering, roars ringing out as she felt something burst inside her. Massive wings sprouted from their backs as their seed filled her up, loads and loads of it, forcing little aftershocks of ecstasy.

But they were far from done.

They switched places, Nestor claiming her now stretched asshole while Quinn filled up her pussy. Their wings curled around her as they slammed inside her, and Layla lost herself in the mating bond, quaking between them, her arms securely bound, her holes fluttering around their shafts. She could only whimper and utter their names, begging them to stop, then begging them to never stop and make her cum.

“Remember your safe word, mate,” Quinn reminded her roughly. “If it’s too much say "red" and we will stop.”

“Would you like us to stop fucking your naughty holes?” Nestor’s fingers curled around her nape, his hips snapping repeatedly into hers.

“Nnn—nooo!” Layla whined, her body tense as she balanced on the edge of pleasure.

Quinn growled his approval. “That’s good, fireheart, because we’re not going to.”

The bed creaked, obscene moans echoing with every move they made. Her fae mates fucked her powerfully, thrusting to the hilt again and again, deep and tirelessly. Quinn devoured her lips with his kisses, his hands cupping her tits and pinching her sore nipples. Nestor growled from behind her, his broad chest pressing against her back as he claimed her ass and flicked her clit with his thumb.

They were primal and fully affected by the need to claim her, and she loved it—she loved them and how they fucked her, it was unlike anything she had imagined.

Layla’s moans rang out when she came again, sobs of pleasure escaping her kiss-swollen mouth. She trembled as a pleasure bomb went off in her center. It was too much, but it was divine, every nerve was alight. They joined her soon after, pulsing up inside her and releasing spurt after spurt of their cum. She was already filled with them, but the second load overflowed from her, dribbling down her thighs.

Layla didn’t know for how long it went on.

They untied the silk ropes and took her again and again, lifting her off the bed, sandwiching her between their aroused bodies and feeding her their cocks in every position imaginable. Their wings flapped powerfully, and when Layla touched them, her mates went into a mating rage, driving deep inside her, claiming her, owning her.

As the sun began to rise, their frenzied mating finally came to an end.

They collapsed on the bed, the covers tattered and smeared with signs of their primitive coupling. Layla’s mates enveloped her, spooning her from front to back, their bodies entwined with hers, their cocks still hard inside her due to the suction of her cunt and ass. She was sated and exhausted, feeling a sense of belonging she had never known before.

They took turns kissing her, softly, lovingly, whispering sweet nothings while gazing at her with an impossibly soft, oh-so-soft expression on their faces. Their seed had marked her as theirs; the mate of the Nightmare and Chaos Courts.

“Who do you belong to, little mate?” Nestor asked, kissing the side of her neck.

“You,” Layla breathed. “Both of you.”

Nestor growled and gazed at her possessively. She belonged wholly to them. And they to her. She was filled to the brim with their seed, her holes stretched taut around their shafts. It was the ultimate claiming. "So beautiful. You did so well, fireheart.”

“Stunning.” Quinn brushed a few sweaty hair strands from her face and kissed her fluttering eyelashes. “You were so good for us, mate. Our beautiful Queen and Empress.”

“Yes,” Nestor agreed proudly. “We shall unite our courts and give our mate everything.”

“Hmmm,” Quinn hummed against her chest, his voice a sultry whisper against her lips. “Do you like being filled by your King and Emperor, fireheart?”

“Yes,” Layla answered, her heart brimming with affection for them. “I love it. I love you both.”

Nestor hummed from behind her, kissing her softly. “We love you more. You’re ours, sweetheart. Forever.”

That night, they’d claimed more than a masterpiece.

They’d claimed their soulmate.

#fae x reader #fae x human #fae x oc #comission #monster writer #monster writing #fae smut #fae fucker #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster x human #monster fudger #monster fucker #monster x you #monster smut #monster x female reader #monster romance

456 notes · View notes