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summervale · 2 months ago

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「Merriment」

Third-person reader insert! Y/N is the younger sister of King Robert Baratheon. Her house sigil is a stag, yes, but it seems she has a particular fondness for hounds.

Contains: Reluctant pining, kissing, mature situations Words: 2,311

UNFINISHED WORK: This was supposed to be a long, multi-part piece which is why it takes so long setting up! This was part one and is about halfway finished. Figured there's a lot of Sandor fans that might enjoy a small something cute <3

No husband and no responsibilities made for a very happy woman indeed. Small wonder she was all smiles and riddles and gayeties; she must, the commonfolk thought, be the happiest woman in all the seven kingdoms.

This was likely true.

She was forever laughing. There was a smile on her face always, it seemed, and everywhere she went she took merriment with her. Her ladyship took great pleasure in riddles and games and shows of mummers and fools, and King’s Landing had not hosted a tourney that did not have her there in the pavilions in many a year. She was a friend to all regardless of birth or station or reputation (within reason), and for this she was quite loved, but also quite resented. The resentment was paid little mind—turning a blind eye and smiling was much more fun, as it was often irksome to those who were loth to favor her.

Y/N Baratheon. Lady of Storm’s End, younger sister to Stannis and Robert, older sister to Renly. She possessed the same appetite for amity as Robert coupled with the mirth and grandeur of Renly. Of Stannis, it was said, they shared only a name. Still she insisted she adored all her brothers equally, “even the gloomy one.”

Much was afoot in King’s Landing.

King Robert had named Lord Eddard Stark new hand of the king, and Stark had arrived with a host of his own and his two daughters in tow. This was cause for celebration, and celebration was cause for a tourney, and where there was a tourney (or a celebration), Lady Y/N was to be found.

And she was found in King’s Landing quite a lot, of recent.

There was a rumor, often dubbed a vicious and untrue one, that though her house sigil may be the King's own stag, Y/N had a particular fondness for hounds.

The sun was two hours from setting when a host of black and yellow arrived at The King's Gate. In came banners that bore stags, and a spate of wagons bringing wines and cheeses and polished pears from Storm’s End. An impatient rider rode ahead of the rest, leaving behind a cry of protest as she thundered away, alone, up the streets of King’s Landing.

She arrived with a well-lathered horse and a swirl of her cloak. A party had time to gather in the yard of the Red Keep; a paltry welcoming committee with little time to prepare.

But the King was there—of course the King was there.

Had she not already been grinning, she would have grinned. “There’s my favorite brother,” said Y/N, dismounting and already forgetting her palfrey.

The look on Robert’s face was strange, though, and uncharacteristic of the Robert she knew and loved. The years had not been kind to him (as was made most evident by his growing waistline), and his face was stern, drawn into a scowl, his brow furrowed.

Is he not happy to see me? she thought even through her smiles and excitement. Gods, he looks as grim as Stannis, maybe twice as much. When she made to throw her arms about his neck, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length instead.

“That’s your grace to you, woman. I am the King, or have you forgotten?”

The King’s sister opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, which was done dumbly and not unlike a fish.

The ruse was short-lived.

Robert Baratheon—King Robert Baratheon—broke into a roar of laughter like that of a bear made human. Still holding his dearest sister by the shoulders, he gave her a hearty shake. “Your face!” he boomed. “You should have seen it!”

Her smile returned, then her laughter. “You’re a fool if ever there was one, Robert!” She threw her arms around his neck even as he shook her, and the big king lifted his little sister in his arms and hugged her so tightly, so fiercely, that the now-arriving party feared the king may crush their lady.

Robert didn’t crush Y/N, though. No, they were both used to it. “You’re crushing me, Robert,” she huffed at last, prompting the king to drop her back down onto the ground.

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Right then, let’s get inside. We have much and more to catch up on, and there’s a flagon of wine calling my name.”

“Every flagon of wine calls your name, your grace.”

The King was laughing again, then, and the King’s sister was smiling.

That, as far as the two Baratheons were concerned, was the way it always had been, and the way it always would be, until one buried the other.

Meeting the King’s party was a grand ordeal, though Y/N had already met most of the partygoers in attendance on at least one occasion. Of course she knew the Lannisters, her brother’s family by law, and she’d met Lord Eddard Stark once before. Lord Eddard’s daughters were new to her, however, and a few of the faces at court as well. Having been taught well, she recognized most of the family names and colors, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the formalities a lady should do.

The occupants of the Red Keep’s great hall that night came from houses big and small, known and unknown, and saw the attendance of lords and ladies, knights, hedge knights, bards, poets and singers, fools in their motley and mummers with their painted faces. There were cards being shuffled and dice being thrown. Serving girls brought plate after plate of selections from the kitchens: stuffed capons, wine-glazed lamb, honeyed figs, dark breads with thick crusts, sweet lemon cakes still-warm from the ovens. The courses seemed never-ending and the wine never stopped flowing.

“Never was there such a party before, brother,” declared Y/N. She lifted a gilded goblet with a flourish, and rich, purple wine splashed over the rim and down her hand. She was the picture of effortless joy.

And she knew it, too.

If she hadn’t known it, the guests would have reminded her; the way they flocked to her in throngs and yammered on and on whenever she should happen to lend an ear—which was often. Round and round she circled the crowd as the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, searching the room for a familiar face—a face that would stand out even in the most crowded of rooms.

Her gaze passed the lords and ladies, passed the knights in their polished armor, until at last she found her mark.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stood near the far wall, obscured halfway in the shadows. His face was grim, as it usually was, pulled tightly into a scowl that had long since worn its lines permanently into his features. The burn scars that marred half his face were highlighted by the flickering torchlight, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.

She knew Sandor was not like the other knights, not like the men who fawned over ladies with flowery words and grand gestures. He was rough, blunt, and often downright rude.

He was the perfect change of pace.

Oft she sought him when at last she could take the rinse-and-repeat of perfumed nobility no longer. She wove through the crowd with ease, exchanging smiles and nods as she passed, until she finally stood before Sandor.

"Sandor," she greeted him plainly. “It’s been too long.”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For an overly long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a grunt, he inclined his head slightly. "My lady," he replied, his voice as rough as the gravel on the King’s Road.

Y/N smiled up at him, unfazed by his gruffness. "Why do you stand here all alone?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Surely even hounds deserve a bit of merriment."

Sandor huffed, a sound that could have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "Merriment’s for fools," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Forgive me, then, for it seems I’ve forgotten my motley.”

“So it seems.”

She knew he was not a man of many words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she also knew that, for reasons she could not fully explain, she had become someone he tolerated more than most.

Perhaps it was a royal decree by Robert unbeknownst to her. And what a royal decree that would be! The thought made her laugh aloud, which only earned her a raised eyebrow in response.

He indicated the floor from which she’d just come. "Motely or not, you should jingle along with the other fools,” he said, though his tone was less stern than usual.

"And you should be out there with your fellow dogs," said she, “but here we are."

Sandor's lips twitched as if they might have remembered how to smile for half a moment. “Surprised you’re not dancing again. It went well for you last time.”

With one sentence he had broken the façade she wore so well. Her look of smug mirth disappeared from her face in an instant and was replaced instead by one of flustered surprise.

It had been a celebration much like this one and she was deep in her cups by the time the sun had set and the dancing had begun. Y/N had been at the heart of it, twirling and dancing with little care, passing hand from one lord to another, from knight to knight, breathless and flushed and shoes long forgotten.

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling, and a moment later, toppling entirely. The ground rose up to meet her with an unpleasant wack!, and the pain in her cheek was overshadowed only by a pain in her ankle. She’d gotten too carried away and twisted something, it seemed, and hadn’t even felt it until she was picking herself back up off the ground.

Or, well, trying to pick herself back up off the ground. The usual cloud of courtiers buzzed around her in an attempt to see her upright again, but the pain in her ankle swelled red hot and angry.

A shadow passed, then, and she had looked up, her vision slightly blurred from the wine, to see Sandor Clegane’s gruff face above her. There had been no mocking grin or cold stare, just a look that might have been concern on a more expressive man. “You’re alright.”

Without another word, he had scooped her up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.

Y/N had gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!" she had protested, though she hadn’t made any real effort to leave his arms.

"Not on that ankle you can’t.”

And so she had let him carry her, through the bustling hall and up the winding stairs of the Red Keep, all the way to her chambers. It had been awkward, but it had also been…

More.

“You’re quite strong,” she said to him, which earned only a grunt of acknowledgement.

Something—something—fluttered inside of her when she saw him so close; the burned skin unevenly healed, the scruff that dusted his face, the muscle of his neck that disappeared beneath his armor where her prying eyes could not follow—but her imagination could.

When they reached her chambers, he had set her down gently on the edge of her bed. She had looked up at him, her heart pounding in a way that had little to do with the wine. As he made to release her, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and held him there, inches from her face.

She’d expected him to break free, to pull away, to do anything else. But he stayed.

He stayed there like that, his lips inches from hers.

He had hesitated, his expression torn between wanting to leave and the pull of something deeper that they both felt there between them. They both smelled of wine and honeyed mead, lips sweet.

She didn’t know who kissed who, but in half a heartbeat they were entangled.

Sandor’s breath came ragged against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She bit his lip and he growled. It was fast, animal, raw want.

And a longtime coming.

When he pulled away, she pulled him back in again, and he didn’t fight her. Breathless, she’d pulled herself up by his shoulders and onto her knees, the pain in her ankle unfelt and forgotten. Her hands cupped his face and she pulled him in, in, in, until her chest was flush with his and she could feel every rise and fall of his on hers.

At last he’d taken her by the elbows and pushed her away, and it ended as suddenly as it had started.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he told her.

“But I haven’t had enough of you.”

“You’ve had your fill of that, too,” he said, turning cloak and leaving.

“I’m quite certain I haven’t had my fill of you.”

He paused mid-step and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t want that,” he assured her. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something sharp as steel and burning hot.

Y/N leaned back on the bed. “I know what I want,” she said, wishing she could stand and go to him, to pull him by his cloak and his armor and whatever else she could get her hands on—something lower than his beltline. “I’ve known for years and years.”

Slowly, deliberately, Sandor crossed the room again, silhouetted against the warm torchlight that poured in through the still-open door. “Trust me,” he said, towering over her, leaning in close. “You might want to get your fill of me, but you don’t want me to get my fill of you.”

Her breath left her body in a shuddering shiver.

Again he had turned, then, and didn’t stop to look back at her that time.

#game of thrones #unfinished fic #game of thrones fic #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #fluff

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talesofesther · 19 days ago

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the witch and the vampire

modern au! Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: A vampire saves a witch from a monster. Yet the witch doesn't believe she belongs by the vampire's side. Little does she know, his cold heart only ever beats for her.

A/N: A small idea (that ended up not so small lmao) that I had on a whim and decided to write down, with a dash of Halloween spirit. ;)

Word count: 3,8k

Masterlist

Late afternoons at the Targaryen estate were one of the things you counted yourself lucky to have. The mansion itself, faded red and white in color, and built in the early 1900s, was a marvel that caused envy to many onlookers—it stood atop of a hill, with a massive yard at front and back, overlooking King's Landing. It was only fitting, you'd always thought, since the Targaryen's business empire funded most of what the city is today.

Through the large wood and glass doors that led to the kitchen's balcony, you were perched on the balustrade, watching as the golden light of the sun reflected against the ripples of the small artificial lake in the backyard. The air was crisp and fresh, the leaves on the trees were all brown and yellow, fall had officially arrived.

"You know what we need? Ghosts!" Aegon stepped through the doors, his eager voice catching your attention. He held a mug of hot chocolate and had the hood of his hoodie over his head. It wasn't that cold out, but Aegon had always preferred summer. "And bats, we should get bats too."

"I know a store that sells this stuff." Helaena soon followed, holding a mug of her own with one hand whilst the other tugged her cardigan closer to herself. "But we could always craft our own as well," she shrugged, breathing in and allowing the golden sunlight to warm her skin.

They sat at the round table of the balcony, and you turned around, leaning back against the balustrade to tune into their conversation, brows furrowed in curiosity.

Aemond was the last to come outside, and with a warmth to your cheeks, you couldn't help but stare. He had his long silver hair up in a loose bun, snuggled with a light brown sweater, and holding two mugs in his hands.

He didn't say anything as he walked up to lean beside you. Keeping you on his good eye's side, Aemond's shoulder was warm as it touched yours. He gave one of the mugs to you and took a sip of his own, closing his eye when the steam of the hot chocolate hit his nose.

You took the mug from him, biting the inside of your cheek when your fingers brushed his. "You made me one," both your hands closed around the warm ceramic, and you fought a smile. "Even if I said I didn't want it," you mumbled then, more to yourself than to him but Aemond heard anyway.

He hummed. "Even after all these years, you still refuse to take us seriously when we say 'make yourself at home'." Aemond glanced at you, he bumped his shoulder against yours. "I knew you wanted one."

You pursed your lips, bashful eyes shifting to the floor lest he saw the evident blush on your cheeks. Yet you leaned closer to him, whispering a 'thank you'.

"But it could be fun." Helaena's voice cut through your moment. You hadn't even noticed that she and Aegon had yet again fallen into a halfhearted discussion.

"Why would I go through the work of making something myself if there's a store that already sells it?" Aegon countered, shaking his head as if his point was the most obvious one.

"It's not about the work, it's about the fun process of it," Helaena rolled her eyes, slapping Aegon's hand away when he tried to reach for her half-filled mug after he finished his. "Plus it's not even that hard," she huffed, "you're just lazy."

"I'm not lazy," Aegon pouted.

"You're whining about making ghosts out of white cloth and styrofoam," Helaena raised a teasing brow, "And you say you aren't lazy?"

You shared a confused look with Aemond, who simply shrugged, despite having a smirk on his lips. "Guys," you called the two siblings, "What are you talking about?"

Helaena turned to you then, leaning back on her chair and taking her mug to her lips. "We are organizing a Halloween party," she spoke, before taking a sip.

"Next weekend, since mother will be out of town with Criston, we'll have the house all to ourselves," Aegon added in, with a pleased edge to his tone.

"And you will be attending," Helaena gestured a finger towards you, "No questions asked."

You blinked at her words, subconsciously leaning yourself closer to Aemond. "Oh, you know I'm not big on parties, Hel." A nervous chuckle fell past your lips. Ever since you became friends with Helaena back in middle school, she'd tried dragging you to all sorts of parties and events her family hosted. You'd think by now you should be used to high society events, even the ones organized by the siblings themselves, but really, you were not. "Besides, I uh- I don't even have a costume to wear."

"That's the least of your worries," Helaena waved you off with an easy smile, "We'll get you something, we can go shopping together this week." She then turned back to Aegon and continued discussing the decorations, as if the matter had been all resolved.

Your mouth remained agape, fingers tapping the warm edge of your mug. "It won't be anything big." You heard Aemond say from beside you, he leaned closer to your ear, feeling your anxiety coming off you in waves.

It wouldn't be farfetched to say you've spent more time at the Targaryen estate than in your own home these past years. Helaena loved you like a sister, Aegon adored making you laugh, their mother Alicent treated you almost as if you were a child of hers as well, and even Daeron who was pretty much never home always greeted you with a warm smile; and Aemond… Aemond was special and complicated and heartwarming all in one. They were family to you, but that doesn't mean anyone besides them would believe that. Others who held the same social status as them would often throw curious and judgemental glares your way when Helaena dragged you to events. You didn't belong in the upper-class crowd.

"It's just for close friends," Aemond continued, waiting for you to look up at him. "And some buddies Aegon is calling over."

Birds sang in the distance, announcing another day's end as the evening's cold breeze settled in. Aemond looked at you all soft and sweet, features shaped by the dusk glow, you sometimes liked to believe he kept that softness just for you. You held his gaze for a moment longer before raising one hand, worrying your nail between your teeth.

In the same beat, Aemond's hand came to close around yours, his fingertips tracing the bumps and ridges of your palm—all gentle and staggering as if he couldn't touch you enough. His touch would always give you goosebumps.

"It's your call." He pulled your hand down, but didn't let go. "But I'll… miss you, if you don't show up."

There was a hint of nervousness in his voice and in how he closed his eye when he spoke. It called you in, as if he truly meant it. And it's not like you've ever been able to tell him no.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Helaena and Aegon had gone all-in for the decorations. String lights with small plastic pumpkins attached to them illuminated the stone pathway that led to the mansion's entrance; along the same path, there were bats and ghosts attached to the trees, and real candles on the ground. The deep warmth of the orange lights was strangely comforting. From outside, the music was muffled by the walls, and even so, it sounded considerably loud. The thin curtains did little to hide the colorful lights illuminating the dim insides of the spacious living room and kitchen. The silhouettes of people dancing, talking, and making out could be seen as well.

And you stood a couple of steps away from the small stairs that led to the main double wooden doors. The moon remained high in the sky, barely covered by a few dark clouds.

Your hands clutched a pointy, black witch's hat. It was the best you were able to find at such short notice. A witch's hat, a black vintage dress, a long and dark cloak draped over your shoulders, and black boots. All paired with some ominously made makeup around your eyes and burgundy lipstick.

Securing the hat back over your head, you quit stalling. With a deep breath in, you walked up to the door and knocked.

Helaena was the one to open it for you—dressed up as a faerie, with fake wings and everything—she had a big smile on her face and a flush to her cheeks, undoubtedly from the expensive wine being served in solo cups that you could already catch a glimpse of. Alicent wouldn't be happy about it.

"You came!" She exclaimed.

"Trick or treats?" You greeted her with a grin of your own, opening your arms to show her the fantasy that you and she had picked out.

Helaena didn't hesitate to take hold of your hand and tugged you inside, "Come on in, we just raided the wine cellar," she spoke the last words closer and quieter as if it was any kind of secret.

You chuckled under your breath, blinking as your eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" The music was now loud and clear against your ears, as were the few colorful lights that danced around. Much like the outside, the estate's interior was beautifully decorated with all things Halloween; ghosts hanging from the ceiling, glowing pumpkins scattered around, candles warming up the rooms, and even a human-sized skeleton standing beside the doors that led to the balcony.

Helaena waved off your worry, "Mom won't even notice that a bottle or two are missing." She then took a moment to look you up and down, narrowing her eyes with a teasing smirk, "You look great, by the way. See? I knew it would suit you."

"I suppose it's not so bad," you acquiesced, smoothing down the fabric of your dress and cloak. There were eyes on you—the mansion was filled with people, all around your age yet you didn't know any of them. They all sneaked curious glances, wondering why you were there and how you could be amidst the most influential family in the city. A simple girl like you.

Your palms grew clammy at the unwanted attention, and you tried to push aside the twisting of your stomach when Helaena gave you a sympathetic smile you knew too well.

"Okay, I have to close up the wine cellar, or else then we'll certainly have a problem," she grimaced, squeezing your hand once, "Have fun, will you?"

"When do I not?" You teased, to which she simply raised a brow before turning away, leaving you all too alone in the middle of the crowd. You felt exposed, truly. Suddenly out of place as if you were invading. But at the same time, small, so very small. Each of the people around you—drinking and dancing and laughing—held a weight to their presence, to the expensive costumes they wore, and to the poorly concealed scoffs falling from their lips as they walked by you.

You tried killing some time by eating one of the cupcakes on the kitchen counter, some were shaped like pumpkins, others like skulls. You chose the pumpkin one, fidgeting with the edge of your cloak as the sweet taste of the chocolate filling invaded your tastebuds.

It was hard finding anyone with the poor lighting of the room, and even harder with everyone wearing some kind of costume for the night. Your eyes skimmed over the small crowds of guests, looking for Aegon or Aemond, anyone to make you feel less like an outsider—you'd spotted Helaena again, but she was enthralled in conversation with a group of girls you didn't know and you didn't feel like intruding.

Eventually, you gave up and made a beeline to the balcony, squeezing your way past bodies and clutching your pointy hat to your head so you wouldn't have it knocked off. Already craving some fresh air. As soon as you crossed the threshold and felt the crisp air of the night hit your cheeks, someone managed to step on your cloak.

A yelp escaped you when you felt yourself being tugged backward, your back hitting someone's shoulder. You turned around fast, apology ready on your lips even if you weren't the one at fault.

"Hey," the tall man you'd bumped into didn't give you a chance to talk, he was dressed up as Frankenstein and had a half-filled solo cup in hand. "Watch where you're going," he spat, with something akin to repulse dripping from his tone.

"I'm sorr-"

"Aren't you a little far from home, girl?" He pushed into your personal space, forcing you to take a step backward.

Only for your back to brush against another someone. You closed your eyes, biting at the inside of your cheek as you cursed out every possible entity for giving you such tremendously awful luck. Perhaps coming to this party was a mistake. But then, warm and familiar hands slowly closed around your shoulders, thumbs pressing into your flesh in something comforting.

"She is exactly where she is supposed to be." Aemond's calm and even voice felt like the breath of fresh air you were so desperately seeking. You kept your eyes closed still, relishing in the feeling of his hands holding you, pulling you closer to him.

Aemond hummed, and his tone dropped to something more dangerous; "You, however," he addressed the man who had stepped on your cloak, but you felt shivers going up and down your back all the same, "Better be walking out those doors within the next five seconds or else I'll put you out myself." Aemond merely leaned his head towards the main doors of his house, and it didn't take long for you to feel the other man's nauseating presence vanish.

Only then did Aemond let go of you, stepping around you so he could look you in the eyes. And your breath stumbled the same way your heartbeat did when you finally looked up at him. Thanks to a thin layer of makeup, his face was paler than what you were used to. There was a steady trail of fake blood coming from the edges of his smirk. His hair fell completely loose and framed his angular face between the long silver strands. The prosthetic sapphire eye you so rarely saw on his scarred eye certainly completed and gave its own flare to the look. He dressed in a loose frilly shirt, with a long black cape over his shoulders that had red satin on the inside of its fabric. Aemond was a vampire. A very charming and alluring one at that.

"You uh-" The word fell like a breath past your lips, completely muffled by the music. You cleared your throat, glancing away from his piercing gaze. "You didn't have to do that."

"Do what?" Aemond shrugged, his lips pressed together in a playful pout. "Am I not allowed to take out the trash in my own house?"

Fighting a smile and losing, you shook your head at him. For once you were thankful for the dim light of the room, as it hid the warmth that spread to your cheeks.

"Let me grab you a drink, witch." Aemond reached a hand to the small of your back, pulling you towards the kitchen before you could protest. He kept close to you at all times, There was an almost predatory sharpness to his eye anytime someone so much as thought about looking at you the wrong way—even if with him by your side, no one dared to. It blossomed a heat in your chest that was difficult to deny, the valves of your heart working overtime to keep up with its frantic beating.

Aemond only let go of you so he could fill up two red cups with what you could only assume was a bottle of wine that cost more than your monthly salary. His cape swayed behind him as he walked, as did his hair, soft silver strands contrasting against the black fabric of his cape's raised collar.

"I'm glad you came," Aemond spoke just loud enough for you to catch it over the music. He handed you one of the cups.

You granted him a small smile, observing as the candles from the kitchen counter cast a pleasant warm glow to one side of his face, and the distant colorful lights of the adjacent living room cast a myriad of colors on the other. His prosthetic eye shone under the light. You had only seen him this bare a few handful of times. Helaena told you it had taken years for him to ever allow anyone to see him without the eyepatch he wears most of the time.

"I'm still deciding if it was a wise decision or not," you confessed, trying to lighten the mood with an awkward chuckle.

Before Aemond could answer, a heavy hand patted your shoulder and nearly made you spill your drink on yourself. "I knew you wouldn't miss it," Aegon's enthusiastic voice appeared beside you, he laughed, greeting you with a quick but sloppy kiss to your cheek, "My parties are always irresistible."

"Hey Aegon," your smile grew wider as you turned to him. The older Targaryen was dressed as a king, with a huge golden crown on his head, a red regal outfit, and a mantle of white fur over his back. "I love what you've done with the place," you praised loudly as a new song began, "The decorations are awesome."

He refilled his cup, stealing a glance at his own house. "Eh, turns out making some of these yourself does pay off," he shrugged, gesturing to the many ghosts and bats hanging from the ceiling and the carved pumpkins lying around.

It stole another chuckle from you. Aegon held his cup with one hand and gave you an exaggerated curtsy with the other, before going back to disappear between the crowd of costumes.

You and Aemond remained quiet for several beats then. You leaned back against one of the counters, taking small sips of your drink as you quietly observed everyone around you. The wine burned a little down your throat, but you found yourself enjoying the taste of it. A soft breeze came in through the open doors of the balcony, it carried the smoke of the candles and the smell of incense and wine.

Aemond had already finished his drink, his thumb traced the rim of his cup. "You do belong here," his voice was so soft it almost got lost with the music. You averted your eyes to him only to see him already watching you. He let go of his cup, placing it beside one of the carved pumpkins—yours, now you noticed, the one you had carved with Aemond at the start of the month.

You pursed your lips when Aemond walked closer to you, holding onto your breath. "More than any of them ever have," he whispered then, but he stood close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body on yours. You didn't have to try hard to hear him.

There was electricity in the air as one of Aemond's shoes stepped in between your boots. His eye cast over every speck of your cosmetic makeup, resting longer on your lips, as if wondering how many times he'd have to kiss you until your dark lipstick would fade.

With your heart in your mouth, any and all words you could think of were gone. Because Aemond was close, too close. He'd only been this close to you once before, on a late summer afternoon, when you both sat by the pool and his chapped lips brushed yours; he'd tasted of strawberries then, the ones you'd been eating by the water together; it was a fleeting moment, gone so fast that none of you dared to speak of it after.

But now, his soul intertwined with yours again, and you felt as one of his hands sneaked to your waist. His fingers traced your curves with purpose, as if he'd missed how the shape of your body felt in his hands. Maybe he did.

Aemond's nose was short of brushing yours when you sucked in a sharp breath. Your eyes caught the other guests of the party; stealing glances at you and him, whispering with near scandalous looks. Your hand clutched tight at Aemond's loose shirt. "Aemond stop."

He pulled back in the same breath, but didn't go far, your hold on him didn't allow him to. "They're-" You gulped heavily, feeling inebriated in his closeness, "They're all watching." It was nothing but a breath past your lips, because your hand was on his chest, and even through the thin shirt, you could feel the heavy beating of his heart trying to escape its confines.

Aemond's lips parted with a smirk, he had his tongue between his teeth. He shook his head, hair falling over his scarred eye, whilst the other one glinted with something akin to deep adoration.

With the boldness of a man who had surrendered himself to a heart that wept for another, Aemond leaned in. His lips pecked the corner of yours, it was a quick kiss, but it lingered with the way his other hand had come up to cup the corner of your jaw and press you into him.

You could melt. Turning your head toward him and chasing his lips when he pulled away.

"Let them see," Aemond hushed, his thumb came over your bottom lip, brushing away a stain of the fake blood that came with his kiss. "Let them see how much I-" He grew breathless before he could finish, his lips hovering. But the look in his eye begged you for something. Longed for something. "Let them see."

The music suddenly became muffled to your ears, and the eyes of anyone else disappeared in a blurred background. There was only him, and a gravity pulling at your heartstrings with a desperation you couldn't keep to yourself any longer.

Biting back the hesitation, you raised a hand to Aemond's face, your fingers buried between strands of his hair as you pushed it behind his ear. He closed his eye with your touch, falling forward until his nose touched yours. You met in the middle, and this kiss held more hunger to it. You caught his lower lip between your teeth, something harmless, yet you couldn't help but soothe with your tongue afterward.

Aemond pressed his body to yours, if he could be closer, he would be. Both his hands had sneaked beneath your cloak, needing to feel the warmth of your body the most he was able to. Your nails mapped the edge of his jaw, digging softly into the skin there. It gave beneath your fingertips as though his skin had been molded for your touch, and Aemond's mouth parted on an exhalation of your name.

You smiled, dodging his lips when he leaned forward yet again, going for his scarred cheek to lay a kiss there. "You were right, I do belong here."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Aemond's taglist is open, let me know if you'd like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #aemond targaryen x reader #my story #aemond one eye x reader

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the-witch-of-one-piece · 1 year ago

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Pierced Nipples 18+ Ft: Draken, Taiju, Nahoya & Hanma WC:1000+ (unedited) A resident of the: @enchantedforest-network TW: Pierced nipples, masturbation, fingering, sucking on breast, tiddie f****** , hickies, penetration, Suggestive themes, Suggestive language Synopsis: Your tits are their main focus. MINORS DNI 18+

Nahoya

Nahoya’s eyes focused on your tits and didn't leave them for one min. This would be the first time he would see them without the bra and they were perfect for him. He was a little surprised to see the jewels of your pierced nipples. “You have some pretty tits baby girl.” he licked his lips. He was getting hard as he began to imagine his lips latching onto your tits. “You’ve been depriving me of seeing your body for so long I’m gonna savor every min of it.” His hand reaches over grasping onto your tits. “Don’t be so rough Nahoya.” softly whimpering as you felt your head hit the pillow.

His lips inches from yours “I can’t make any promises on that now.” his lips press onto yours.Feeling his teeth nibble on your lower lips, his lips traveling lower and lower till he reaches your tits. Hearing the soft pants was turning him on he reached for his cock and began to stroke himself. Hearing the lingering groan coming from his lips as he still sucked onto your breast. He could feel the cold metal of the nipple piercing against his tongue.

Your hands grasping his thick hair.. “Na-Na” your eyes looked down at him, you couldn’t even say your boyfriend's name. His hands slid down to the dripping mess between your thighs. His index finger slid up and down making your body squirm. “Na-ho-ya.” he said, removing his lips from your perfect tits. his finger finally penetrating your aching swollen cunt.

Hanma

His tongue slightly dragged against your nipple as he blew on them getting hard. He watches as your nipple becomes warm. “I fucking love your tits pierced.” he admired your tits that had hickies all over them from his lips. “Who would have thought you would go through the bet months back.” He didn't think you were going to pierce them but when you were there getting them done he witnessed it. He was deprived of touching or sucking on your nipples during the first month of them healing. He held onto your hips raising your bottom of the bed. He raised his body up and he had a good view of your body with his hands rocking you against his hip as his cock rammed inside of you. The way your tits bounced with each thrust. Your hands gripping the sheets underneath you. Your knuckles were turning white due to your grip on the sheets. “Shit mmm Hanma just like that.~~~”

“Play with them sweet tits of yours,” he grunted his order at you. It didn't take long for your hands to reach for your breast. Your thumb grazing your nipple you began to grope your breast. "Fuck that's so hot."

Taiju

His brow cocking down at you, as you were between his legs. You made eye contact with him, your hand stroking his cock your lips wrapping around his thick member. “Remove your top,” Taiju spoke in a deep voice as his yellow orbs pierced down at you. Removing your lips from around his cock the string of salvias that connect your lips from his cock separated. Pushing down the straps of your top exposing your breast. The cold air hitting them makes your nipple get hard instantly. The decorative jewelry he picked out for you when you get them pierced. The intense yellow orbs focused on your lips and then on your nipples. Bringing your chest a bit higher to his girthy erections. His slippery cock slid between your tits. You held your breast as your breast slid up and down his cock gliding with ease. Hearing a low growl coming from his throat his eyes closed for a moment enjoying the sweet euphoric form of pleasure. “Does it feel good, my king?” you cooed softly as you leaned your head down your tongue licking the tip of his cock. Feeling his cock twitch between your breasts. “It would be better if that pretty little mouth was wrapped around my cock more. But seeing your tits work just fine… for now.” his hands began to undo the rest of his shirt as he was becoming hot. The pretty little gems on your breast sparkling back at him he wanted to play with your tits so badly “Enough playing around I wanna see those pretty tits bounce as your ride my cock.”

Draken

He liked it when you got them pierced he found it sexy. He understood they were sensitive the first few days and you could wear a bra. He didn't mind it. But when they started to heal the more you wore a bra and it would be obvious when your nipples were cold. Hanging out with friends was all fun until he noticed a few Toman members looking at your chest and seeing the outline of your pierced nipples. He began to become a bit more possessive about how exposed those intimate piercings were. The little empty closet you both managed to fit in as he wanted to ‘talk’ to you.

Your back was against the cool concrete he held one of your legs up. The low panting spilled from your lips as he sucked on the nape of your neck. “I already told you about wearing something underneath so people couldn’t see them when we were out.” His voice was raspy. “You know how many Toman members were looking at you?” he thrust a bit harder as he brought his head up looking at you.

“I’m sorry babe mmmmm. Oh shit~~~” you whimper softly.

Draken's free hands pull your top down exposing your breast. “Now the next time we go out what are you gonna abide by?” his eyes watching your tits as he was becoming a bit more sloppier with his thrusting.

“I- I will make sure to cover my tits more~~~~” your eyes looked at him as he was enjoying the view of your tits before bringing his eyes up back at you and giving you a smirk.

Intersted in joining the taglist please fill out form below to get notification of your favorite character when they are being posted! Link here ->taglist

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some-bunniii · 8 months ago

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Lucifer dotes on a pregnant!reader [Sneak Peek]

you can find the original prompt here! fem!reader with no use of y/n.

EDIT: Full fic here!

take this little (unedited) blurb from my upcoming longfic! it’s another big one folks, maybe as long as my soul deal fic when it’s finished. character building underneath all that fluff y’know. i’m 13k words in and still going strong, so stay tuned!

“So…. I was a little bored last night,” Lucifer started, adjusting his long collar nervously as you regarded him with a quirked brow, “and, well, seeing as you didn’t have much for the baby, I thought I could give you a hand, soooo I made you this!”

His arm quickly lifted towards you, and you leaned forward to get a look at the small object in his hand.

Nestled in Lucifer’s palm, was a small, yellow rubber ducky. Your eyes widened, breath hitched, as your gaze flicked from the toy to Lucifer, then back to the ducky adorned with a small, white hat. He watched your reaction intensely, and at your silence he cracked an awkward grin.

“For the little one, in case you didn’t have anything for them. It’s even got a little baker's hat, since I know that’s kind of your thing.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you took the duck gingerly from his hand, turning it over as you traced the outline of the beak, the cute little hat, and finally the adorable tail feathers curled at its back. It stirred something in you, your stomach swimming with emotions that were threatening to bubble up and consume you while staring at the toy.

He made this… for your baby? As a gift to you?

That was so sweet of him, and not even Charlie had given you something so thoughtful. Sure, she paid for a majority of your baby necessities—which you owed her your life for, no matter how much the girl disagreed—but she never presented you with something made from the heart like this.

Lucifer did, though. Even if he made a million matching yellow duckies beforehand, he still made this one specifically for you. Had your ex ever cared enough to do something like this for you? You couldn’t recall. And yet, a man who was practically a stranger before you was the one to care enough.

Fuck, you were about to cry. You tried to steel yourself, holding back tears.

You met Lucifer’s gaze after a few moments, as you softly stroked the little toy with your thumb. The fallen angel only grimaced at your reaction, his smile faltering slightly as he watched your eyes well with tears and your lip start to quiver.

“Do you hate it?” He asked slowly, and you began sniffling softly hiccups building in your chest as you blinked in confusion.

“Hate—hic—It? Why would you think…?” You started, before you felt tears welling up underneath your chin, and dripping softly onto the ducky close to your chest.

You mentally slapped yourself, of course Lucifer would think you disliked it with how emotional you were being. Shame ate at you after that. Here the King of Hell was, thinking about you and your baby and making something in his own free time, only for you to reward him with tears.

Curse these hormones!

Now, the quiet sniffles that escaped you were from both sadness and delight, as you clutched the rubber ducky closer to your chest. The tears spilled faster from your cheeks, wetting the ground beneath you. A few droplets landed on your exposed arm, and its cool touch was a welcome sensation from the heat boiling underneath your skin.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” you finally breathed, rubbing a hand across your face to get rid of the tears, before you inhaled a sharp breath to calm yourself, “I’m sorry for being such a… such a—”

You clamped your mouth shut, trying to rope in the last bit of control you had over your emotions that were threatening to come undone. You sucked in a large, sputtering breath and Lucifer leaned back, just as your lips quivered violently.

“—a wreck!” you wailed after that, placing your free hand to your mouth to try and hold in your sobs.

Lucifer jumped slightly, closing in the small distance between the two of you as he rushed to your side. He bit his lip, his hand reaching towards you to give comfort, before he hastily pulled it back.

“Wait, no! You’re not a wreck, you’re completely fine. Perfect, even! Oh, please don’t cry…”

The man was starting to pace as you held a hand to your mouth, slowly but surely clamping down on your outburst of emotion.

“Here, have another one!” A second rubber ducky appeared with a red burst of smoke, landing softly into his palm as he lifted it towards your face, “Don’t worry I have a lot more at home!”

The duckies cute little apron, displaying a cookie and two tiny wooden spoons in the shape of an X, only made your lip quiver more violently. Lucifer slowly pulled the third ducky behind his back and out of view, staring at you with concern as you tried to catch your breath.

“It’s so cute!” you gasped through the tears, before rubbing your eyes once more.

“You think so?” He replied in disbelief.

You nodded your head vigorously, smiling through the tears as you clutched both ducks to your chest. Lucifer slowly caught on, before breathing a large sigh of relief like he just avoided doomsday.

“Are… you two okay?” Came a familiar voice from the edge of the room. You turned your head to see … 🫣

ah, the wonders of hormonal pregnancy changes! sorry for the wait 😔 health issues have arisen and the motivation to write plummets when you’re in pain, but don’t worry, i’m still writing everyday and it should be out soon <3

thanks for the patience 🤍

#lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hellaverse #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

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incorrectjttw · 1 month ago

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Six Eared Macaque: Nothing feels better than winning Monopoly. Not love, not sex, not free pizza, nothing! Yellow Brow: I’m sorry, have you tried pizza? Six Eared Macaque: Yes, and it doesn’t compare to owning half the board and watching the light die from your friend’s eyes as you take their money and feel your friendships slowly deteriorate. Yellow Brow: I like you.

I don't ship the Six-Eared Macaque, but if I did, it would be with another villain (it's just more fun, if they're both evil arseholes).

#journey to the west #liu'er mihou #yellow brows great king #incorrect quotes

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the-monkey-ruler · 1 year ago

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Monkey King Reborn (2021) 西游记之再世妖王

Director: Wang Yunfei Screenwriter: Wu Xiaoyu / Wang Yunfei Starring: Bian Jiang/Zhang Lei/Cai Haiting/Su Shangqing/Zhang He/Lin Qiang/Liu Sicen/Wang Chenguang/Baomu Zhongyang/Zhang Bin/Chang Jin/Tut Hamon/Zhang Yaohan/Bai Xuecen/Qiu Qiu/Chang Wentao/Li Jiaxiang Genre: Action / Animation / Fantasy Country/Region of Production: Mainland China Language: Mandarin Chinese Date: 2021-04-02 (Mainland China) / 2021-08-07 (Re-release in Mainland China) Duration: 95 minutes Also known as: Journey to the West: Ginseng Fruit / Monkey King Reborn IMDb: tt14391088 Type: Retelling

Summary:

When chaos first emerged, the world's first demon came into the world, named Primordial / Yuan Di (voiced by Zhang Lei), and was regarded as the ancestor of the demon. Millions of years later, the former demon king Sun Wukong (voiced by Bian Jiang) was rescued from the Five Elements Mountain by Tang Seng (played by Su Shangqing). Wukong promised to protect Tang Seng and go to the West to learn scriptures. The legendary demon ancestor Yuan Di appears again, and the Three Realms are in danger. Two generations of demon kings are destined for a final battle, but this time, Sun Wukong meets a real powerful enemy.

Source: https://mov-20.chinesemov.com/2021/Monkey-King-Reborn

Link: https://myflixer.pw/watch-movie/monkey-king-reborn-75178.5590519 https://www.bilibili.tv/en/video/2008955865

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deanbrainrotwritings · 6 months ago

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— i hate buffering

SUMMARY : “hey hi, could you do an imagine with Dean who is dyslexic or dyscalcic? Please I would really care <3” — anon

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff

WORD COUNT : 826

A/N : title from a the devil wears prada song. ah, an imagine. I actually don’t know what the hell I'm doing, but I loved this as I started reading a Stephen King book in the semi-darkness and I kept reading words wrong and thinking about how difficult it would be to be dyslexic.

Dean heard your adorable giggle before he heard your footsteps coming closer to his bedroom.

This new, long-term dating thing made his heart skip a few beats.

You were cute and compassionate, mostly, but there was so much to you than just that. The longer he spent getting to know you, the more you seemed to unexpectedly expose parts of yourself, like heated kernels turning to popcorn.

He stopped cleaning the stuff in his bedside table’s drawer to watch you with a dimpled smile. He sat on the bed and you finally showed him what you were shyly hiding behind your back.

He blinked a few times, willing his brain to focus on the yellow sticky note and your pretty handwriting. He glanced up at you, your expectant gaze, the flush on your cheeks. Embarrassment flared up his neck and he panicked.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he blurted out. You tilted your head at him as your brows twitched and your smile faded into confusion. “I'm tired, I can’t focus,” he lied, rubbing his eyes.

You thought it odd, but shrugged it off anyway.

“Oh, that’s fine,” you smiled, “it says: show me your tits, cowboy.” Dean laughed softly and you slapped the sticky note on the wall above his bed as you climbed into his lap. He instantly grabbed your waist and slowly slid his hands down to your ass. “But if you’re tired, we can just sleep… after you finish cleaning this up.” You dipped down to kiss his forehead, but he searched for your lips for a real kiss that made you warm all over.

One of his hands slowly moved up your back until he cupped the back of your head to deepen the kiss. Before you knew it, he had you laying down on his bed and impatiently moved between your legs to kiss you harder.

You laughed against his lips and moved up the bed, never breaking the kiss until your head was properly pressed into his soft pillow. His warm, calloused hand sneaked up into your tank top, slowly lifting it, distracting you by licking into your mouth.

His soft tongue played with yours and he gently squeezed your breast, causing your breath to hitch. He pulled away with a smirk that made you feel hotter. He removed his hand from your warm flesh to kiss down your neck and your hands moved into his soft hair. His soft lips pressed and brushed teasingly against your skin, and his careful teeth grazed your sensitive flesh. He gently pulled down the strap of your top and followed the thin strip before moving to kiss your cleavage instead.

“Fuck,” you whispered impatiently, but let him do things his way despite the fire you felt on your skin from his touch and his kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered warmly against your skin. You smiled and hummed softly, watching him with his greedy eyes while he grabbed a handful of your ass and slipped his hand underneath your shorts.

“You're not wearing underwear.” His voice was low and deep, and all you could do was bite down on your lips while he licked his own and just watched you hungrily. Your heart was in a frenzy and your mind was clouded with incoherent thoughts of him. Naked.

“I pretty much told you I came here for sex, but cuddling is an option if you’re tired.” He slid his hand out from under your shorts, moved back up to peck your lips before smiling down at you cheekily. You pressed your lips together shyly and lowered your hands to his broad shoulders.

“Can I tell you something?” He asked suddenly, pressing his lower body against yours and gently leaned on his side with his arm beside you. You tried to ignore the sensation of his body being all over your and lovingly cupped his cheek.

“You can tell me anything.”

He inhaled and looked away from you slightly. “I’m dyslexic. I couldn’t really read your note.”

You almost blurted out really? without thinking, but this is Dean. He wouldn’t say that if he wasn’t completely sure about it. Your smile softened and he chewed on his lip for a few seconds before trying to cover it up with a seductive lick of his lips and a quick glance at yours as an escape for his confession.

“That must make all this hunting research very difficult for you,” you considered thoughtfully. He kissed you softly to interrupt your thoughts.

“It does…” he mumbled against your mouth and rocked his hips gently against your core. Your breath got caught in your chest.

“You’re still very good at it,” you reassured him breathlessly and grabbed at his shirt to tug it up and off his flushed body. He hummed appreciatively against your lips. “Thanks for telling me,” you murmured, teasingly nipping at his lip when he started pulling away to remove his shirt.

“Thanks for being you.”

taglist

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ladyinwriting18 · 1 year ago

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A Gift For A Hound (Sandor Clegane x Reader)

Summary: Joffrey gives his faithful Hound a gift---you.

Words: 5,277 Warnings: PIV, Oral sex, Master/Slave,

The Hound walks down the long stone corridor that leads to his room. In his right hand he carries a wineskin filled with the first thing he could get his fucking hands on. Being the personal bodyguard to a cunt like Joffrey is no easy task. The little shit is ruthlessly cruel. Which is saying something coming from him. Sandor Clegane isn’t known for being kind hearted but he’s no Joffrey. The boy is sick in the head. He does his best to push it from his mind. The day is done, meaning he can forget the shit from the day and drown himself in wine alone until the numbness of sleep takes him. This is Sandor’s nightly ritual. One that he honestly looks forward to. But when he opens the door, he isn’t greeted by the usual solitude. Instead, there’s a naked woman kneeling on the floor beside his bed.

It takes him a moment to get over the initial shock, but when he does, his voice booms throughout his chamber. “What the fuck is this? What are you doing here?” You lift your head to look at him, keeping your hands palms up on the tops of your knees. You’re as naked as your nameday, all except your neck. Tied around it is a yellow ribbon with three black dogs down the front—the colors and sigil of his house. “Hello, My Lord Hound.” “I’m no lord. So you can keep those meaningless titles to yourself.” You nod but stay silent. Sandor growls, nearly barking at you. “Well? Are you going to tell me what the fuck you’re doing in here?” You don’t even flinch at his raised voice, just answer him softly with a voice as warm as honey. “I belong to you. I am yours to do with as you please.” His brows pull together, not understanding the words that just left your mouth. “What?” You smile and patiently repeat yourself. “I belong to you now, for as long as you want me.” Your words have his eyes roam over your body for the first time. Every curve, the smoothness of your skin, and the way the chill in the room already has your nipples hard makes his cock twitch. “I’m a gift from King Joffrey.” That catches his attention. Joffrey barely spared him a glance. Now he was giving him gifts? “You’re…my gift.” You smile warmly. “Yes. Master.” That was new. No one had ever called him that before. He isn’t sure how to feel about it, but it’s far better than being called ‘my lord’. He steps over the threshold and lets the door shut behind him before moving closer. At his approach, you once again bow your head. There’s a gentle air about you. It’s something that isn’t a typical trait to the women found on the Streets of Silk. Not that Sandor was a frequent visitor. Most women couldn’t stomach looking at his scarred face. Even when he paid them, they struggled. What was the point of wasting coin on that?

You, on the other hand, are almost intoxicatingly feminine. It makes him want to press his nose to your cunt and breathe in your scent. He looks down at you, feeling more curious and less irritated than when he first walked in. “You said you belong to me?” You nod. “So, you’ll do anything I ask you to?” You keep your eyes downcast but respond without hesitation. “Yes, Master Hound. It will bring me great pleasure to fulfill your every request.”

A tension builds through his frame. Not out of anger, but anticipation. Anticipation to feel release that he often doesn’t get unless he takes his cock in his hand. “Look at me,” he commands. You do so eagerly, looking at him without a speck of fear. He searches your eyes for the lie, determined to find it. He is the Hound afterall. Usually he could smell a liar from yards away, but with you, he only sees devotion. As if you truly wish to serve him. Most were intimidated or afraid of him, but this is something different. It’s submission. It awakens his more animalistic needs. The part that wants nothing more than to fuck and claim and breed. His unscarred eye twitches as his hand moves to your cheek—to see if you’ll flinch at his touch. But, fuck, you lean into his palm and press your lips to the pad of his gloved tumb. Never once averting your gaze. He lets out a breath that he wasn’t aware he was holding. You’re all his. He starts to pull his armor and clothes from his body. You sit up on your knees, helping where you can. You manage to pull the gauntlets from his hands and unbuckle his sword belt. But the rest he does. His fingers move too fast and he knows the armor like the back of his hand. You find other ways to make yourself useful, taking items from him and gently placing them down while he throws the rest on the floor. When he’s left in nothing but his pants and boots, your hand lightly runs over the bulge in the front of his pants. Involuntarily, he bucks into your touch, wanting more. However, you make no move to continue past teasing touches. He grunts impatiently, catching your attention. Your eyes meet, your head tilting to the side as you whisper the words…. “Command me, Master.” Command? Why the fuck would he need to do that? Any other whore he’d ever slept with always took matters into their own hands and rushed to get things over with. “Tell me how to please you. I just want to please my Master.” Your pleading tone shoots right to his already hardening cock. The corners of his mouth twitch into a grin while his hand moves to the back of your skull. He pulls you in, guiding you closer to his groin.

“Kiss it.” Immediately, you obey, leaving kisses along his clothed cock. Only the linen of his pants separates you, but still he can feel the warmth of your mouth. Sandor lets out a rough growl while undoing the knot at the front of his pants. “Don’t stop.” You coo as sweetly as a dove and your kisses become more passionate as moans escape your parted lips. You hold eye contact with him without fear, without disgust, without judgment. He can’t recall a time when even his fellow King’s Guard was able to look at him, let alone a woman. Everything about this is different. You are different.

You look at him with desire. It only makes him more eager to sink his cock into you. However, once the cloth falls away to reveal his fully naked form, you sit back on your heels with your feet folded beneath you. You sit with your spine perfectly straight and your hands resting on your knees. You look more like a high born lady than a common whore. So submissive and pretty. “You’re waiting for my command, aren’t you?” His hand comes down to wrap around the length of his aching cock. Your eyes dart to the movement of his hand. You seem transfixed but still manage to respond, “My sole purpose is to give my Master pleasure. I’m your property to do with as you please.”

“My property?” he breathes and starts to slowly stroke himself. He does this more to tease you than himself. It clearly works because you only seem able to nod. A sly grin comes across his features. “You’re my property,” he repeats, louder to refocus you. “A beautiful…little thing…that belongs to me.” Sandor pants between words, stroking himself with a firmer grip.

“Yes, Master,” you moan with a lick of your lips. “I belong to you and only you.”

“Then be a good girl and come suck your Master’s cock.” You rise onto your knees so fast that you almost take him by surprise. Within moments, you’re pushing his hand away and wrapping your own around the base while your tongue traces over the veins in his shaft. “Your cock is so thick,” you moan out. Sandor isn’t sure if you meant to say that out loud but it hardly matters once you wrap your lips around the head of his cock. Your hand and mouth work in tandem—tugging firmly while lovingly sucking. That is…until you drop your hand away and swallow his cock whole. “Fucking Hells,” he swears and involuntarily bucks his hips forward. You hum, tightening your lips around his thickness as you pick up the pace and bob your head up and down. He watches you intently. Dark brown irises burn with lust as you suck him off like your life depended on it. “Filthy thing is enjoying this, isn’t she?” he pants, dick stiffening and pulsing in your mouth.

You nod with a happy little hum, and Sandor can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of his scarred lips. Your mouth is warm and so fucking inviting, like his cock was always meant to be there. He wants more. His hand shoots out to grip the back of your head as thick fingers tangle in the locks of your hair. He moves you up and down at just the right pace. You obey his physical command, allowing him to fuck your mouth while you drool all over him. Sandor is by no means a small man and his cock is no different, but you handle it with skill. The sloppy, wet sounds of you sucking with such enthusiasm makes him feel drunk. The pleasure courses through him, all the way down to his toes. It’s almost too much. And your big, beautiful eyes don’t make it any easier. They’re full of affection while unshed tears prickle at the corners of your eyes from how wide your mouth is stretched open. He slams his cock into your throat, hitting as deeply as you can possibly take him. Your hands and nails dig into his thighs to hold yourself steady. “That’s it,” he grunts, “take it.” You moan and gag with your brows knit together. He would have thought you were in pain if it wasn’t for the blissed expression on your face.

Sandor takes all of you in, wanting to commit the image of you gagging on his cock to memory. So that when you were gone, he’d at least still have that. But that’s when he catches sight of you pressing your thighs together. The blood in his veins sings. You’re getting off on this.

On pleasing him. On having his cock in your mouth. On obeying. Suddenly, having you down on the ground isn’t enough. He forcefully pulls away, slipping his cock out of your mouth. You whine at the loss and lean forward to try and get him back in your mouth, but not even your alluring mouth will keep a man like The Hound from getting what he wants. Bending at the waist, he shoves his hands under your armpits and lifts you up from the ground before throwing you onto his bed. You yelp when your back hits the mattress. Sandor simply grins at your shock from being so easily manhandled. “Is that cunt as pretty as your face, girl?” Blood rushes to your cheeks, coloring them, but still you open your legs, baring yourself. You’re a soaking, dripping mess. He’s certain he’s never seen a cunt as wet as yours is right now. It makes his throat feel dry…and in desperate need of a drink. Not willing to wait any longer, Sandor sinks to his knees and dives his face between your thighs. His tongue drags along your folds before it grazes your clit. Even at the slightest touch, you sigh and arch into his mouth. “More. Please, give me more.” Your pleas are sweet. So sweet that he’s no longer interested in teasing. He repeats the movement of his tongue but this time uses the flat of it to press firmer against your sensitive bud. You cry out, thighs closing tightly around his head. Sandor grunts, his arms sliding under your legs. He curls them around your thighs and uses his hands to keep your legs apart. With your movements restricted, he smashes his mouth against your clit. His lips wrap around it and suck. You buck and manage to throw a leg over his shoulder. Your foot presses against his broad back, using it as leverage to grind your hips towards his mouth. He smirks, proud that he’s the one eliciting such a response from you. While it’s true he rarely spends his coin on whores, this skill was something he learned long before his days at King’s Landing. In his youth, there had been a servant girl who worked in the kitchens. They had grown up together and thus she hadn’t ever feared his burned face. Exploring one another's bodies had felt natural. That’s how Sandor became acquainted with the taste of women. Once upon a time, they might have been married…if Gregor hadn’t found out and killed her in a jealous rage. Sandor forces the past from his mind. There’s no use in it when he has your cunt filling his senses. He savors the taste on his tongue, using it to flick your clit while sucking on it. You continue to buck and cry out, the pleasure clearly building for you. But he doesn’t want you reaching your peak just yet. He moves away, only slightly. His saliva mixes with your slick. They drip together making you all the more wet. It’s a delicious sight.

“Messy thing,” he praises, and he can feel the way your toes curl against his back. “You know,” he continues, “I usually spend my nights drinking but you’ve interrupted that.” Purposely, he pauses, letting you think he’s actually upset. You whimper, ready to apologize but Sandor speaks over you, his voice huskier than before. “Are you going to make it up to me, girl? And give me something else to drink?” You stumble over your words but still manage to speak, “Y-Yes Master, anything.”

Sandor hums from the back of his throat and swipes your clit with his tongue before answering. “Then be a good little slut and cum on my tongue.” Not bothering to wait for a reply, he runs his tongue to your slit, gathering more juices along the way. He probes your entrance before letting it fill you. You gasp in time with his moan. No longer can he taste the wine he was previously drinking. His taste buds are filled with nothing but your cunt. He vigorously pumps his tongue in and out of you. Your hands find his head, fingers tangle in hair in an attempt to tug him in deeper. “Fuckkkk, you’re so good with your tongue, Master!” Usually Sandor hates being touched without permission, but you’re so desperate it feels like he’d be committing a sin if he stopped you.

Besides, you’re dripping down his chin and giving him exactly what he wanted—a drink. But like a man starved, he wants more. He presses his thumb to your clit to stroke it. You throw your head back and sing. It’s the purest music he’s ever heard.

The louder you moan, the harder his cock throbs.

For the next few moments, the only sounds are your cries of pleasure and his grunts against your core.

It isn’t long before you start trembling, to the point that even your inner thighs shake.

“I…I’m going to–”

You don’t need to finish your sentence for Sandor to know that you’re about to cum. He doesn’t let up the movements of his tongue or the pressure to your clit but still you try to force words out of your mouth. “P-Please. Please can I–?” Realization flashes through him. You were asking for permission to cum. Why you think you needed to ask, Sandor doesn’t know, but Gods if it isn’t the most erotic fucking thing. He moves away just enough to speak. “Go on, girl. Give me what I want and cum.” His tongue plunges back into your depths and you spasm around it. When your orgasm hits, your entire body goes rigid and breathy, unrestrained moans bleed from your throat. His cock twitches wildly in response, precum surely dripping onto the stone floor he’s kneeling on. You’ve coated his tongue with your juices, making Sandor wonder if you’ll do the same to his cock. He works you through your aftershocks while drinking from you, licking up every drop he can. It's only when you fall limply back onto the mattress that he stops and removes his tongue and fingers from you. He sits back to look you over. You’re even more beautiful with a flushed face and glossed over eyes.

“Thank you for letting me cum, Master,” you murmur politely.

And just when he thought you couldn’t be any more perfect. Rising onto the bed, he grabs you by the back of the neck and hauls you towards him. His mouth crashes onto yours, forcing his tongue past your parted lips.

You return the kiss in a flurry of passion while your hands roam freely over his body. Starting from his shoulder, you trail your hands down his bare chest to his hip bones. He moans into your kiss, enjoying the feeling of your soft hands and the way you gently suck at his tongue.

Your hands continue downward until your fingertips brush against his still very hard cock.

He breaks the kiss with a smirk. “Something you want, Little One?” You brush your lips against his with a nod. “Make me belong to you.” “I thought you already did,�� he teases gruffly with his hot breath in your face. “You’re my property, remember?” Color blooms across your cheeks, but whether it’s in satisfaction or embarrassment, Sandor isn’t sure. “I am. I belong to you, Lord Hound. I’m your—” He barks over you, cutting you off. “What did I say about that ‘my lord’ shit?” You instantly close your mouth, lips pressing into a thin line at your mistake. Fucking hells. He wanted to fuck you, not scold you. Sandor lets out a breath and forces himself to soften his tone. “I don’t need fancy titles, my name is good enough.” Your expression falls, the color draining from your cheeks. “King Joffrey only referred to you as ‘The Hound’. Is…Is that not your name?” You look upset, bordering on mortified but Sandor can’t stop the gruff laugh that bubbles from his chest.

“I should have known that slimy little bastard would pull something like that.” You look thoroughly confused. His dark eyes look you over, your once pliable body now stiff as stone. However, it’s the ribbon of his house sigil that catches his attention. It doesn’t have the same appeal now that he knows you don’t know what it means. “And I’m guessing he didn’t tell you the meaning behind this?” he questions bitterly and starts untying it from around your neck. You shake your head ‘no’. “Just that it would please you to see me wear it.” He pulls the ribbon free, but before he can toss it away, you grip his large hand with both of yours. “Tell me? Please, Master, I want to know.” You ask so sincerely that it halts his movements. Your eyes meet, and all his willpower leaves him. “It’s the sigil for my house.” “House?” you prompt in hopes he’ll continue.

“Clegane.” You smile bright, repeating after him so you could lock the information away forever. Sandor, on the other hand, is too distracted by the new rush of blood that pumps down to his groin. When he doesn’t say anything else, you squeeze his hand gently. “And my Master’s given name?” “Sandor.” “Sandor.” You take your time saying it, as if tasting his name on your tongue. “Sandor Clegane,” you whisper with a smirk, noticing how he starts leaning in closer. He doesn’t stop, forcing you to shift your position and slowly lay back onto the bed. “Master Sandor.” You moan and he growls. Your legs part to accommodate him and he places a hand beside your head, trapping you beneath him. “You don’t need to call me Master.” Your smirk widens. “But you like it when I do.” He huffs because you’re right. “Fucking vixen,” he snarls and kisses you hard. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders and your legs hike up to his hips, allowing his cock to press against your core. You’re still so warm and wet that it’s almost painful to not plunge himself inside. And maybe he would have if you hadn’t been so smug just now. “Beg,” he commands, while the hand not holding him up grips your neck. “And tell your Master what you want.” His fingers wrap effortlessly around your throat. He doesn’t do this to hurt you, just to apply enough pressure so you know who’s in charge. To his surprise, you moan and tilt your head back to give him better access. “That’s better,” he coos and rewards you by running his tongue from your jawline to the shell of your ear. “Brat just needed to be put back in her place, didn’t she?” His hot breath in your ear gives you goosebumps. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master.” “Then prove it.” He gives your throat another squeeze before releasing it. “I’ll behave, I swear.” Your hands run from his forearms, over his muscular shoulders and down his chest until the swell of your breasts are pressed against him. “I just want my Master to claim me. Want to feel him inside.” You pause and rock your hips forward to grind your cunt against his length. “Please, Sandor? Please fuck me.” It’s his name that does him in. He isn’t used hearing it, let alone someone saying it while asking him to fuck them. He straightens his back and guides your legs to fully wrap around his waist. You continue pleading but instead of giving you a verbal reply, he plunges balls deep inside of you. You both instantly tense. He, because of the tightness of your walls clinging around him, and you, because of the sudden intrusion of his cock demanding to be taken. “That’s it. Taking me so well,” he breathlessly praises, slowly moving out, then back in so you’d have time to adjust. He breathes out, watching his cock glisten from your juices when he pulls out a bit. Your head lulls to the side with a moan, feeling beyond stuffed full but also whole.

“Is this what you wanted, girl? To be speared on my cock and used?” “Yes!” you cry, trying to arch back to get his cock deeper. “Please use me. Ruin me for anyone else.”

At that, he slams into you, not being able to wait any longer. You yelp at the pressure, screaming and twisting your fists into the bedsheets. There’s no way he could keep his pace slow, not when you feel this good melting around his cock.

You had said you wanted to be ruined. Sandor Celegane might not be a lord, or a knight, or a gentleman, but he could most certainly ruin you with his cock.

He repositions your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so that your feet are by his ears. He’s able to fuck you even deeper now, his balls smacking against you with every brutal thrust.

His rhythm is rough and steady. And with how tightly he holds your legs in place, you can do nothing but lay there moaning and clenching around him.

“You’ll never forget this. When the next flimsy little knight comes along to fuck you, it’ll be my cock you think about.”

Your eyes screw shut, the pleasure building in your lower belly. It feels like he’s everywhere, filling your cunt and taking over your mind and body. How you manage to nod in response is beyond you. But a nod isn’t good enough.

“Say. It,” he snarls, punctuating his words with even deeper thrusts. You curl your toes with a whine. “It’ll be your cock, Master! Only your cock.” “Mhmm, good girl.” He looks down at where your bodies are joined and sees his cock, hard, ribbed with veins and coated in your juices as it thrusts in and out of your wet hole. It’s a glorious sight and it has his orgasm threatening to hit, but there’s something he has to do first. And that’s making you cum. He reaches between your bodies and easily finds your clit. He rubs it, strokes it, and draws circles on it until he finds the touch that has you babbling in broken, indecipherable sentences.

“I want you to cum,” he speaks in labored breathing, rubbing your clit while still spearing you on his length. “I want you to cum for me now. ”

For a moment, you fall completely silent, but then it hits. The unfiltered, beautiful howls that accompany your climax. All the while your inner walls close around him in the most delicious way.

He curses, lurching forward as you gush and spasm all over him. It’s too much and he’s quickly following you over the edge, filling you with his cum. Like a cat having their head scratched, an almost purring like sound leaves you at the feeling of him filling you with his seed. It has Sandor feeling dazed as to why that would please you, but his focus is on steadying his breathing as he comes down from cumming for the first time in fuck knows how long. Your breathing is also labored, while your eyes struggle to stay open. It’s clear you’re fighting off sleep. He carefully slips out of you, even more careful not to jostle you as he sits on the edge of the bed. He finds his wineskin from earlier by the foot of the bed. Greedily, he drinks from it until his throat no longer feels dry. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of your naked form. If he was this thirsty, then your throat must be raw after all that screaming. He reaches for you, tugging you into his arms to help you sit up. You whine, eyes fluttering open, but relax when he pulls you to sit between his thighs and leans you against his chest. “Here, this will help soothe your throat.” He hands you the wineskin, which you graciously take. Sandor watches you take long, slow sips. A drop slips past your mouth and drips down your chin to land on your breast. He grins. He likes a woman who doesn't mind getting dirty. You’re just as beautiful now as you were when he first walked in to you demurely sitting on the floor. “Will you tell me your name?”

You lower the wineskin from your lips and say it with a smile. This time it’s he who repeats you, liking the way it rolls off his tongue. You nod, smiling at him before taking another drink. He stands and starts making his way to the basin of water set on a small table in the corner of the room. “Drink as much as you like. I can get more,” he says from over his shoulder as he starts washing away the sweat on his chest and the slick that you’ve managed to coat even his balls in. Afterwards, he puts on a pair of lightweight sleep pants. When he turns back to you, he expects to find you still drinking or dressing, but instead he finds you sitting on his bed and watching him. “Where are your nightclothes?” You fidget uncomfortably, looking away. Sandor grunts under his breath, he should have known this wouldn’t last. “If you don’t wish to stay, then just say so.” The bite in his voice is evident and you snap your head up in his direction. “I-It’s not that!” you protest. “I want to stay. I just…don’t have any clothes.” His brows pull together in confusion, “Joffrey didn’t leave your clothes here for you?” You shake your head ‘no’. That angers him. Joffrey was a callous shit but to leave you with nothing was just cruel. “No personal belongings? How the fuck did he expect you to get home after this?” You flinch, once again looking away. “The King said….” you trail off. “Nevermind, Master.” Your discomfort radiates off of you. Quietly, he fishes out a clean shirt out of a trunk at the end of the bed and makes his way over to you. “Arms up, Little One.”

You lift your head and see the shirt in his hands. You obey and he slips the shirt over your head and helps you dress. “This damn thing is going to look more like a dress on you, but it’ll do until morning.” You pull your knees to your chest while muttering a ‘thank you’. There’s still something bothering you and Sandor is determined to figure out what it is. “Look at me,” he commands, knowing you’ll obey. You do and he continues. “Do you know why they call me ‘The Hound’?” You stare at him in fascination and shake your head. “Because I can smell a lie as easily as I can breathe. So out with it. What’s upsetting you?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip before responding. “King Joffrey told me I didn’t need to pack anything because he bought me from the keeper of the pleasure house. He…” You falter, trying to find the bravery to continue. “He said that if you didn’t wish to keep me once we were through, that he’d pass me around to his other guards until they used me up. Or that maybe he’d kill me himself.” Rage boils in his blood. Not only because Joffrey put you through hell, but because he suddenly can’t bear the thought of another having you. “No one is going to touch what’s mine.” The threat of his words hangs in the air but you look relieved. “You…You mean you’ll keep me here with you?” Sandor nearly chokes because he hadn’t thought that far ahead. All he knew is that he didn’t want Joffrey or any other to get their hands on you. “Is…Is that what you want?” You smile bright, brighter than the summer’s sun. “Nothing would make me happier, Master.” As beautiful as you are, and as lovely as it sounds to have a warm cunt to bury himself in each night, the cold blade of reality cuts through. “Well don’t go making it sound like it’ll be all sunshine and lemoncakes. I’m not by any means a joy to live with and—” But you aren’t listening because you’re too busy crawling into his lap. You straddle him and nuzzle your face into the side of his neck. “Thank you, Sandor,” you whisper against his skin, melting against his body as you make yourself comfortable. No one had ever thanked him in his entire life. He isn’t sure how to handle it. The longer you lay against him, the more a warmth blooms inside his breastbone. He likes the way it feels having you close. It makes him feel things. Things he doesn’t have a name for. You let out a small sigh, seemingly starting to fall asleep while sitting up. He shifts and lays down on the bed with you still tucked against his chest.

There was no way of knowing what the future held, but Sandor Celange did know one thing….. This was the best damn present he’d ever received.

#lady in writing #sandor clegane #sandor x reader #sandor the hound clegane #sandor clegane smut #rory mccann

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yeeterthek33per · 8 months ago

Text

Loved and Landed (Steph Catley x Reader)

A/n Requested

-------

Steph lives a busy life.

There's her football life. Obviously.

There's her schooling life.

There's the life she lives with her friends and family.

And then there's the life with-

"Steeeeeph, come on, I wanna get there early, I'm not dealing with Katie leaving something for me to find, again."

There's incessant tugging at the sleeve of her red Arsenal hoodie.

Of course, her football life keeps her the most busy.

Especially when she has to drive it to and from home all of the time now that Kyra's living in the house as well.

It had been a hectic process, but the young midfielder had settled in quickly, taking in the familiarity of the Aussie herself and her club teammates' closeness around them.

Quickly becoming a child amongst the older girls on the team, much like a sibling to them, within but a few months.

That being said.

Kyra was a little shit.

And she knew it too.

A demanding one at that.

Hence why Katie had taken to knocking the young brunette down a few pegs.

Her cockiness was starting to show under the protection of the older girls, so the Irish captain had been messing with her enough to take the invincible mindset away from her.

Leaving her ultimately latched onto Steph now.

A lot.

"Seriously, Steph, please, I can't deal with her leaving shaving foam in my boots again."

The older woman raises an eyebrow at the pleading look on Kyra's face.

"You did this to yourself, Ky. Katie's only retaliating because you decided you were king shit enough to put hair dye in her shampoo."

The younger girl whines.

"Don't you think she's retaliated enough? I've had my shoes violated, my shin guards replaced with slightly smaller ones. I mean, the other day, my water bottle was filled with pickle juice. Pickle Juice! For gods sake."

Steph sighs, rolling her eyes slightly, grabbing the last of her stuff to shove into her pack, she gestures to the front door, to which the midfielder eagerly hurries out of and towards the car, waiting impatiently for the defender to unlock it.

"You've seriously gotta apologise to Katie or something. The girl has ten siblings, I can't imagine she hasn't spent her whole life dealing with bratty behaviour from little shits like you."

Kyra scoffs as she hurriedly buckles herself in.

"Rude."

"The truth."

Steph smirks at the small pout that forms on the other girls lips.

"Hurry up and drive."

"So bossy."

-------

As expected, they arrive with hardly any other people around, decidedly much earlier than any of the other girls. Katie wasn't the earliest of player's anyway, so Kyra really shouldn't be worried about her beating them there.

Still, the youngin looks exceptionally nervous as she peaks into the changing room and gingerly makes her way over to her cubby, scanning it with a ridiculous level of detail.

Steph can only shake her head, watching the young girl sheepishly wander around the room, checking for what may well be hidden traps.

Maybe she should talk with Katie about getting her to take it down a notch.

The Irish woman was nothing if not relentless when it came to getting back at someone.

The last thing the team needed was a midfielder with serious trust issues stemming from their infamous yellow card magnet of a winger.

"Ky, relax. She's not even here yet."

"Yeah, but you never know."

"Seriously, it's game day, relax, she won't-"

"Oh, hello, you two. Stephy. Kyra."

The ever so loud and joyful Katie enters the changing room with a bang of the door as it slams open and hits the wall.

Her smirk quirks up a little wider at the sight of the midfielder, who's looking rather sheepishly around her rather than at the Irish woman herself.

"You two extra early today, eh?"

"Ha, something like that."

Steph gives her a look as she nods in Kyra's direction.

"Give the poor girl a break, would ya? I think she's been thoroughly humbled."

Katie snorts in amusement, eyeing her up.

"Eh, she’s fine. I wasn't gonna do anything."

Steph raises a brow at that.

"....Yet."

There it is.

"Of course. Don't mess around too much, though. We still have a game to play, McCabe."

She lets out an unconvincing hum in response, right as some of the other girls start to filter in, Caitlin one of the ones to settle into her cubby beside the defender.

"What's up with the kid?"

Steph snorts.

"Ask your girlfriend. She's been torturing the poor girl."

Caitlin rolls her eyes, turning to Katie, who's now got a cheeky glint in her as she eyes up the younger of the three.

"Katie."

"What? I didn't do any-"

She stops at the look she gets from the Australian, grumbling as she relents and turns back to her cubby.

-------

Kyra's finally able to escape the locker room out of sight of the defender the moment the Irish woman is distracted.

Heading down the hall towards the physio room, she ends up coming face to face with and bumping face first into someone.

She groans when she rubs at her face and her backside from where she landed on it as she stands up again with the help of her assailant.

The person is stood in a royal navy uniform, a patch on her shoulder with three horizontal gold stripes and a small circled loop on the top, hair slicked back and tight into a bun behind her head.

'L/n-Catley' the name badge reads.

Confusion crosses her face which you quickly notice.

"You're Steph's teammate right?"

"Uh yeeaah? Who are you?"

"It's a long story and sorry about the bump there. I uh, I don't know if y'all know yet but I might need your help. The staff were nice enough to let me in but I need an escort here."

"Where are you going?"

"I got told to wait for one of the trainers in the staff room?"

"Can I ask what you're doing?"

"Waiting to see Steph, but don't tell her, it's supposed to be a surprise."

Kyra is extremely sceptical, but she leads you down the hall to where the trainers are situated and one of them recognises you immediately, hugging you and dragging you into the room.

She's even more confused when the staff member is nearly in tears.

Wait.

Navy uniform.

Here to see Steph.

L/n-Catley on the name badge.

There's no way.

"Are you... Are you married to Steph?"

You chuckle softly, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Yes I am. If you can't tell it's been a little while since we've seen each other."

"Yeah, I can tell, her house is far too empty for the size of it."

"Ah, so you're the new roommate. Kyra, right?"

"She's been talking about me?"

You nod.

"We would call every two weeks. When she found out you were moving to Arsenal, I couldn't tell if she was happy or mad because you'd already trashed her white towels."

"Hey! That was not my fault, the wine just fell... on it's own."

There's a sheepish look on her face.

You chuckle softly.

"She'll be fine, the pattern was ugly anyway, we needed new towels... Don't tell her I said that."

Kyra smiles at that.

"It's great to meet you, then... How are we planning this out?"

"I'll have my sister here sneak me somewhere I can wait and surprise her at the end of the game."

She nods.

"Alright, I better get going then before the girls come looking for me for pitch inspection."

You nod back and give her a warm smile.

"Oh, I'm Y/n, by the way, Lieutenant Commander Y/n L/n-Catley."

-------

The roar of the almost entirely red and white crowd as the girls enter the pitch is as usual, deafeningly loud.

Home games are always the most adrenaline instilling games, ones where their fans are always the loudest, chanting and screaming every time one of their own touches the ball.

Steph can still hardly believe it.

The growth in the game. Breaking records every single home match so far.

The FA Cup semi-final was no different it seems.

Her eyes subtly scan the crowd as she jogs out behind the others, shifting from clapping fan to clapping fan. There's an air about the crowd.

A massively high inducing air, one that she can feel in every nerve ending in her body as she practically bounces around the pitch in warmups.

She brushes it off as it being a semi final type of high.

Aston Villa would be a difficult opponent and she assumed that was the reasoning.

-------

It seems she's proven wrong in the first ten minutes.

It doesn't take long for Stina to score, the home crowd immediately losing their minds, and they barely have time to recover just two minutes later when the Swede swoops in for the double.

By the fourty-fifth minute, they know they have the game. Four to nil over the Villans thanks to a Stina hattrick and a goal from Frida. Her heartbeat is thumping in her ears as they approach the final minute.

This is the part they're in the dark. How many minutes left of stoppage? How much longer does she have to defend?

The players are taught not to worry about that. To just play until the whistle blows. And she does.

But she can't help the nagging awaiting of the whistle, wondering when it will go.

The moment it does, there's celebration, relief, and a lot of cheering and screams and congratulation from the air around.

A pair of arms and legs wrap around her from behind as Kyra jumps on her back, the young Australian whooping into her ear.

"Onto the finals, Stephy!"

The defender chuckles and celebrates with the team, the announcer shouting out the home teams win to wind up the crowd once more.

As they do the celebration walk around the pitch, the announcer announces player of the match, and then one more announcement catches her ear.

Her head snaps toward the tunnel the moment she hears it, heart stopping at the words of the female announcer.

"And finally, one last round of applause. Let us congratulate and welcome back someone very special to one of our own. Lieutenant Commander Y/N L/n-Catley returning from fifteen months of duty at sea with the Royal Navy."

And truly, there you are, her wife.

Dressed to the nines in your Black, long sleeved uniform, hands clasped behind you, standing with a wide, almost teary smile as you watch Steph bolt across the pitch towards you, catching her with little effort as she jumps into your arms, knocking the cap off your head with the force.

The rest of the Arsenal girls stand shocked, looking between themselves and their left back at the sudden appearance of a totally new member of the Catley family.

Before they can even try to work out who you might be to Steph, the defender has her lips pressed to yours tightly, tears streaming down your face.

The sensation of finally being able to kiss you, her wife. HER wife, has her trembling against you, her stomach twisting and curling as you hold her tight against you, your own hands shaking as they rest on her back.

It had been the longest stint you'd gone without seeing each other, having been on a cramped ship for the majority of that time.

Even having been used to long times apart, the immense relief of being able to hold your person, your love, YOUR wife, after so long. was like nothing else you'd ever experienced.

And you were glad you had all the time in the world to experience it now.

When Steph's finally able to pull back and look you in the eye, hands holding your face, eyes scanning your features, noting a small scar under your right brow, and then returning to make eye contact again with you, albeit very tearily, much like yourself.

Lifting your own hands, your thumbs swipe away the tears on her cheeks, leaning down once more to kiss her, forehead leaning against hers.

You take in the immensity of the screams of the crowd all of a sudden, especially the crowd around the players' tunnel.

With that, she buries herself back into your hold, her nose buried into the crook of your neck.

Your eyes scan the pitch, watching the applauding or shocked expressions of the players.

You'd already known her teammates didn't know she was married, however their shocked expressions still have you chuckling.

All except Kyra's wide smile as she watches the two of you and you give the girl a wink.

"I can't believe it. You're here."

It's half whimpered into your shoulder, and you just barely hear it over the crowd.

"I'm here. I'm home."

"They finally let you on leave?"

She's using a half joking tone beneath the watery chokes and sobs.

"Better than that, Love."

She pulls away shocked.

"You mean.."

You smile down at her teary eyed.

"I'm home for good, not retired but they're giving me an office in London. Full time hours still but I won't be needed for duty anymore."

She frowns softly after a second.

She knew you'd always hated the idea of an office job.

Catching the look on her face, you knew what she'd be thinking about.

"I don't care where it is, or what I'm doing. I'm just glad I'm home, with you. I've had my fill of travelling and front line work for a lifetime."

Leaning your forehead back against hers, you let the moment sink in.

You'd known it was coming for months now, haven spoken to your superiors, and them letting you know there was a position available remotely, you'd taken it in a heartbeat.

If it meant coming home to your girl, you'd have done anything.

A small throat clearing a couple feet from you, the team had moved to stand around the pair of you, eager to ask questions of the brunette in your arms.

You nudge her softly with a small giggle in her ear.

"Babe, I think they have questions."

"They can wait a little longer."

You don't fight her on it just letting her settle into you again, holding you tightly.

The moment she does let go, she's grabbed by the shoulders and interrogated by the team rather swiftly.

Leah stands arms crossed.

"Now Stephy, when did this occur?"

Steph sheepishly smiles around her at her.

"Alright alright, Gunners, meet my beautiful wife, Y/n. She's been in the navy since she turned eighteen, we met five years ago when she was on leave in Australia. We started dating less than a month later and she left on duty about four months later. We got married after three years, bought a house right before she left a year and a bit ago. We haven't seen each other in person since then. Until now, that is."

And just like that, you're immediately dragged into the group rather swiftly, squished into several hugs.

A firm handshake and then a tight hug from their captain, especially. The Scot making firm well you know how quickly she'd bury you should you hurt their defender, despite the fact you'd known Steph longer and you chuckle, nodding in agreement at the stern look turned cracked smile she lets go.

When you're finally free, Steph takes no time tucking herself under your arm and wrapping hers around you, looking up at you slightly with a proud, elated smile, eyes still slightly teary.

Returning the expression, you press a small kiss to her nose.

"Welcome home, Baby."

You shake your head.

"Congrats on the win, Baby, this is your moment right now. Go celebrate for a bit, we've got all the time in the world now."

She pouts but relents with a small peck and nudge.

"KYRA, YOU KNEW?!"

The shouts of the Irish captain make her jump but chuckle a little as a gloating midfielder teases the rest of the girls.

Yeah. She was in for it.

-------

#woso x reader #steph catley imagines #woso #woso imagines #woso imagine #steph catley imagine #steph catley x reader #steph catley

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bump1nthen1ght · 3 months ago

Text

A Seat at the Table (F!Reader x M!Monster Warlord)

Pairing:Fem!Reader x Male!Warlord Monster

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Misogyny, Slight Infantilization, Non-Con, Sexual Harassment

Word count: 2498 words

Summary: After years of hard work, you finally found your way into an advisory position on the King’s Court, pushing past the forced walls put against your sex. Unfortunately for you, the Warlord besieging your country has just requested parlay.

Request: I would like to request a story if that's okay.

A female messenger entering peace talks/parlaying with a ruthless male warlord to leave their lands. The warlord is a build-a-monster of your own creation. All I ask is that he's big and threatening looking. Get creative!

He is so uninterested in the idea of not conquering that he starts rubbing one out on his throne at the sight of this cute little human in front of him and he tells her about all the ways he's going to claim her when his armies march in. How she should be so honored when she gives birth to his future heirs.

Naturally she's not too into the idea.

But I certainly am.

A/N: I just realized I never gave this guy a name! Feel free to drop suggestions in the comments ;)

You have suffered many indignities in your life.

It had been the natural course of things ever since you were born a girl, and it had increased tenfold when you set your mind on becoming a member of the royal staff. Not as a maid, no, but as a political advisor.

You had to withstand years and years of sneers, derision and borderline harassment. Suffer through academic debates and disputes with men half of your intellect and watch them get opportunities twice as quick. You suffered through flat out refusals to teach you, not unless you wrote a 10 page essay on why you were qualified, when others merely had to show their school and last name.

So you don’t flinch when the king asks for someone to engage in peace talks. While everyone else cowers away, coming up with vague excuses and diversions; Actions that would have gotten you kicked off the council in seconds. You don’t flinch when the knights escort you to the carriage, or when the monstrous tyrant's own army escorts you out of it and to his war tent. You don’t acknowledge the various catcalls and salacious comments from his men as you pass by, and you certainly don’t flinch when his own vizier refuses to let you pass.

“I am afraid I don’t understand.”

The vizier rubs his brow, clawed paws looking dangerously sharp in the candle light.

“Like I just said, ma’am, the king asked for-”

“The king’s message asked for parlay, His Majesty sent a messenger from his own court. Like I said, I fail to understand why I am denied entry.”

“He did, but he didn’t ask for-”

“What?” You dare him to say it, looking right into his yellow, slitted eyes.

His shoulders slacken, eyeing up and down your formal attire. He seems to accept something, either your insistent nature or the punishment he’ll get from letting you in. Either way, he steps aside, pulling back the tent flap.

“Thank you.”

You give a half-curtsy, double what the low-life deserves. He mutters something in his monstrous language as you walk inside, something that makes the warriors escorting you chuckle. You ignore it.

You’ve dealt with men like this before, you’re trained in letting it roll off your shoulders.

You let the curtain flap fall behind you, surprised the vizier doesn’t come to follow. In your experience men like that typically put their slimy noses in everything. But whatever, that’s one headache you can avoid.

The inside of the tent is gaudishly huge, fitting for the ornate throne in the center holding an even more decorated monster.

Furs and pelts cover the warlord’s massive shoulders, his chest decorated in gleaming armor. It shines still despite the chunks and blood stains speckled across it, old and dried. His leather skirt barely covers his massive thighs, furred legs spread debaucherously apart. One set of arms sits discontentedly across his stomach, crossed tight. The other has one hand slung lazily over the side of his chair while the other currently picks fresh meat out of the lord’s sharp canines, his large muzzle curled back in a sneer. Just as boorish and snarling as you expected.

Relax, he’s just like any man.

You try to picture him as the braggadocious generals you’ve seen before, just with far more teeth and an extra set of arms. They have the same amount of class, the lord still digging through his mouth like a common fool.

“Greetings, My Lord.”

You fall into a curtsy, finally catching the bored tyrant's attention. Your head is bowed, feigning respect, but you still see his long tail flicker with interest.

“Oh?” The lord finally sits up, cross arms unfurling to lay on his spread thighs. They draw a line of attention straight to his center, one you refuse your eyes to follow. “I wasn’t aware I would be having my dessert sent so early.” A long, ribbed tongue licks up at the lord's chops. You knot your fists on the inside of your cloak, refusing to let the seed of terror sprout in your stomach.

“I am the envoy from the Kingdom of Magistra you requested my lord. I am here to discuss the terms of compromise.”

“You?” He asks, incredulous, eyes looking you up and down. You forcefully simmer the heating anger in your stomach. First the vizier, now this? Gods, is it so unfathomable that a woman could engage in politics? “Hmph, I was expecting a decrepit old man, not a pretty little vixen.” Those canines gleam as the lord's mouth wires into a smile. Far too wide, far too sharp. “Though I am not complaining.”

Just a man, same as them all.

Swallowing an insult, you continue with a professional tone. “Either way, I wanted first to discuss the possible benefits of aligning-”

“Hah! Benefits, benefits you say?” The lord cackles, slapping his knee at the very idea. “Tell me, what possible benefits are there from supplicating to that absolute babbling fool of a king of yours? A cowardly army, too sniveling to even die valiantly for their home? A mere sliver of your resources, hardly enough to support me and my men?”

You quirk a brow, fist knotting even tighter within your cloak. A part of you had expected this. The detailed reports of the bloody battlefields painted the picture of a man who thought himself close to a Deity, too large to care for those he crushed under his feet.

But the greediest of men are often at the sway of their own vices; Whether it’s land, gold, power or pleasure, you just have to find that one thing they want to make them crumble. No man fights for nothing, after all.

“His Majesty is willing to bargain with you for a sufficient deal, my lord. I’m sure that whatever you desire, His Majesty would be willing to consider it to bring an end to the conflict.” You’re actually not sure of that, knowing how proud men pushed to the brink could be. But you need to win some ground first before setting boundaries, stroke his ego and make him feel like he’s coming out on top. “Is that not why you requested an envoy, my lord? I’m sure your men must be tired, as our kingdom is. There is a way we both benefit from this bloodshed.”

“Ah, I understand why you would think that, messenger bird.” You don’t let the diminutive title hit you, even as the warlord slouches back in his seat, arms splayed over the sides. A burning gaze rolls up and down your body, you bat away the urge to pull your cloak tighter. “Your kingdom is run by cowards, after all. Abandoning their posts, fleeing from death. Those boys of yours have no sense of glory, of bloody victory.” A clawed hand lovingly brushes against a blood spot on his tunic, as if recalling a particularly vicious memory of combat. “You have shown the most courage so far, envoy. Walking into an enemy camp, alone and undefended, with only your words to protect you. Quite brave, indeed.”

The warlord’s eyes finally meet you directly, though it doesn’t inspire the feeling of respect it should. His eyes are covetous, hungry.

Your stomach flips. Your palms grow clammy, it takes everything in you to take a step backward. You realize how small this tent is, how surrounded you are.

Fuck.

Despite your efforts, the lord’s nose curls, smelling your nerves.

“So no, little lady, I do not send for this envoy to bargain. I sent it to remind you and your king of their proper place in this war.” The warlord's upper pair of hands go up behind his head, held in an infuriating pose of relaxation. “As my future subjects.”

“But, you must realize-”

You struggle for some logic, the well-practiced variations and evidence you brought with you, but the lord is wholly uninterested, waving a hand away.

“The only thing I realize is how fun it is going to be to finally seize that glittering castle of yours. Nowhere to run, maybe me and my soldiers will get a proper fight out of this after all.” Those eyes roll up and down you once again. Your layers of clothing don’t feel like enough protection. “How delicious it will be to claim my prize.”

Words escape you, locked on his brutal smile. It’s only then you notice his second pair of hands have slipped under his tunic, and are-

“Oh!” Your face grows hot, stumbling backwards as the warlord begins to unapologetically pleasure himself. The muscle across his jaw feathers as he grips the base of his cock, slowly stroking it up and down. You can almost see a peek of it from under his tunic before you force your eyes away. But there’s no ignoring the sound, the slick of his sweaty palm moving.

“Yes, I’ll savor you the most, sweet messenger bird. I have no interest in weaklings, but I’d love to see you break on my cock.” The warlord spreads his thighs even wider, pupils blown out at your flustered face. “I’m sure you’ve never been fucked properly, little lady. Those cowardly men of yours couldn’t pleasure you even if they tried.”

Your body feels locked in place, still too shocked to even process.

You have suffered many indignities in your life, but never anything like this.

“I wonder what you’ll sound like, bent in half and stuffed full. Will you fight to the end, or moan like a taken woman? Ungh-” The lord humps into his hand, pace growing sloppy as something squelches. “-Wouldn’t you like that? Getting split open on my cock? On your back, on your stomach.”

You finally find the courage to move, scrambling back to the tent's entrance. Your hands knot around the fabric and wrench it open, nearly tripping over your long skirt. The warlord cackles, no doubt eyeing up the glimpses he gets of your behind.

“You should be honored, little human! You’ll being fucked full of my heirs, after all. Strong boys of course, a whole d-damn litter.” The slapping sound of his hand, moving faster than before accompanies his stuttering voice, hips jerking as he gets closer and closer.

Sunlight nearly blinds you as you burst back into the open, running as fast as you can back to your carriage. The vizier let you pass easily, no doubt a smirk on his face. Soldiers cackle and grab at your skirts as you dart past, but none of them in earnest. It’s a fear tactic, nipping at your heels to make the sport more enjoyable.

You all but leap into the carriage door, slamming it behind you. Your weak voice urges the driver to go, get you home as fast as possible.

There has to be a solution, something, something. Something he wants, something other than-

Other than total victory.

The warlord’s laugh, those sharp teeth never leave your mind. Even as you return to the castle town, wondering what you’re going to tell the council. You wrack your brain, hands tugging at the roots of your hair, trying to force the ideas to the forefront.

Please, gods, let there be something.

—

The castle is the first thing they attack.

There’s an utter panic when they do, servants and staff screaming as they try to find a hiding spot, some route to flee. Particularly loyal knights try to prioritize the nobility, but many falter under the overwhelming threat of the invaders. The smallfolk are left to fend for themselves, wondering how they got caught up in all this.

That’s how he found you, hidden in a closet with a gaggle of lady’s maids and chefs, trying their best to stay quiet.

“Sing for me, my messenger bird.” The warlord pants, nails digging into your ankles up by his neck. The fresh blood smears across your skin, already starting to dry. “Fuck, you’re even tighter than I imagined.” He laughs, his second set of hands pressing deep circles into your waist, no doubt leaving bruises.

Dried tear tracks run down your cheeks, your bottom lip nearly chewed straight off. You’re already being defiled, in the king's bed of all places, you can’t relent and humiliate yourself even more by moaning. No, this bastard can’t have everything.

“I said-” his nails dig into the side of your ankle, dew drops of blood beading at the skin “-sing.”

“Gods!” You scream, the sharp pain of claw on bone clawing at your throat The feeling of a long tongue lapping at the wound doesn’t help, nor does the sensation of a cock brutalizing your cervix. The warlord’s pace is as brutal as his battle axe, piercing you open with every thrust.

“Hnng, yes. Take your lord’s cock sweetling, take it.”

He speeds up, hands stretching your body into a mating press. His clawed feet brace against the bed, tearing long holes in the fine fabric. The paintings on the walls shaking in their frames as the heavy bed moves up and down. A long tail wiggles like a snake, unmistakably giddy as the warlord devours his quarry.

The light pressure of his claws on skin forces you to release those breathy moans, the squeaks and the yelps as he hits so deep inside you. But it isn’t enough for him, a hand sneaking down and rubbing at your clit.

“No-o! Too much!” Your hips wiggle and struggle but the lord’s grip is iron, still draw tight circles on your sensitive button. The pinpricks of his claws send goosebumps up and across your stomach, but you’re not from fear or pleasure.

“Uh-uh, I want you creaming on this cock before I fuck you full, darling.” He flicks at the button, focusing his cockhead to hump right against your g-spot. “Have to make sure my seed takes, pump you full of my heirs.”

A fuzzy static falls over your brain, skin feeling tingly as a familiar feeling creeps up.

No, no I can’t! Not for him!

But the body does what it wants, the combination of his fast thrusts and deft fingers enough to send you tumbling over the edge. Your hips buck up, chasing the sensation until the very end. The warlord no doubt smiles, cackles as your cunt finally submits, but your eyes are furrowed and you miss it.

“Here it comes!” The warlord tosses his head back as he fucks you the hardest he can, the giant royal headboard pounding against the wall. “Fuck, yes!”

What feels like a gallon of cum dumps into your pussy, spurting out the sides and across the velvet blankets probably worth more than a year’s salary. The grips bruises into your ankle as he grinds his hips into yours, sticking to his word and making sure not a drop is wasted.

“Hah, hah…” The warlord pants, sweat sticking his fur against the back of your legs. “What a prize you are indeed, my little messenger bird.”

#my writing #reader insert #monster x reader #monster romance #monster fucker #female reader insert #smut #original character

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merlucide · 3 months ago

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BLLK BOYS W/ A THEATER NERD S/O

notes: HELP I H8 THE DRABBLES..🥲 (og ask)

characters: Reo, Isagi, Rin, Bachira

warnings: cursing?, implied fem, cringe

bllk mlist

MIKAGE REO

oh, he just LOVES watching your performances.

Wether your on stage or not- he comes to EVERY show (drags nagi w/him too LMAO)

Helps you memorize any of your lines / helps you gather stuff you’ll need backstage.

He loves seeing you thrive in theater, and how happy it makes you ><

He always listens intently when you talk about your favorite broadway show, amazed how you remember even the smallest details

Sings your favorite musical songs with you, he will even act out the scene with you

Brings you a BIG bouquet of assorted flowers when the performance is over— rambling about how just wonderful it was

He is really proud of the effort you put into you craft, and the outcome always amazes him

Everyone had gathered on stage for the final bow, the crowd clapped and cheered. You smiled when you spotted your boyfriend holding up a limp Nagi. Reo clapped with a bright smile on his lips— and Nagi squinting at the bright lights. Everyone headed backstage and the crowd cleared, most left but close friends and family stayed and came backstage.

“Y/N that was wonderful!” You hear the familiar voice of your boyfriend praise, him running to you and hugging you tightly. He pecked your cheeks and held onto your arms. “My love that might just have been your best performance yet,” You snorted at his comment “Reo, you say that after every performance.”

“Well every performance is perfect my love,” Reo quips, his face into a smooth grin. Behind him trailed Nagi, who slurred a ‘good job’ with a thumbs up. Reo pulls back a bit and hands you a beautiful bouquet you can’t help but smile at. It was so pretty, full of tulips and lillies and smaller flowers complimenting the main ones.

“Thank you Reo,” you smiled before kissing his cheek. “Of course my love, just doing my job,” <3

ISAGI YOICHI

oh he is so cute

You 100% get him into the world of theater

Thinks that it’s really cool how you’re passionate about this

Super supportive— tells all his friends about your plays and all of the stuff you like

His favorite broadway shows are Dear Evan Hanson and Hamilton— he thinks King George is hilarious

He likes being involved with your plays anyway he can—he will be try to be involved if he is free

Tells his family all about your performance!!

The whole family goes to your shows (≧∀≦)

Tries to memorize your lines / the plays lines with you but forgets them 💀

(or) Tries helping you with props/technical stuff but doesn’t know what to do so he just stands there 😭

“Yoichi- can you pass me the yellow please?” You asked from sitting on the floor, paint brush in hand. On the floor was props you were tasked with making.

“Here,” Yoichi hands the paint bucket to you as he watches you pour some on your pallet. You guys were supposed to go out tonight but you still had some props you needed to finish— so Yoichi offered to keep you company. “Uhm, are you sure you don’t need any help..?” He nervously asks.

“Oh no I’m okay, thanks though,” you happily replied, you already felt bad for canceling date night and didn’t want to ‘burden’ him with helping you. “Oh okay,” he sits back down on the floor and continues to watch you.

“…Did you wanna help?” You slowly asked.

“I dunno,”

“Yoichi”

“Yeah..”

You softly sighed and handed him a brush. “Here, you can paint the moon,” You stood up and grabbed the unfinished moon set-prop. Yoichi nodded eagerly as he started painting. His strokes were in all directions— you’d have to go over them later but you didn’t mind too much. He looked so cute with his brow slightly furrowed when he concentrated on painting the edges.

“How’s this?” Yoichi asks, pointing to his moon with a little grin. “It’s perfection,” you praise, which he responds with a soft ‘thanks’ as he admires his work. <3

ITOSHI RIN

lmao he does NOT get it 😭💀

like you showed him a clip of your fav musical and he was like ??? Ppl ACTUALLY like that..?? (Ignore him he’s stupid)

but SUPER supportive of your performances!! he just lacks artistic appreciation, aaaand he has as much creativity as a wet sock, so yk

When he comes to your performances, he always brings a small but pretty bouquet (he’s beet red when he hands them to you >< )

You have desperately tried to get him into the arts— which just continued to confuse him🫠

He likes Shakespeare though??? which is probably like the only plays he will willing watch (aside for yours ehe:3)

You call him your Romeo ;) (he gets embarrassed and gets mad at you LMAO)

Lmao he should’ve never voiced his ‘like’ for Shakespeare bc when ever he asks you a simple question you’ll end up going “To be or not to be, that is the question” (que rin groaning)

“Rin, you need to put more emotion into it!!” You exasperatedly said, flinging your paper up. You had asked Rin to go over your lines with you, which was a stupid idea to begin with. He ticked his jaw, fingers firmly pressing into the paper.

“tch. This is stupid,” Rin answered, glaring at you. You sighed, “I can’t feel the scene if you sound like a robot!”Rin huffed, his pride clearly wounded. He groaned and flicked the paper back and examined it again.

“What. do. you. mean he’s. been. lying?” Rin reads, his voice flat.

You internally sigh, “I’m not sure, but when I asked him he was acting strange..” you spoke, already memorized your lines. “Could. it have. something. to do .with his. sister?” “No- he wouldn’t tell her about something like that… Unless!!” You clapped your hands.

“YAAAY!! I FINALLY NAILED MY TIMING!!” You exclaimed, clapping your hands excitedly. You then tackled Rin, who was sitting on your bed, catching his lips in a fat smooch. “Thanks honey, I really appreciate you tryin,” you praise, hands resting on his shoulders.

“Tch.. It’s nothing..” Rin muttered, his hand coming to rest on your waist. “I’m never doing this again,” you snickered at his mood change (he’s gonna end up helping next time you ask <3)

help Ik that was so bad 💀

BACHIRA MEGURU

AJHSNJANANNRNE

HE MATCHES UR FREAK!!!!

LIKE HE GETS IT FR!!!

omg you wanna binge watch Chicago, Six, and Heathers? WELL SO DOES BACHIRA!

yall sing musicals together all the time like- yall are in character doing the choreography and all

He loves watching musicals sm

And he LOVES watching you perform/work in theater

Like- seriously goes to all of your shows, even rehearsals if he can

Gets super immersed in your performances- thinks it’s 10x better than any broadway show

Loves seeing your/the costumes- will definitely try to try them on (before he gets caught and gets in trouble lmao)

After every performance he takes you to go get ice cream- a little ritual you guys have :3

OH. And he tries to match his outfit to what your play is >< (keyword, tries)

He brings his mom to your plays and she whistles and claps so loud when the plays over 😭💗

“Y/N you were friggin’ awesome!!!” Bachira exclaimed, hands swinging yours back and forth. “I wasn’t even on stage for 5 minutes,” you snorted. “Well you were the best one there! Being a tree takes a lot of skill y’know!!” He grins, pulling you along faster.

You finally arrived at the sacred land, Benny’s Ice Cream Parlor. Bachira ordered for both of you, handing you one cone of (Fav Flavor). You sat down on the bench, already licking your cone. Bachira put his foot on the bench, “Ahem, Ahem,” He began, lifting his ice cream up. “I would like to make a toast!,” You smile at his antics, waiting for what he’ll say next. “A toast to the best play in the history of the plays!” You snickered, raising your cone “A toast!” You said, ‘clinking�� your ice creams together.

“Ah, being Tree #4 is no easy task…” You dramatically sighed, licking your ice cream. Bachira shook his head. “Tut tut..,” you both snickered, finishing your ice creams and heading back home. <3

bllk mlist

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @sharkissm @luvingshidou @kurona-theshark @soleilonthesun @duckydee-0 @rinitoshisgirl @someprettyname @nikomelo

kanakakannakkkse ive rewritten the Drabble so many times bro 😭😭 ARGH AJSNSNANANA

made August 22nd 2024

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