#you know there is something that remains deep down
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The Bed Issue - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots
Summary: Another retake of Wandavision, this time, the scene with the two single beds.
Warnings: (+18) pure smut, enchanted strap, fingering, creampie, wanda is in charge but r tops, dirty talking, some typical Westview angst (brief reality alteration) but purely sinful | Words: 3.284k
A/N-> At this point, I feel I should start a new collection with all the scenes I rewrote. I miss writing series people, where are my ideas. Also, sorry if there are too many spelling errors, I wrote this on my phone (it's hard to be poor and busy). But good reading!
General Masterlist | AO3
-&-
The sign of two single beds in the room made you giggle right away.
Wanda, who walked in first, looked back at you with curiosity. Her gaze scanned your face as she asked: “What's funny, darling?”
Your eyes found her and a deep sigh escaped your lips, the ghost of that giggle still present in your expression.
“The beds, Wanda.” You replied quickly, almost offended she couldn't see the absurdity of that. Maybe she was playing innocent. Or at least, that's what her confused gaze looked like. Another sign escaped you. “Why would a married couple sleep on different beds, side by side?”
“Well, I…” but she cut herself mid-sentence, her gaze shifted as if she realized that really didn't make any sense. “I guess you're right.”
The bed moved as quickly as her fingers - the wood jumping to the side to connect and transform into one bed. You smile, moving forward to kiss your wife's cheek.
“Lovely tricks as always, darling.” You praise, catching the soft color rising up her skin before you step to the bathroom. But you comment again, giggling: “How odd that was, two beds.”
Distracted by your own joke, you didn't catch Wanda's shoulder tension. And she could only force a smile, giving a quick gaze at your figure brushing your teeth while mentality praying that for the sake of her poor heart, you wouldn't notice any other weirdness tonight.
-&-
A stupid tree.
A stupid tree branch against the window and things got out of hand completely. At least this time, in a good sense of things.
That is because Wanda found herself pressed into the bed, giggling at our bold hands under her clothes.
She remembers this teasing all too well. Beyond the sexual tension, and the teenage hormones, there was intimacy. You could always make her laugh, no matter the situation. Often, you would do that in inappropriate ones that's for sure. Just for the satisfaction of making her blush deeply when apologizing to whoever was around to testify you making a mess out of her. And then when in a situation like tonight, where it was too hard to breathe and too warm for a coherent thought - teasing fingers where she had tickles was the perfect way to ease her anxiety. To anchor her back and remember it's just you. Her best friend. Warming your way around her skin.
But things were a little - a lot - different in Westview. Neither of you knows why or how, or better saying, Wanda knew to a different extent than you.
When she brought the covers up your bodies, taking the lead for the night and expecting to meet your eagerness to kiss her again, she was met with more giggles.
She stared down at your shiny eyes, leaning into the hand you brought to her cheek.
“It's too warm here.” You let her know softy, and yes, Wanda was quite aware. Kissing you was more than enough to heat her entirely, but doing this under the covers was a challenge. She could feel the sweat starting to drip. She was ready to say she didn't mind, maybe even kiss you to change the subject when you added: “Why would you cover us anyway, darling? There's no one watching.”
It was meant to be a joke, obviously. You don't know. You couldn't know. And your eyes were innocent and your smile was sincere and Wanda hesitated.
Your hand remains on her cheek, the caress never stopping.
“Did I say something wrong? Where did you go just now?”
She went outside. Outside the hex, all the way to monitors transmitting her sitcom of a fake life. But not really. Because she didn't consciously know about any of this. Yet, some part of her mind did know, and all the TVs that once exhibited her little show, now hold a Stand By sign.
Wanda was the one who threw the covers aside. The fresh air was well welcome but you're now distracted with the gorgeous woman moving to straddle your hips.
“You're right, there's no one watching.” She says with the same urgency she burst open your pajama shirt. You don't understand the rush, but she looks too pretty for you to disagree. And Wanda purrs at the sight of your naked skin, biting her lips like a naughty child. “I missed you.”
You chuckle breathlessly, some confusion in your eyes. “I was with you all day.”
She shook her head, deciding now to control her tongue. If she doesn't want you questioning, she needs to stop saying things like this. So she forces a smile, shifting against your hips in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat. “I always miss my wife, I mean. Whenever she's not touching me.”
Even though you offer her a grin, there's a blush in your cheeks that goes down your chest and Wanda suddenly doesn't feel like talking anymore.
A feeling you two seem to share as you bring a hand to her face only to pull her down at you again. It's a heated kiss. With tongue and breathy whispers that turn her into needy sounds.
Even without the covers, it's soon too hot to keep clothes on.
You're the one who takes her nightgown off. Pulling down as your tongues dance together, until the item no longer hides the tits you started to play it.
Wanda's eyes are tightly closed as your mouth sucks her nipple. Your hand plays with the other while she struggles to breathe.
Her top needs to go, but so does all the other clothing. The nightgown barely reached the floor and you're already pulling at her soaked panties, eager to feel her inside.
“Need this off you now, witchy.” The nickname makes her gasp. You haven't used it until now and it has been way too long since she heard. Since you-
No. No thinking about this, not now.
She forces herself back to the present, an easy task when she feels every inch of her skin burning with your touch. She needs to move away to take the item off but your hands hold her tight by the waist at the mere attempt of breaking apart.
She giggles breathlessly, aware of the new wave of wetness that dripped down with the feeling of your strong hands manhandling her back at her position, keeping her restless hips still. “But you said you wanted it off.” She tries to ration, receiving only a growl in return. The next second, when your hands shift, the item is torn off her without ceremony.
“Hey! It was my favorite.” She pouts in protest but you merely give her a husky chuckle.
“I'm sure you can fix it.” Comes as a teasing answer that Wanda couldn't contradict even if she wanted to - all previous thoughts are gone when your fingers reach her front and penetrate between her warm folds without a warning. You groan at the delirious feeling of her pussy against your fingertips while Wanda whimpers at the ceiling, trying to get used to the sudden invasion.
“Fuck, you're so tight.” Your remark with a sultry voice against her ear. Wanda's arm circles your shoulder for some support while she feels the stretch of your fingers inside her. It's been a while since last time but dear God how she missed this. Her hips move on instinct and you have to chuckle at her impatience with herself. Your free hand moves to her lower back, caressing her skin while your fingers start to press your way inside her.
“Easy darling, I got you.” You guide, too deeply for her to give you any replies other than pleas and whimpers. The position might not be the most comfortable for you but it's amazing to her. Wanda can grind down and ride your fingers as she pleases and you can feel how close she's coming to her climax so you don't dare to stop. Your thumb moves to her clit, circling the nerve and she nearly loses it. The bedroom lights start to flash with the build of this orgasm and you stare at her in amazement only to be rewarded with her gorgeous flushed face while she grinds into your hand in nearly despair.
“Fuck you're so beautiful.” You gasp, increasing the speed. The depth. Wanda breaks in a sob, her back arching. The first one is a charm. Your name is being screamed at the ceiling while you feel her wetness dripping down your hand. Unfortunately - or fortunately - it only makes you crave her more. She's still recovering from the intensity of this climax, all sweaty and flushed when you shift your hand. You're still inside her tight walls and your fingers start to pick up a pace again. She squeaks at the overstimulation, but her protest dies in your tongue sucking hers when you kiss her again.
Wanda's almost too distracted by the filthy of this kiss to notice how quickly her second climax is building - almost. There's a bite against your bottom lip that makes you groan when she breaks the kiss, unable to keep it up. Her hands grab at you for some grounding when she feels how close she is to come, stronger than the last time. You feel her nails piercing your skin when her orgasm washes over her and it's your time to moan at her ear.
Her body goes limp for a moment after this. It was two intense orgasms in a row after all. She just needs to take a breath.
You move your fingers out, sucking them clean and murmuring satisfied at her taste while Wanda struggles to recognize her surroundings.
When you can hold her with both hands again, you nuzzle at her cheek.
“Enjoying yourself, witchy?” You dare to tease her when she can feel how she's still leaking in your lap. Honestly, the nerve. Wanda let out a deep breath, pushing her momentarily tiredness away.
There's an easy smile on her lips when she finds your eyes again. “I am but I've been so selfish.” She starts with a particular accentuation of her ascent that she knows you drive you insane. She also watches as your breath catches and your eyes drift to her lips, mesmerized by every word. “You must be needing me as well.”
But you tense at her nails screeching your belly, a worried frown coming at your expression.
“Wanda… my powers.” The fear in your eyes is like a cold buck of water. Oh, yes, she forgot.
For the whole day, she forgot you had no idea of the life you two shared. Nothing outside Westview and this lovely fantasy. None of the creative ways you two once used to bypass the super strength issue. Your fear and hesitation at hurting her made perfect sense but the fact that she was the only one who could remember the whole history you two shared was still painful. Her expression probably gave her away and confused you even more. “I promise you this is more than enough for me. Bringing you pleasure is enough.” You add gently, but Wanda shakes her head, leaning in to kiss you. She leaves you breathlessly before breaking apart, taking some pride in the way you're blushing.
“Don't be silly, darling, there's plenty of things for us to do together. To please one another.” You gulp at her words and tone of voice, eyes following all of her movements. From the shift of her hips to the teasing of her fingers on the way down your pants. “I wanna try something I think you'll love it. Do you trust me?”
You nod immediately, watching as Wanda's fingers play with the hem of your pants. She giggles naughty at your anticipation and brings one finger up to your chin, to make you look at her eyes again.
“Can you use your words?”
“Y-yeah.” You swallow, trying to win some composure back. It's not easy when Wanda Maximoff is naked and sitting on your tight. But you smile anyway. “Of course I trust you, witchy.”
She smiles at you, her eyes flashing a glimmer of naughtiness that makes your heart leap. You can't worry too much about that anyway - Wanda leans in to kiss you again. And it's the dirtiest one of the night. She takes the lead, pulling back now and then just to tease your tongue with the tip of hers, reveling at the way you pant and struggle to keep your hips still.
But suddenly, you feel the new pressure inside your pants. The odd sensation shifts your attention entirely but Wanda brings her hands to your neck and kisses you hard. You moan into her tongue, hands holding her tight by the waist until her spell is complete. She presses down into you and the kiss is broken with your needy awareness.
“F-fuck, is that…?” You open surprised and aroused eyes at her, looking down where your middles connect only to watch Wanda's equal affected state. Her trembling hands reach down at your pants, trying to pull the garment off.
“Yeah, and I really need you inside now, alright baby? Think you're ready for me?” Her words are rushed as her fingers. Your pants and underwear are stuck in an awkward position on your thighs because Wanda is too impatient to wait another second. She grabs the hardness - barely giving you time to get used to the image or more important the feeling - of that scarlet strap magically placed there - before she sinks down.
It's a form of revenge, maybe. For the way you didn't give her time to prepare before, but what a sweet revenge that was.
The nearly animalistic grunt that escaped you when Wanda's cunt squeezed around you was a sound you didn't know you could make. She, on the other hand, rewards your ears with a pleasant deep moan while she adjusts to the fullness. There's also a new stretch. The toy is obviously larger than your fingers and goes deliciously deeper so Wanda needs to take a deep breath while she welcomes you in.
To her delight, not that you can remember this, but just like the first time you two tried, it's too much of a new overwhelming pleasure for you to handle. You came almost the same second you're bottom up. Tensing and shaking at the new feeling. You gasp, hands falling at the sides to grab the sheets that are torn apart while you hide your face into her neck and your climax washes over you.
Wanda giggles in amusement. The hot shot inside her feels as good as she remembers and you haven't changed. But the toy softening causes you to panic.
“S-sorry, god, I'm so sorry. I don't-”
“Shh, it's okay.” She cuts your anxious babbling immediately, firming her legs around you and bringing her hands to hold your cheeks. “I know it feels like a real one, but it's not a real one.” She says and without any warning, grinds down at you, stealing all the air of your lungs. Wanda bites her lip before adding “See? You're hard again already.”
You can't give her words. The only thing that leaves your mouth is a whine that makes her clench around you.
Suddenly, she's moving. Rough grinding before she's undeniably riding your strap and it's dirty and maddeningly sexy so your hands hold her hips and help her when her body starts to betray her wishes to keep going.
“Oh, Wanda, you feel so nice.” You moan with your eyes closed, outside the shared grunts and your words, the only sounds of the room are the bed creaking and the soaked toy coming in and out of her. Your lovely wife decides to give you a reason to be louder. Her hands push you back at the bed and now you can see her in all of her glory. Her pretty tits bounce with the hard pace she takes on top of you. “W-wait. Easy, I can't hold it if you-”
Her hands move yours - trying to slow her by the waist - away, locking your fingers together at each side of your head. Her hair makes a curtain for your faces but Wanda kisses you again. Your tongues are still moving together when you come first.
Because you're strong - stronger than her that is - scarlet magic holds you still, wrists and ankles when Wanda can't. She holds her climax just a little longer, enough to put on a show for your breathless figure under her when you are able to look up at it.
It's divine when it occurs - The silent scream, her frown before the blissed worn-out expression. The flags of the light, the room vibrating and her eyes bright red before the dark green meets your gaze again.
She smiles down at you, still shaking but somehow ready for another.
“Enjoying yourself aren't you, Avenger?” she repeats your words from before, but the nickname so often used for teasing makes you frown in confusion.
“What is…? But she changed that before you could finish the question.
As quickly as it happened, the scene shifted as if the words never left her lips. You were staring at her, with uneven breathing and adoring eyes.
“Is this really necessary?” For a second, her heart leaped in fear. The possibility that you could tell she altered things. But your gaze shifted to the magic holding you still, and you offered her a pleading stare. “Won’t you let me touch you?”
Wanda sighs, adjusting your hips and seeing the way your jaw tenses at the slight movement. You're still inside her, always magically stimulated to be hard no matter how many times you come. It made sense that you might be sensitive.
She bit her bottom lip, hands resting on your chest.
“But you look so pretty like this…” She starts, leaning in as if going for a kiss. You sigh as her lips meet your cheeks instead, closing your eyes when you feel her smiling before moving down. “I like having you at my mercy.”
You hum, somewhat distracted by her soft grind against you. If you're hard again, that's not only the magic to blame but Wanda's warm pussy squeezing you still.
“But I'm like this all the time.” you joke earning a husky giggle before she puts some distance between your faces again.
You let out a deep sigh when she pulls out the next second, catching her own soft groan at the emptiness. But your words fail you when you look down and see the mixed cum leaking from her and dripping down your abs.
Cursing under your breath a single “fuck.” at the image, you are not surprised at Wanda's naughty giggle.
“You made such a mess, babe.” She teases, the toy still vibrating and it occurs to you that it doesn't just answer to your arousal, but hers as well.
“Me? You're the one who, you know… ride it. I didn't even know I would come through it.” You tried to defend yourself with rosy cheeks but Wanda is clearly teasing you. She giggles again, adjusting herself and causing you to shut up immediately.
“I think you should stop babbling and start cleaning your mess.”
You swallow hard when you realize she's still moving. Up towards your face. The bed makes a strong crack sound when you use all your strength to pull your hands free from her magic chains.
Wanda allows you to break free. Mainly because she loves to feel your hands holding her thighs open when you eat her out.
Some old habits never die.
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda x reader#elizabeth olsen x reader#marvel imagines#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff imagines#wanda maximoff oneshots#wanda maximoff smut
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simon riley x fem!reader
Imagine holding Simon when he cries.
Simon Riley is an incredibly strong man, an absolute force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Since joining the SAS in 2001, he has created a name for himself. A military legend—seemingly more ghost-like than flesh and blood. But that is the farthest from the truth, isn’t it? Cause, at the end of the day, he is still human.
You’re his girl, the love of his life. His true love—his only love.
You are a source of comfort he somehow found in this shitty, cold world. The home he never had the privilege of experiencing; your arms have provided him with everything he was denied during boyhood.
So imagine your Simon arriving home one evening—dead silent—merely shuffling his way to where you’re seated comfortably on the living room couch. His duffle bag drops near his leather recliner before the balaclava is tossed to the side. On his face is a certain heaviness, a sadness twisted in his handsome features; his blue eyes are not as bright as they usually are.
You swallow. Did something happen during the mission?
“What is wrong, baby?” You coo, stretching your arms out wide to welcome him in.
Without another thought, Simon tucks himself into your embrace, with his head resting gently on your chest. Against your breast, he can hear your heartbeat thundering away in your chest, moving in a rhythm that matches his. He reckons he is the luckiest bastard in the world, to find a soulmate who compliments him in every aspect of life.
He lets out a small sigh, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling his throat closing up as tears begin to well up. His bottom lip trembles before he bites down on it.
“Simon,” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “What happened, my love?”
Another tear, followed by three more. A tiny, shaky exhale. Simon remains utterly still for a moment, not saying anything, until…“It’s my father’s birthday today.” His voice is quiet, breathless, unbelievably thick with sheer sadness.
Your face falls at that. “Oh, Simon.” A sad smile pulls at your lips while you hug him closer, peppering more kisses up and down his hairline, pausing to brush back soft, blonde strands. You say nothing more as he continues to weep in your arms, entire body racking with choked-up sobs and uneven breathing.
“I loved him,” Simon rasps out, pulling his face up from your neck. Both his cheeks and nose are a cherry-red, with baby-blue eyes bloodshot and puffy, lined with fresh tears. For a moment, he wasn’t the Simon Riley you fell in love with, but the Simon Riley who was five-years-old—all scrawny, little legged and freshly bruised, hiding behind the bookcase in his parents’ bedroom.
“Loved him so bloody much.”
You don’t know what to say. What can you even say? Nothing can heal those wounds, cut so deep in his heart and soul that any slight movement reopens them. “I know you did.” You kiss his nose, minding the mess of tears and snot.
His fists slowly tighten, knuckles whitening as all the memories of his father begin to flood through him; they all carry an agonizing sensation, the kind that is too fuckin' painful to discuss aloud, yet too damn gut-wrenching to keep bottled up inside.
“Do ya…” he hiccups, clearing his throat. “Do ya think…in another life…?”
In another life. You think for a moment, carding your fingers softly through his hair. “Maybe, my love…”
Simon nods. “Maybe,” he croaks out, keeping his arms tight around you. There, on the couch, you continue to hold him, letting his torrent of tears soak your shirt; time and time again, your fingers run through his hair in some silent attempt to ease the little boy wailing inside.
“It’s okay, baby.”
You kiss his temple.
“You’re alright. Let it out, baby.”
He’ll be alright tomorrow. You know it. In the morning, he’ll be barefoot and content in the kitchen, baking his mother’s special recipe of blueberry and pineapple pancakes—a cup of milk, one egg, blueberries, pineapple, and, of course, the batter—all while waiting for your arms to circle around his chest.
But for right now, he is five years old, finally being embraced in arms so warm and loving and protective—so unbelievably perfect. The feeling incites more tears.
"Thank you, baby," he mumbles, gently kissing your collarbone; it's a kiss so rich with love, appreciation, and adoration that it stirs up butterflies in your tummy. "For everything."
For everything. Oh, you silly boy. "Simon." You smile down at him, gently caressing his cheek. "For you, my love? I'd do anything."
note: a little drabble for my "let simon riley cry 2024" campaign. thanks!
#vic writes 🧸#call of duty#cod mw#cod ghost#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley imagine#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x fem!reader#ghost x reader#ghost x fem!reader
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I didn't knew love (till I found you) (1)
Alexia Putellas x Reader
tags: Angst / Internalized Homophobia/ Strangers to Friends to Lovers
“What do you mean, you want me to buy the Soulmater? Do you know how much it costs?" Robert’s voice was tinged with disbelief.
Yes, of course you knew. The device cost was astronomical, but that paled in comparison to the turmoil churning inside yourself. You needed to be completely sure of your decision to marry your long time boyfriend Mark. It wasn’t just cold feet; it was a gnawing uncertainty that clawed at your heart and hasn't stopped worrying you for some time now.
“You can take the money from my share of the inheritance. I don't care about that Robert, but please help me with this, I’ve never asked you for anything before,” you implored, your eyes brimming with a mix of desperation and hope. You approached your brother and grasped his hands, forcing him to look into your eyes. “I need to know. I need to be sure about this, please Rob help me.”
Robert’s gaze softened at your words, but his words remained firm. “If you really need to know then that means Mark isn’t your soulmate. If he were, you wouldn’t be so consumed with doubt and worries.”
“I don’t know, it’s just that something has been feeling off for a time now…” you shook your head, a gesture of frustration and confusion, unable to articulate the storm of emotions inside you.
“Why don’t you go buy it yourself then? You’re old enough to make your own decisions; you don’t need to drag me into this, I don’t want to get involved.” He pulled away from your grasp and stood up, ready to leave the room and the weight of your request behind.
“I don’t want Mark to find out and you are the only person I trust to do this. Robert, please, do this for me. I promise never to ask you for anything else.” you mustered your most convincing expression, the one you knew your brother couldn’t resist. And just like that, you saw the familiar resignation in his eyes. Despite his protests, he would be always there for you no matter what.
“Okay I would do it, but this is the last crazy thing I do for you.” The both of you knew it was a lie, but it didn’t matter. You lunged forward, enveloping him in a hug, your smile radiating pure joy. “I’ll stop by after work and bring it to you tonight.”
“Thank you, thank you! I love you so much; you are the best brother in the world,” you exclaimed, your gratitude genuine and boundless.
Once Robert had left, a wave of anxiety washed over you. What if Mark wasn’t your soulmate? What if your true match was already married to someone else? Or what if he was single? Would you have the courage to introduce yourself as his soulmate, hoping for a fairy-tale ending?. Taking a deep breath, you tried to lower down the rising panic. There were too many questions and too many uncertainties, so you decided to scour the internet for stories of others who had used the Soulmater, seeking guidance for the myriad of potential outcomes that would come once you know the name of your soulmate.
The Soulmater, according to its creators, was an infallible computer algorithm that boasted a 100% success rate every time. The device itself was really simple: a screen where one entered their name and date of birth, and within moments, the name and birthdate of their soulmate appeared. It has a hefty price tag of $100,000 so it’s meant only for a few who had the means to try it, but those who did were unanimous in their praise. Upon meeting their soulmate, they were instantly certain the device had not failed. You found nothing but happy endings in the reviews, save for one heart-wrenching account of a man whose soulmate had passed away before they could meet. A chill ran down your spine, and instantly you regretted delving into these stories. Now, your doubts hadn’t been calmed, they had multiplied.
Your phone buzzed with a message from Mark: ‘Where are you? We’ve been waiting for you for half an hour!!!’
You had completely forgotten about the meeting you had planned with your boyfriend and your future mother-in-law to set the wedding date. ‘I had to take care of something important at home. I’ll be there in 10 minutes,’ you replied, your heart not in it.
When you arrived at the coffee shop, the sight of Mark sitting alone stirred a sense of nervousness. A tight knot formed in your stomach, the kind that no amount of rational thought could untangle.
“Hey baby, where's your mother?” you asked, planting a kiss on his cheek, trying to mask your concern with a casual greeting. The kiss was a mere formality, a gesture devoid of the affection it once carried.
“She left a while ago! you know my mom is too important a person for you to be wasting her time,” Mark replied, his tone laced with irritation. His words stung you, a verbal slap that echoed the growing distance that exists between the both of you.
But you didn't let those words stop you and unfazed, you countered, “Well, we can decide on the wedding date ourselves.” you signaled the waiter to bring her the same drink Mark had, seeking some semblance of normalcy. Cause normalcy was a facade, a thin veneer over the chaos of your inner thoughts and worries.
“There is no need for that, we've already decided,” Mark declared, his voice cutting through the hum of the coffee shop.
Confusion clouded your face. “What do you mean is already decided?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and apprehension.
“The date will be June 25, there’s nothing else to decide about that” he stated matter-of-factly, as if he were discussing the weather, not your future.
“But that's in less than a month!” Panic rose in your voice, a crescendo of fear and disbelief. It was too soon; you wouldn't have time to prepare everything. The words 'too soon' echoed in your mind, a cruel reminder of the rushed decisions that had led you here with little chance to change anything.
“Please, the only thing we need to do is show up on the wedding day. Leave the rest to my mother, she knows what she does and she is excellent at making events” he dismissed your concerns with a wave of his hand. His indifference was a chasm that widened with every word he spoke.
You clenched your fists under the table, struggling to contain your frustration. “It's my wedding too, and I want a say in how it's going to be. I think I have the right to decide what I want for my wedding too.” Your voice was firm.
“Don't get upset. I'll ask my mom to involve you as much as possible. You can choose the venue, the catering, everything you want, my love. But the wedding will be on June 25. That's final.” His words were a gavel, pounding the final nail into the coffin of your hopes.
The coffee shop was a quaint little place, nestled in the heart of the city, its walls adorned with vintage posters and shelves lined with an assortment of colorful mugs. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mingled with the scent of baked goods, creating a cozy atmosphere that usually brought comfort to her. Today, however, the familiar setting did nothing to ease the turmoil within. As you sat across from Mark, your mind replayed the events leading up to this moment. You remembered the countless times you had walked through these doors, hand in hand with Mark, laughing and planning your future together. But now, as you gazed out of the window, watching the world go by, you felt a disconnection from those memories. They seemed like scenes from someone else’s life, not yours. Mark was talking, but his words were a distant hum in your ears, you watched his lips move, observed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and yet, you felt an inexplicable void.
You thought about the Soulmater, that small, unassuming device that promised to unveil the mysteries of the heart. It was absurd, really, to place so much faith in a piece of technology. And yet, the possibility of discovering a connection so profound, so intrinsic, that it could be deemed a ‘soulmate,’ was too tantalizing to ignore. Your thoughts were interrupted by the waiter, who arrived with your drink, a caramel macchiato, the foam artfully swirled on top. You thanked him with a smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. As you took a sip, the sweetness of the caramel was a stark contrast to the bitterness that lingered on your tongue from the conversation. Mark’s impatience was palpable. He checked his watch, tapped his foot, and sighed heavily, all signs that he was ready to move on from the coffee shop and from the topic at hand. You knew you should be present, should engage in the discussion about your impending nuptials, but your heart was elsewhere, lost in a sea of what-ifs and maybes.
The coffee shop began to fill up, the lunchtime crowd bringing with it a buzz of activity. Couples sat at nearby tables, some in deep conversation, others comfortable in their silence. You envied them, envied their certainty and the ease with which they seemed to fit into each other’s lives. As the afternoon wore on, the sunlight shifted, casting long shadows across the floor. The change in light marked the passage of time, a reminder that life was moving forward, with or without your consent. You glanced at Mark again, trying to picture your future together, but the image was hazy, obscured by doubt.
When the time came to leave, you followed Mark out of the coffee shop, the bell above the door jingling in their wake. The city streets were bustling, people rushing about their day, oblivious to the internal struggle that weighed heavily on your shoulders. Going back home was a blur, your mind preoccupied with the Soulmater and how a name can change her life upside down. As you approached your apartment, the sight of Robert’s car was a beacon of hope. You quickened your pace, eager to close the distance between you and the answers that lay within the small, silver package he had procured for you.
“Did you get it?” you asked Robert, your voice trembling with anticipation.
“Yes, take it easy,” he reassured you, holding up the bag. “Let's go to your room.” His calmness was an anchor in the storm of your emotions.
Inside, Robert handed you the silver package. The Soulmater was smaller than you expected, fitting snugly in your palm. It was unassuming, yet it held the power to alter the course of your life. You hesitated before pressing the power button, your finger hovering over the decision that would unveil your heart's true desire.
The familiarity of your own space was a stark contrast to the chaos of your emotions. The walls held memories of laughter and tears, of dreams and plans made. It was here, in the sanctity of your room, that you would take the leap into the unknown.
“What's wrong? Do you want me to leave you alone?” Robert asked, sensing your hesitation.
“No, it's just... I'm scared,” you admitted, meeting his understanding gaze. The fear was a tangible thing, a shadow that loomed over you.
“Whatever the result, it'll be okay. Remember, you can return it unused,” he reminded her. His words were a lifeline, a reminder that no matter the outcome, you had the power to choose your path. Robert’s presence was a steadying force, together, you both sat on the edge of your bed. With each passing second, the anticipation built, a crescendo of hope and fear that threatened to overwhelm you.
And then, after putting her data on the device you pressed the button, and the world as you knew it shifted.
At that moment, you didn't need a Soulmater to tell you that Mark was not the one for you. The realization hit you like a wave, cold and unyielding. You had become complacent, accepting whatever life threw at you without protest. Your father's passing had been a wake-up call, prompting you to reassess your life and the choices you were making. It was this introspection that led you to go and try the Soulmater, and now, you are certainly using it was the right decision.
The screen scrolled, and after an agonizing wait that seemed like years but only was a couple minutes long, a name and date appeared: Alexia Putellas - 02/04/1994.
“Alexia Putellas? My soulmate is a woman?” you whispered, a mix of shock and curiosity in your voice. The revelation was a puzzle piece that didn't fit the picture you had of your life, yet it was undeniably yours.
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Moon Song | One Shot
Text Divider by @saradika-graphics
SUMMARY | He killed Lucerys, but Aemond sees the ghost of his nephew wherever he goes - especially in his sweet wife's eyes.
WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; ANGST; Delusions; Incest; Dark Themes; Kinslaying; DD;DNE!
WORD COUNT | 6.6k
A/N | Originally written as a birthday gift for @humanpurposes. Nothing says happy birthday like a dark fic about madness and murder I guess? :)
RAIN-SOAKED AND WEARY, AEMOND TRUDGES THROUGH the murky streets of King's Landing, his cold and damp riding leathers offering no respite. Each step echoes with the haunting images of Vhagar's reckless attack on Luke, the small, agonizing details etched into his mind like a deep carving. The city, shrouded in an eerie mist, seems to mourn his nephew in silent empathy.
A scared face. The cracking of jaws. The sight of Arrax’s wing flapping aimlessly down into the sea. Luke, falling free through the skies…
The Red Keep looms ahead, its imposing towers piercing the darkened sky. Aemond ascends the ancient stone steps in silence, his solitude a curtain shrouding the tempest raging within him. The guards watch him cautiously, sensing the palpable storm that accompanies the one-eyed Prince’s return. As he passes, the torches on the wall flicker, casting grotesque shadows that dance along the corridor walls.
Entering the shared chambers, Aemond's presence goes unnoticed at first. His wife awaits him, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and anticipation as she sits at the edge of the bed, finding his gaze and immediately making note of his distress. He can feel her scrutiny, her eyes seeking answers he isn't ready to give. With how disappointed she may be, he is not sure that he’ll ever want her to know. But he knows she must, and that he’d rather it come from him than anyone else.
Words remain unspoken as Aemond, drenched and disheveled, closes the distance between them. She hasn’t moved, holding onto him by the waist as he encloses his cold hands onto the back of her head, finding some semblance of comfort in the warmth of her hair. His wife's face softened, ready to welcome him, oblivious to his guilt and agony. In the silence that hung thick in the air, he braced himself for the storm about to engulf their world.
“You’re cold, Aemond. Let me find you something warm to wear,” she says. He doesn’t let her leave him; he will not let her leave him, ever. In heavy times like these, he’s always quite liked having her to hold - and right now, it seems like she understands it just as well as she always does. She is a part of him, made to be by his side.
She’s my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else’s!
He remembers the words. It was the night he had come to, after his eye had been slashed out. The marriage pact had been brokered in the aftermath, a compensation for the losses suffered. His nephew's tantrum and those venomous words had sown the seeds of a bitter possession, one that manifested in the subtle manipulative gestures that followed.
He had reveled in taunting Luke, relishing in the knowledge that he had triumphed over his nephew in more ways than one. Aemond had married his niece, a Princess of Targaryen blood, a strategic move with which he had alleviated the stain of bastardy off of her. He’d spend years taunting Luke over his wins, and he’d finally taken his life too. And now, his wife was about to cast him aside for it.
As he confessed to his wife, his eye, haunted by the accident, bore into hers, seeking understanding, pleading for empathy. The air grew dense, the chasm between them widening like an insurmountable abyss, a reflection of the irreversible consequences that now consumed them.
I need you to believe me.
In the flicker of candlelight, hope clung to Aemond like a shadow, a desperate desire for his wife to see beyond the tragedy. Yet, her features twisted in disbelief, mirroring the horror within him. He had not expected any less, but to see it happen is like a dagger twisting in his heart.
He’s losing her. He cannot lose her. As she tries to draw away, he lets desperation take over him. He would be damned if he let her slip away over something that he did not mean to happen.
His grip on her tightens to the point of choking, her eyes widening as she realizes that she is trapped. Not just in his hold, but in this marriage with a man that would stop at nothing, and is not even above killing family to survive. How long before he kills me too, she probably thinks.
He longs to assure her that he wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head, but she is angry. She does not want to hear from him, so he will settle for her forced presence for now. Surely she’ll see. He cannot bear for her to look scared and fearful - she looks too much like her twin when she does. The last thing Aemond needs is to be reminded of him.
Her sobs soak through his already damp clothes. She tries to push him away, but he is like a never-ending nightmare - the more she tries, the tighter his hold becomes, refusing to give her the solitude she craves. He wants to, he is simply scared - what if she never chooses to welcome him again?
Why?
His touch, once a source of comfort, now repulses her, but he remains oblivious to her inner turmoil. In the midst of her agony, he lowers her gently onto the bed, attempting to offer solace through caresses and kisses, unaware that his touch has become a reminder, a brand of her brother's murderer. She refuses to believe that it was an accident, and he is further pained at the dark realization that he may not be above killing her if she tries to betray and leave him over this. After all, if he cannot have her, no one else will.
"Stay with me, wife. Stay with me, and you will be kept alive and safe.” Try to leave me, and you will not live to see the next sunrise.
The unspoken threat hangs in the air, a chilling promise that holds its own through his silence and her sobs. She closes her eyes, her unease palpable, a fear of the man she shares her bed and heart with. Aemond, too, watches her drift away, inch by agonizing inch, knowing he will have to learn to endure. He’ll have to, if her place is by Aemond’s side - and the day he married her, he’d solidified that.
What he won’t quite get used to is realizing how much like Luke she looks in fear, and how her eyes make it seem as though he is boring into his nephew’s instead. The resemblance unnerves him as he is taken back to the skies of Storm’s End in his mind once again - Luke had looked just as fearful for his life in his last moments. She is a reminder of what he’s done, of the half of her who is now lost.
How could he have expected that his own living, breathing wife would haunt him so?
THE LIBRARY IS CLOAKED IN A HUSHED DARKNESS as Aemond buries himself in his book, the words flying over his head as he tries to comprehend them. The oppressive silence of the night presses upon him, mirroring the strain in his heart. His worry for his wife weighs heavily on his mind, a persistent ache that refuses to be ignored. She has withdrawn from him, choosing silence over conversation, and the void between them grows deeper with each passing day.
In dreams, Luke sits atop his fledgling dragon, looking at him with a somber expression that makes him appear at peace. They are in the skies of Storm’s End again, only this time, neither of them is involved in a chase. They face each other, and each time, Luke talks, and Aemond seems to have no choice but to listen.
This did not have to happen, uncle, he would say. You could have let me live.
Every time, he wakes and resists the urge to slam his fists and pull his spun silver hair out as he wills the fragments of Lucerys to leave him be. He had initially blamed the shock, but even as he gains his bearings, the visions, dreams, and voices only seem to become louder, stronger, and sharper. It would seem that the more desensitized and ready to face war he becomes, the more his nephew insists on haunting him - reminding him that he is no war god, but simply a boy forced to grow into a man too soon.
This did not have to happen, uncle. You made a terrible mistake.
“Leave me in peace bastard, be gone!” He would scream as he slams his fist into the table and sends parchment flying.
Aemond's torment continues unabated, the ghost of Luke lingering in every corner of his life, a silent spirit that refuses to be exorcized. Late at night, as Aemond lies in bed, he catches glimpses of Luke's face in the shadows that dance on the walls, his eyes hauntingly fixed upon him. The weight of his gaze bears down on Aemond's soul, making sleep an elusive and tormenting escape.
In the courtyard, where the echoes of laughter resound, Aemond finds himself frozen in place, the air heavy with Luke's presence. The wind carries whispers that seem to be the soft murmur of Luke's voice, leaving Aemond questioning his sanity. He can almost feel Luke's hand on his shoulder, a touch that sends shivers down his spine and leaves him grasping at the emptiness.
During war strategy sessions, Aemond's mind plays cruel tricks on him. As he pores over maps of wargrounds and fortified keeps, Luke's reflection materializes beside him, scrutinizing terrains with an otherworldly knowledge. Aemond's fingers tremble as he traces the borders, half-expecting Luke to offer his uninvited and foolish insights, but the silence remains.
In the Great Hall, where feasts were once lively celebrations, Aemond finds himself unable to escape the ghostly presence. The sound of revelry - that Aegon insists upon as they celebrate Luke’s death - becomes a haunting cacophony, and he can almost hear Luke's laughter intermingling with the echoes of those who celebrate his demise. Aemond often finds himself raising his goblet in a futile toast, the wine swirling like a macabre dance, mirroring the torment within him.
Even in the solace of nature, where one would hope to find peace, Aemond can't escape the ghostly reminders. Trees cast shadows that resemble Luke's silhouette as Aemond and Vhagar fly overhead, and the chilly air seems to whisper secrets that he strains to understand.
As he closes the book, a phantom chill creeps into the room. A sense of unease claws at him as he tries to erase the recollections from mind, as though doing so would remove the occurrences altogether. The chilly night air outside intensifies, causing the candle flame to dance wildly before it sputters and extinguishes with a subtle hiss. Aemond dismisses the notion, attributing it to a mere draft, and turns away from the now darkened candle.
As he turns, his reflection in the ornate mirror catches his eye, but instead of his own weary countenance, the mirror unveils the ghostly image of Luke. Aemond's breath catches in his throat as he stares into the haunted eyes of his nephew. The dim light casts an eerie glow on his ethereal almost-figure, and the air in the library seems charged with an otherworldly energy. The weight of guilt and the eerie manifestations converged, leaving Aemond paralyzed in the haunting stillness of the library, caught between the realms of the living and the departed.
"This did not have to happen, uncle," Luke's voice carries a weight of unspoken sorrow, each word etched with the regret of an untimely departure. The ghostly echoes linger in the air, weaving through the ancient shelves of books that stand as silent witnesses to this mad exchange.
Aemond - his breath catching in his throat - struggles to find the right response. The weight of guilt presses upon him as he gazes into Luke, dazed. The regret, palpable and suffocating, threatens to consume him. Luke lingers, a reminder of all his irreversible choices. Caught in the grip of the moment, Aemond feels a lump forming in his throat. "I never wanted it to end this way," he whispers, his voice tinged with regret that he would never have admitted to feeling if he hadn't had to voice it out loud.
"You made a terrible mistake," Luke's voice echoes, the accusatory tone cutting through the oppressive silence of the library.
Aemond's eye meets the hollow gaze of his nephew. "I am aware, and I am burdened by it… by you." He confesses, the weight of guilt hanging heavily upon him. Memories of happier days in his marriage pass his mind, and he is once again left with the gnawing pain of not knowing if she will ever seek him out again. Is he going to be made to live with this chasm between them forever? How could she live without him?
And immediately, as thoughts of his sweet wife cross his mind, the image of Luke transforms into when he was much younger, his curls a lot more prominent and his face a bit more round. He says the words again, the same words that Aemond had heard him say about his marriage - and it is all he can do to not fall apart. "She's my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else's!" Luke's words resonated in the stillness, each repetition intensifying the haunting atmosphere.
The air crackles with unresolved tension as the words loop, a haunting refrain that refuses to fade. Each spoken phrase intertwines with the musty scent of ancient books, filling the room with a lingering sense of melancholy. As the words pass through the room, the library stands witness to the unfolding chaos. Dust motes, disturbed by the weight of the conversation, hang suspended in the air like transient memories. The ambient firelight, filtered through the stained glass windows, casts a surreal glow on the troubled face of a man who desperately tries to escape the consequences of his actions. The words create ripples in the stillness of the library, a transient disturbance.
His fists clench, and with a roar of frustration, he lashes out at the mirror. The impact shatters the haunting reflection, the fractured pieces falling like a cascade of broken memories. Aemond, panting and wild-eyed, stares at the shattered remnants of the mirror as drops of his blood stain them all an angry, bloody red.
ON A DARK, EERIE MORNING, Aemond decides he will seek refuge in combat training with Cole. The rhythmic clash of steel on steel promises a momentary escape from the haunting of his tormented mind. In these fleeting moments, he clings to the hope that the precision demanded by the dance of death will anchor his thoughts, keeping them disciplined and resolute.
But the training ground transforms, and the air shimmers with the echoes of unsheathed swords. In the midst of training, Luke materializes. The world blurs as Aemond's gaze locks onto his nephew's phantom form, the arrogance etched upon his face mirroring the smirk that haunts him. A tempest of confusion descends, and in the blink of an eye, he lunges forward, sword clashing against an illusion.
Reality slips away, and he finds himself ensnared in a mirage - a realm where the dead dance with the living, taunting them with all they have left. In the throbbing aftermath, the truth bears down on him like a relentless storm.
He killed him. The admission echoes in the hollow chambers of his conscience, overtaking him completely. The clash of blades morphs into a funeral dirge, and as he stands amidst the lingering consequences of his actions, the training ground transforms into a graveyard of memories. The air hangs heavy with the scent of remorse, and the phantom of Luke lingers, a silent witness to the torment that now possesses Aemond.
How he wills for his nephew to leave him alone. How he wishes he could turn back time, to a day when his wife was happy with him, when he was not the object of repulsion in her eyes. How he wishes she would welcome him with open arms again...
But why would she, uncle? Why would she, when you have slain her twin and taken me away from her? Her true other half?
He swings his sword once more, the blade cutting through the air with a desperate force. Each slash is a fervent plea, hoping that the slashes would tear up the ghost of his bastard nephew to ribbons that fly away with the wind. Even in death, his nephew is a stain on his life that refuses to let him live in peace. First his eye, now his wife.
Her place is by my side, uncle. And by killing me, you only reminded her of that.
The echoes of Luke's haunting words reverberate through the empty training ground, as Aemond battles not only the illusions before him but also the relentless demons within. The weight of his actions, the echoes of his nephew's voice, and the damning truth merge into a haunting symphony that accompanies each swing of his sword, forming an enemy much more dangerous than the Blacks that he’d sworn to kill.
The air is thick with the acrid scent of remorse. Aemond's movements become more desperate, as if trying to carve out a safe haven from the phantoms that encircle him. The blade slices through him, yet Luke's voice persists, an unyielding reminder of the havoc wrought upon not just his life but everyone’s around him.
Amidst his violent dance with illusions, Aemond longs for the solace that has eluded him since that fateful day at Storm's End. His sword becomes an extension of his anguish, a vessel through which he hopes to banish the nightmares that torment his every waking moment. The words resonate, mocking his attempts to escape the repercussions of his actions.
Aemond's grip tightens on the hilt of the sword, the struggle etched across his face as he battles the intangible. The illusion persists, refusing to be vanquished, a testament to the indomitable force of guilt and regret.
He lowers his sword and the ghostly echoes of Luke's voice linger. The training ground falls silent, a wave of unresolved grief as Aemond grapples with the realization that, even in death, his nephew remains an inescapable presence in the twisted tapestry of his existence.
Luke smiles once more, and Aemond slams the tip of his sword into the gravel, watching it fall to the side as he screams. Luke’s reflection is a sharp image on his blade, but when he looks up, the ground is empty, save for a worried mentor that watches him from the side. What must he do to gain solitude again?
The air in the training ground seems to thicken further as Aemond walks away to put his sword aside. The haunting memories of his past misdeeds cling to him like a shroud, and the distant echoes of Luke's words continue to reverberate in his mind. The once-familiar grounds feel like a journey through a desolate and forsaken landscape as he somehow registers the distant sounds of Cole calling out his name in worry.
As Aemond picks up the sheath, he senses an eerie silence enveloping the surroundings. The wind carries whispers of his regrets, and the atmosphere is charged with an unsettling energy. He looks up to see his wife standing at one of the windows, her gaze fixed on a seemingly endless point beyond the horizon. The pain of a fractured marriage weighs heavily on his shoulders, and his arrogance, once a shield, now crumbles under the weight of remorse.
Their eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. He reads the emptiness in her eyes, an emptiness that reflects the void he has created between them. Aemond's heart sinks, realizing that his mistakes have irreparably damaged the bond he once took for granted. The echo of Luke's haunting voice intertwines with the desolation that surrounds him.
She is his, but he does not want to have her like this; unwilling. Unable to withstand the haunting gaze, Aemond turns away. The clang of metal against metal resonates in the air as he sheathed his sword. The once-sharp blade now feels heavy, burdened with the weight of his own sins.
Before he leaves, compelled by an unseen force, Aemond looks up at the tower once more. But this time, it is not his wife who meets his gaze. Instead, the window frames the ghostly figure of Luke, staring back with fear etched on his face. Before he can further contemplate the vision, she is right there again, looking away. With the many sightings of Luke that he is subjected to, Aemond is not fazed anymore. But he is once more reminded of how similar his nephew and wife look in fear. He does not like seeing her this way.
A shiver courses down Aemond's spine as his gaze meets the ghostly visage of his nephew. Before he can avert his eyes, the apparition transforms into his wife, each manifestation carrying an accusing, sorrowful, and frightened expression. The visions alternate with unsettling speed, a haunting dance where Luke and his wife exchange places in the blink of an eye.
Aemond is unnerved by the rapidity with which the pair appears almost indistinguishable, their features blending into an eerie resemblance that sends chills through his soul. The accusatory eyes of Luke and the sorrowful gaze of his wife interchange with a disorienting fluidity, leaving Aemond trapped in a whirlwind of regret, fear, and a gnawing sense of the uncanny.
He walks away, steps definitive and terror-struck as he steps into the tower. The silence is deafening, broken only by the echoes of regrets and the distant wind. Aemond, haunted by the consequences of his actions, contemplates the surreal encounter. The armor-laden grounds, once a place of training, now serve as the stage for the haunting manifestations of his past. The ghost of Luke remains and so does his remembrance of a happier wife - who, for reasons he cannot fathom, reminds him of his biggest mistake. A constant reminder that redemption may be forever out of reach.
THE WORD HOLDS TOO MUCH EMOTION than he can bear to pour into his voice, but he says it all the same.
“Wife.”
As Aemond approaches her, he takes in the sight of her, a weak vision of House Strong's distinct features marked by dark hair and blue eyes. The vibrant happiness that once defined her has been replaced by weariness, one that seems to have settled into the very core of her being.
Her brown hair, once a shiny cascade, now hangs in loose tendrils, lacking the luster it once possessed. The dim light highlights her fatigue, revealing the toll that the sorrow of losing her brother has taken on her. The lines etched upon her face speak of countless nights spent wrestling nightmares and the strain of unanswered questions. Her eyes, once bright and expressive, now carry a perpetual sadness and seem to bear the weight of all her losses.
Does she grieve for them too? For their marriage? For him and all the time they’ve lost?
As Aemond gathers the courage to approach, he can't help but feel a pang of regret for the role he played in casting this shadow over the woman he once knew and still loves. The air around her seems heavy with declarations unmade, the room echoing with the quiet desperation of a fractured connection that he is grasping at to mend. Aemond, yearning for reconciliation, steels himself to bridge the gap that has grown between them, hoping to heal not just their relationship, but her as well.
She turns to look at him, the faint moonlight from the window hitting her face as she assesses the man that stands before her. Not her husband, no - Aemond knows how she looked at him when she loved him. Now she simply stares through him, understanding that it’s her brother’s killer that she is facing. He doesn’t know what hurts him more - her grief, or her cluelessness.
She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t walk away either, empowering him to take a few steps further. He reaches out to her and takes her hand, and smiles by the corner of his lips when she doesn’t grab her hand back.
“Are you… well?”
The idiocy of the question while he sees how tired she is does not escape him, but in all honesty, she has him tongue-tied. Aemond has missed her touch, and simply getting to hold her hand again has set a fire ablaze in him that he cannot seem to quell.
“As well as one can be, considering the circumstances.”
Time stands still as he takes in the sound of her voice, hoarse from not having said much in a long while. His mother tries with her, but even the Queen can’t make his grief-stricken wife budge - she would stay until she couldn’t, leaving his wife to her thoughts. What could she say to make things better anyhow? I’m sorry my son killed your brother? I’m sorry you’re caught in a war that is not of your making? I’m sorry you cannot look at your husband with anything but disdain?
He is rendered well and truly silent as he tries to measure her feelings, but she beats him to it as she speaks again - addressing the elephant in the room as quickly as she is able. “Are you here to apologize for murdering my brother?”
“It was an accident.”
He knows he shouldn’t be arguing, but what was he to do? He’d let the world speak cruelly of him and brand him a kinslayer, but he cannot have his own wife hate him so. His defense of his actions only seem to spur her further as she pushes her free hand into his chest, and he holds onto her hand tighter, unwilling to let her go like she wants to.
“Don’t demean yourself by justifying your venom, Aemond. You have hated Luke your entire life, and I’d rather you not make years of hatred seem like nothing in your pursuit to make a better name for yourself with me now. You’re well past that, valzȳrys.” She spits out the last word, making him feel hurt and horrendously out of place. husband
“You don’t believe me.”
“You killed him!”
She sobs, her tears making it very clear that he is a lot less in her eyes now than he used to be. He fights the urge to scream, to hold her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. He wants to remind her that he is not what she thinks him to be, and that he genuinely would never do anything to hurt her. But he has. And he is now facing the consequences of weighing the choices and choosing wrong. How he wishes he’d simply let Luke leave - Aemond had won, why didn’t he?
Her sobs echo in the strained silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken grievances. In a moment of raw vulnerability, she hits him square on his chest - each strike of her closed fists carrying the weight of accumulated sorrow, an outward manifestation of the tumultuous emotions that have festered within. Aemond, initially taken aback, winces.
Yet, even as the blows intensify, Aemond doesn't recoil. Instead, he envelops her in a desperate embrace, a gesture born not out of defiance but of a shared longing for understanding. The chamber becomes a battleground of emotions, the struggle to make sense of their fractured marriage playing out in light of all that has taken place.
“I want to hate you so much.” She says, the words choked out as her voice comes out muffled. Her lips are branded onto his chest as she mouths the words over the leathers he wears. “I want to. You’re a monster, that's all I see. I hate you so much.”
He pretends to not hear any of the damning words, for fear of hurting her in the anger that they rouse in him. She looks up at him, and all he wants is to crush her in his hold as he feels the anger creep up on him. But what she says next knocks the wind out of him, reminding him of why he has taken the trouble to come here to try and repair their marriage.
“But I love you all the same, and I don’t know if I hate you or the love I hold more.”
It is all the confirmation he needs. She is not out of reach just yet. Aemond, grappling with the weight of her words, feels a heavy tension in the air as her lips remain pressed against his chest, the muffled admissions still hanging in the space between them.
As she lifts her head, her eyes, red and swollen, meet his. Aemond sees the internal conflict etched into the lines of her face, torn between the desire to loathe him and the persistent, undeniable love that refuses to be extinguished. He remains silent, understanding the gravity of her admission, aware that any response from him could tip the fragile balance they are trying to restore.
In a moment suspended between resentment and longing, she tentatively reaches up to touch his face, her fingertips tracing the contours of his jaw. Aemond, still holding back the urge to speak, feels the warmth of her touch, a gesture that speaks volumes. Then, as if guided by an invisible force, their lips meet in a hesitant, exploratory kiss. It is not a fiery embrace born out of passion; rather, it is a delicate connection, an attempt to bridge the emotional distance that has grown between them.
And then Luke surfaces, yet again.
He holds her tighter and kisses her deep, his tongue begging for entrance as he fights the ghost of Luke, staring right at him as he tries to make his wife forgive him. With every movement of their joined lips, he refutes his dead nephew’s words. He is hers, and she is his. From this day, till the end of their days.
Not Luke’s. His.
“Mine,” he mumbles in between kisses. Over and over until the blasted bastard’s spirit hears and lets him live. But why should he, when Aemond did not offer him the same courtesy? “You’re mine. No one else’s.”
“What?” He doesn’t answer her murmured question, not quite ready to make her privy to the haunting of his mind by her twin. He does not want to let him ruin this moment for them, not any more than he already has. His hands involuntarily find her skirts, pushing them up as he lowers his lips to kiss her neck.
The skin of her thighs are as soft as he’d remembered, his hands relishing in the touch as it disappears under her dress. She clings to him, a slight whine escaping her lips as his fingertips graze her skin, holding onto her backside as he lifts her up effortlessly, feet carrying them both and pushing her into the nearest wall. The kiss is never ending, and he’d not have it any other way.He presses into her, his hands holding her by the hip so tight that he’s probably bruising her, but he is too far gone to care. He needs to prove his nephew wrong, and with each moment he believes he is closer to vanquishing the ghost of the Strong pup from his consciousness.
“Take me,” she says. He hears her, but he is not quite sure he is listening. However, he does as she says. He has wanted this for long, having missed her touch for long, having missed her wanting him for long. He has wanted this for too long to do anything otherwise, and so he does. He growls as he bites her neck, while she unlaces his breeches and lets his cock spring free. The weeping tip is erect and stands proud, and he hopes she can see what she could have had in the time that she pushed him away. No matter, she’s here now.
He is taken aback by how tight she is, how warm and inviting she is despite it all. Her wetness engulfs him as he thrusts into her, making up for wasted time. With each thrust and with each moan that she lets out, he hopes and prays that their marriage will endure - but the phantom of his nephew is never ending as he refuses to fade. Aemond claims her as is his right, but as he does, he realizes his true goal is to simply remind the ghost in his head that she is his, and no one else’s.
“Mine.”
She leans into him, meeting his forehead with hers as her hair falls around them. Her panting breaths and heaving chest has him in a tight chokehold, and it almost keeps him from being haunted by her twin. Almost.
She peaks with a shuddering moan, and as she falls into him - limp and willing - he chases his pleasure. He brings her down to stand and mindlessly thrusts into her as he chants mine, mine, mine over and over again and when he does spill in her, he wants to be able to only experience pleasure, and nothing else.
Surely his mind is playing tricks on him, or Luke has simply taken over Aemond in a capacity far beyond his control - for he is certain he sees him in her eyes for just a moment, taunting him and reveling in his misery.
The memory hits him like whiplash, and it is all he can think of.
Aemond’s hands encircle her delicate throat, pressing her frail form against the unforgiving stone wall, as though he intends to merge her essence with its cold surface. The echoes of her labored panting reverberate in the air, a desperate struggle for breath, while he, consumed by an unrelenting force, cannot cease his actions.
Her blue eyes roll back in agony, and the veins on her neck stand out more prominently than usual, appearing blue in certain lights and green in others - details he might have discerned if not blinded by rage and madness.
He sees clearly, he always does. But in this moment, the intensity of his anger clouds his judgment, rendering him as blind as he is perceptive in moments of calm. Her pallor intensifies, and her hands futilely attempt to pry his fingers from her skin, seeking reprieve - he wants to let go, but he cannot. How could he?
His nephew has haunted him for years, much like the famed phantom of Harrenhal. Luke may have only been nine years of age when he took Aemond’s eye, but it has wielded a malevolent influence throughout his journey from boyhood to manhood. It has been the root cause for a lot of what he’s done - right from marrying her, to now killing her so she can join her brother wherever he is.
He needs to banish the haunting memory of his nephew from his tormented consciousness. He wants so badly for the words to stop playing in his head, weaving a harsh thread of thoughts that he cannot seem to find his way out of. Her life hangs by a thread, one that he stretches taut until she snaps.
As much as he resents acknowledging it, perhaps Lucerys was right. He isn't killing her; he is merely guiding her to where she belongs, by his side. “Aemond…” Her plea is feeble, choked, and nearly devoid of a voice. “Husband, please…” He hears his sweet wife’s last words, but he refuses to listen.
As the light in her eyes slowly dims, he watches as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Her hold on his choking hand loosens and loses its fight, and she gives in. It is almost as though they are back to how they were, in the days when they were happier, and his hands had been around her neck in much more sensual moments - always just enough, never as tight and deadly as this.
She looks almost peaceful in this state, in the last moments where she’s accepted that she has outrun her course. He cannot have her this way, does not want her this way - where she fears him and what he has truly become; where every moment that she looks at him with mixed emotions, he is reminded of his nephew and the day he died.
Cursed bastard.
Her once kind smiles, the very essence that once distinguished her from her twin, have undergone a haunting transformation. Her face has since been etched with an unspoken terror, a fear that clings to her like a shroud of impending doom. Every glance she casts seems laden with an eerie anticipation, as if she is poised to deliver a fatal blow.
In those harrowing moments, the resemblance between them becomes a grotesque mirror, reflecting a likeness he cannot bear to acknowledge. The weight of her presence - his presence - is suffocating, an unsettling reminder of his own recklessness. He cannot afford the luxury of a wavering mind, not in the midst of a relentless war that demands his unwavering focus.
This connection has become an unbearable burden, stoking a fury within him that knows no bounds. All he craves is the dissolution of his nephew's haunting memory, an obliteration that refuses to comply with the confines of his subconscious. Instead, it lingers, an ominous specter that shadows his every waking moment, intensifying the horrors that plague him day and night.
And then, her breathing ceases.
The chilling realization of what he’s done crashes over him like a wave, dragging him into the abyss of his own making. The haunting echoes of his nephew's voice, the relentless specter that had tormented his every waking moment ever since the fateful day at Storm’s End, had finally ceased. However, the newfound silence is shattered by the ghastly thud of her lifeless form crumpling to the floor, unleashing an eerie force that wraps its tendrils around his soul.
She seems liberated from the oppressive shackles of fear and her lifeless face descends into an eerie calm that chills the marrow of his bones. In death, she appears more tranquil than any moment he witnessed in life since her twin’s passing. The grotesque disparity between her and Lucerys’ final moments sends a shiver down his spine, the air thick with the stench of regret and the palpable weight of his transgressions.
With a trembling hand, he reaches out to touch her slowly chilling forehead, pressing a sorrowful kiss upon it. The chamber becomes suffocating, the air thickening with an oppressive calm that clings to the shadows. In that macabre stillness, a chilling certainty takes hold — Lucerys will no longer haunt him, but the cost is etched in the lines of his lovely wife’s lifeless face.
As the reality of his irreversible choice seeps into his bones, a haunting question claws at the edges of his conscience: Was the liberation from the phantom of his nephew's influence worth the mad ending of his wife's life? The Seven bear witness to another one of his kinslaying crimes and the heavy silence that follows - a testament to the darkness that now envelopes his soul, as the shadows of the hearth themselves seem to recoil from the stench of blood that stains the very fabric of the air.
Now the twins are together in death, by each other’s side.
Aemond is free.
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#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen smut#ewan mitchell#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond smut#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen fic#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond fanfiction#aemond one eye#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond fic#aemond#pro aemond targaryen#aemond stannies#aemond angst#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen fanfiction
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Hey hey hey !! Hope your day has been great !!You should so write something for a Sinner reader !!! I had an idea for one.
Maybe a fem ! Cheshire cat like Sinner ? I imagine she died in the 1800s but her style resembles that of a goth. Instead or purples n pinks , I'd imagine she'd be a black and pink color !! They could be like Alastor !!
Maybe they'd also he like the actual Cheshire cat , but she can float and stuff too. If she had abilities relating to time , like Alice in Wonderland , that would be awesome. I imagine she'd be laid back as hell but full of sarcasm. Her grin also never leaves her face. Perhaps she also does the appearing and disappearing randomly thing too ! Especially the part where she disappears while her smile remains in place for a second or two until it too disappears.
If you could do this , that'd be awesome !! If not , ignore this. Thank you !!
Hazbin Hotel Cast with Cheshire Cat Sinner! Reader (fem)
Includes: Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, Husk, Niffty, Sir. Pentious, Cherri Bomb, Alastor.
A/N: The image below is what they attached to another ask. I went off of it :)
Charlie Morningstar
She LOVES you SO MUCH.
You’re a hostess for the hotel. She met you through Alastor.
Alastor summoned you because he owns your soul. What you sold your soul for, she doesn’t know. She didn’t push you for it.
But she loves your style. She always asks you for tips and sometimes steals your outfits (with your permission because stealing is wrong).
She always jumps whenever you randomly appear next to her, floating and smiling sinisterly.
She loves the deep conversations the both of you have. You tell her about some of the things you remember from her time and she writes it down. Human things were so strange.
Even though you’re owned by Alastor, you’re powerful as hell too.
Whenever the loan sharks attacked, you helped protect the hotel.
I imagine that you’d be able to grow in size as well.
Anyways. You two always chat about things. You’re her go to gossip person!
She loves your tail SO much. Whenever you’re floating around her, you lightly place it around her chest and she pets it.
Vaggie
She didn’t trust you at first. You were way too similar to that stupid radio demon.
You were always smiling, but your smile creeped her out more.
Your sudden appearing and disappearing creeped her out too.
She didn’t trust you for the first few months you were there.
Whenever you disappeared and your smile remained, it creeped her out to no ends.
She warmed up to you, however, when you protected them no matter what.
She likes taking naps with you.
You two also have many deep conversations. You two understand each other quite a bit.
Angel Dust
LOVED your vibe.
Still made lewd jokes about your cat things.
“Do you meow or purr when you cum?”
You did not answer that.
He flirts with you too, even if he isn’t actually attracted to you.
He plays with your tail often.
He loves how you float around!
He won’t admit it, but he loves when you pick him up and float around with him.
You two are best friends, actually.
He finds your chest fluff funny because he has some too.
“Is that supposed to cover your lack of tits?”
When he told you about Val, you almost lost your smile.
You protect him as much as you can.
He trusts you enough to vent to you. You appreciate his trust.
Husk
You’re both cats. You understand each other.
Also the fact you’re both owned by Alastor. You two don’t really like him, so you bond over that.
The deep conversations you both have has also strengthened your bond.
Drinking buddies!! You can hold your liquor better than he can.
You time hang out often as well. He finds you to be a break from the crazies in the hotel.
You two sometimes fly together. You float around him while he flies. You have to grab him sometimes.
You two probably sung a song together. Maybe your own version of Whatever It Takes.
You two have definitely pet each other. He purrs around you.
You two sometimes just chill in silence together.
Niffty
Same thought process as how she feels with Alastor.
She calls you a big bad girl.
She loves your style so much! She always climbs on you.
She pets you like a spoiled kitty.
She loves that you try to pounce on rodents, even if you’re twice their size.
Bug killing partners!!
You two share a BUNCH of dark ideas with one another.
You two have to be separated due to your shared love for chaos.
You treat her like a chaotic daughter.
She saw your true form once and she will never forget it.
She LOVED it SO MUCH.
She always asks if you can turn back into it, but you usually refuse.
Sometimes you float around with her in your arms. She adores it.
Sir. Pentious
You and him have a similar relationship as him and Alastor have.
You two were enemies at one point.
You always beat him, but he fought you a lot.
When he joined the hotel, you knew something was off.
You joined Vaggie and Angel Dust in It Starts With Sorry.
“Cant we just kill him? Shoot him and spill his blood?” You took a middle note in the alto key.
Past that, you two have had some better experiences.
He thinks you’re scary, but he doesn’t mind hanging out with you.
Your shared experiences of life brought you two together.
He probably developed a small crush on you before he fell in love with Cherri Bomb.
Cherri Bomb
Similar to you and Sir. Pentious, you were enemies.
However, you two became frenemies.
She thought you were badass and you thought she was too.
Two girl bosses fr.
You two have definitely fought others for territory before.
When she busted the wall of the hotel, you were overjoyed to see her.
You two probably still do drugs together.
She’s your gossip girl.
You, her, and Angel hang out very often together.
Their duo turned into a trio.
You still have a friendly rivalry with one another.
You two definitely had a song together.
Alastor
And finally, the man you sold your soul to.
You sold your soul when you were at your lowest point to this man. Little did you know it would be the biggest regret of your life.
You try to replicate him. The whole smile and hostess like thing.
He finds you charming.
Your shared loved for radio is what makes you two able to converse without him knocking you down a peg.
He teases you about your cat features, as he does with Husk.
He only had to show his authority to you once and it scared the shit out of you.
You cowered in the corner.
But you put that off.
When he randomly summoned you for whatever hotel work he wanted you for, you were originally pissed.
However, you two have gotten to know each other better through this.
Maybe your soul contract thing wasn’t too bad.
#hazbin hotel x reader#helluva boss x reader#hazbin hotel#helluva boss#charlie x reader#hazbin charlie#charlie morningstar#vaggie x reader#vaggie#angel dust x reader#hazbin hotel angel dust#angel dust#husk x reader#hazbin hotel husk#husk hazbin hotel#niffty x reader#niffty#nifty#nifty hazbin hotel#sir pentious x reader#sir pentious#cherri bomb#cherri hazbin hotel#cherri bomb x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin alastor#alastor#x female reader#cheshire cat#Cheshire Cat reader
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How do you think cg!Rafe would react to little!reader who has had a really bad day and is very deep in littlespace?
I'm not really happy with how this turned out but I tried 😭
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You both had been invited to some family gathering by Rafe's dad. It was a fancy restaurant and many relatives were there which already made you nervous because you had the urge to be little since you woke up but decided to push that away for the sake of Rafe not canceling, knowing he would do that in a heartbeat but you wanted to impress his family since you still felt out of place any time at one of the Cameron's gatherings and decided not to tell him.
Everything had gone smoothly until you went to use the restroom. Sitting in your stall you could hear two of his cousins talking bad about you. You tried holding back your tears but the second you heard the door shut again your feelings poured over.
You didn't know how long you had been sitting there sobbing, that fuzzy feeling you get when you're at the verge of slipping having you shake your head.
"No, no, no...not now- be big. Imma big girl-" You mumbled to yourself, getting up and checking if anyone is there before you went to look at yourself in the mirror, scolding yourself. "Stop being a baby."
If Rafe could hear you right now. Lord have mercy. He would scold you even more for disrespecting your little self.
When you were sure your crying stopped you wiped away the remaining tears and took a deep breath. Leaving the restroom you suddenly bumped into someones chest, looking up you sighed when it was da- Rafe.
"You were gone for a while, you okay?" He asked and even though you nod he knew you were lying, your puffy and red eyes giving you away. He just let it go for now as the evening is almost over and you both just wanted to get over with it.
Later in the car you were silent, just looking out the window and playing with the end of your soft pink dress. Rafe glanced your way and sighed.
"Look, I- I know something happened earlier and don't say 'it's nothing' because when you cried about it's- it's not nothing, a'ight? So, tell me."
You just shook your head, not in the mood to talk anymore today. The only thing you wanted now was to wrap yourself in a blanket and sleep.
He wanted to press the subject further, placing his hand on your thigh to give you some assurance but you only shrugged his hand off and Rafe then slowly figured that you may have slipped the second you got in the car and that you're probably just tired and overstimulated from everything.
"Okay, I understand. Let's- we'll talk about it later." He said and you didn't give him any sign of acknowledgement, looking out the window again.
Back at home you completely shut down, quickly making your way to the bedroom, grabbing your lamb stuffie and curled up under the covers. All the big emotions you felt having frustrated tears flowing down your cheeks again.
Rafe came in a few minutes later and smirked, not obvious to the situation and sat down by your side, pulling the bedsheets off your head and is instantly worried by your tears, his eyes widen.
"Hey, Hey, hey. C'mere." He pulled you into his arms, ignoring your fussing and weak attempts at trying to push him away. "No- none of that. Shh, you're okay."
You only whined, giving up and slumping against him, gripping onto his shirt and letting the tears flow. Rafe started rocking you while whispering affirmations, practically suffocating you in his hold but that's exactly what you needed right now.
After your little meltdown you pulled your face from his neck, looking up at him with big eyes, just blinking at him slowly. He was a bit irritated because he didn't know that look at all.
You only mumbled a small 'daddy' before placing your head back on his shoulder and slipping your thumb between your lips.
It then clicked in Rafe's head.
"Someone's feeling really small, hm?" He rubbed your arm, feeling you nod against him. "That's okay. That's why daddy's here, to take care of you."
He just kept holding and rocking you. When you were sound asleep he reached over to grab your paci from your nightstand and took your thumb out of your mouth, quickly replacing it with the paci when you started to stir.
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Taglist
For everything:
@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid
For Rafe:
@chiaraanatra
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make you cry | part one
pairing: beomgyu x you
summary: beomgyu is your manwhore best friend who you've been secretly in love with for years. one night, he asks you to blur the lines between friendship and physical intimacy for his own convenience.
genre: ANGST, romance, smut (mdni), fwb
warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, creampie, dom!gyu, eventual sub!gyu, fingering (vaginal), dacryphilia, dirty talk, praise, if i missed anything lmk!
word count: 4.2k
notes: hi friends! i'm not completely satisfied with this, but i'd rather it be done than sitting in my drafts. pls don't be mean ;_;
being in love with your best friend is not for the faint of heart, you think. in some cases, it’s the easiest thing in the world, but beomgyu makes it difficult. he’s not a bad guy, at least not deep down, but as you watch him break the heart of another notch in his belt, you can’t help but shiver at the fact that he’d very easily do the same to you if you gave him that chance. not that you ever will, that is, but the thought still remains.
you met in grade school. for you, it was a classic case of love at first sight. you had just fallen off the swingset and the teacher had yet to notice you, so you were crying alone when he came up to you with a dinosaur bandaid in tow. he looked like an angel with the sun encircling him, and even as a child, you thought he was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen as he held his little hand out for you to grasp. you had no chance to steel your heart when he asked you if you wanted to be friends, and after that, the rest is history.
that was years ago, but the image of him holding out his hand is engraved in your bones. you think about it even now as you watch him make the poor, unfortunate girl in front of you bawl like a baby. she asks him why he's doing this, what she did wrong, how she can fix it to make him stay. but he's dead set on breaking her heart tonight. and you'll be the one who takes his tipsy ass home after he's done ruining this girl’s perception of love. you’re nothing more than a glorified lackey and enabler, but that's just how it is.
“god, i don’t know why they can never just let go. they always have to make it so hard,” he grumbles in the passenger’s seat of your care. he seems more annoyed than genuinely upset and you can’t help but to feel for the girl who he just unceremoniously dumped in the middle of a house party, so you speak up for once.
“it’s not her fault, beoms. she just really likes you,” you reason. not that it matters, anyway, but you feel better after speaking your mind.
“so it’s my fault? i just don’t get it. i told her no strings attached from the beginning. the fact that she took it seriously is her own problem.” well, nevermind about feeling better. you feel even worse for her now.
“it’s hard not to get attached to you,” you mumble.
“what?” he asks, not even really paying attention to what you’re saying, but still asking for the sake of being (what he thinks is) polite.
“no, it’s nothing,” you reply quickly.
“mmm,” he nods, completely preoccupied with his own issues to really give a fuck about what you have to say. then, as if by a stroke of genius, he says his next words without much thought.
“i just thought of something! you would never act like that with me, would you?” you can’t help but scowl. of course you’d act like that. you’re a normal human being with normal feelings. you’ve already fallen for beomgyu without the physical intimacy, so you can’t imagine how you’d act if you actually had sex with him. but you can’t tell him that, or else he’d start suspecting something.
“i guess not,” you sigh.
“then why don’t we hook up instead?” he asks, genuinely earnest.
“no,” you say simply.
“why not?” he frowns, somewhat offended.
“i’m not interested,” you shrug. you don’t realize that your indifference has the opposite effect on beomgyu. what he perceives as your disgust only interests him more.
“c’mon, i’d definitely show you a good time,” he argues.
“i’m fine, thanks.”
“no, you’re not fine. you haven’t slept with anybody in months. not since what’s-his-name, right? it’s the perfect deal. i’ll give you the time of your life and i’ll get to fuck without any feelings involved.” you try your hardest not to say it’s too late for that. those words will never leave your mouth, though. or else he’d drop you like a hot potato.
“i said no and i mean no. besides, i kind of like somebody right now.” you’re not lying, really. you truly do like, even love, somebody right now, and he’s sitting right next to you.
“who is he?” he asks. “actually, your taste in men is so shit, i don't even wanna know.” usually, that would hurt your feelings, but this whole situation is so fucked up you can’t even find it in you to stifle your laugh.
“true.” he cocks an eyebrow at your answer. you should, in theory, vehemently deny this. just how shitty is this guy for you to not even put up a fight?
“okay, i lied. now i really wanna know. who is he? yeonjun?” he asks. you giggle even more.
“no. yeonjun is sweet, but no. and i’m not telling you, so you should give up.”
“you think yeonjun is sweet in comparison? damn, this guy must be fucking scum,” he laughs. you can’t help but shake your head with an airy laugh of your own. yeah, he’s so awful he even makes yeonjun look sweet. at least it seems like yeonjun has a conscience when he fucks somebody over. beomgyu, for the most part, has none.
“he’s not all bad,” you say softly, still smiling and resting your head on the headrest of your car.
“but still bad,” he argues.
“mhmm,” you hum. “still bad.”
-
beomgyu doesn’t mention hooking up again after that, and for that you are thankful, you think. is there a part of you that regrets not saying yes? in a way, you do. who wouldn’t want to be even closer to the one they love? but you know the closeness would be a lie. even if you were in closer proximity physically, he’d still be far away emotionally. too far to ever catch him. and so you sit at the counter of this shitty bar and watch him try to woo one of the prettiest girls you’ve ever seen, and by the looks of it, it’s working. you smile bitterly and down another shot, making your stomach feel hotter and hotter. you know that by the end of the night, you’ll feel sick, but you’d rather be physically sick and drunk rather than emotionally sick and sober.
“you okay?” kai asks, sliding into the seat next to yours and cutting into your daze with ease.
“aren’t i always?” you answer with a wry smile.
“it’s that bad, huh?” he asks. beomgyu is your best friend, sure, but kai is the only person in the world who knows about your feelings for him. he also feels like the only person in the world who would understand them.
“yeah, it is,” you mumble, downing yet another drink as you watch beomgyu grinding on the girl salaciously.
“wanna get out of here?” he asks sympathetically. you should say no. beomgyu will be angry that you left him, even if he’d ditch you in a heartbeat to get laid. but now, as you watch him shoving his tongue in the red-lipped mouth of the girl who will now be the impossible standard you’ll hold yourself to from hereon out, you can’t bring yourself to care.
“i do,” you smile, for real this time, and his grin matches yours.
you’re so drunk, you barely remember how you got home, but you’re here and so is hyuka. you don’t cry, even if he kind of wishes you would just so you could let it all out. you laugh, even, as he tells his dorky jokes and beats your ass in mario kart. things are going so well, you don’t even hear the pounding on your door until kai says something about it.
“i’ll get it,” he says soothingly when you unsteadily try to stand up.
“thanks, hyuka,” you smile. and that smile stays planted on your face until you see who’s at the door. beomgyu. and by the looks of it, he’s pissed.
“what the fuck is your problem?! how could you just leave me there alone?” he asks as soon as he’s let in. your face sinks and all prior happiness is washed away in an instant.
“you weren’t alone,” kai cuts in defensively. “she was alone until i came and got her.” beomgyu is actually a little embarrassed by this blatant callout, but he’d sooner die than admit it.
“well, she should’ve said something, at least,” he counters, face still hot and voice still as loud as ever.
“i thought you were going home with that girl,” you reply meekly.
“and you couldn’t just ask?!” he snaps.
“you’re being an asshole,” kai argues. “nobody wants to watch you tonguing down some random girl, and she’s not your babysitter.” the room is deathly quiet after this. beomgyu is fishing for words, but he’s too drunk to quite think of any at the moment. he wishes he were sober so he could put kai in his place, but the words never come. all he knows is he’s pissed beyond anything he can properly articulate and it’s driving him crazy.
“you’re drunk,” kai adds sternly. “go home.”
“hyuka, it's okay,” you say gently. “he's too drunk for that. he can crash on the couch.” beomgyu doesn't know why, but he scowls at the nickname.
“but —”
“it's okay,” you repeat. kai’s face looks torn.
“alright, then i'll head out,” he relents after a few seconds. “the both of you just need some sleep,” he says with a sharp glance towards beomgyu, who is still fuming, by the way.
“thank you,” you say with a terse smile. he returns it with a smile of his own and shuts the door behind him. beomgyu watches the entire interaction and somehow feels even worse.
“what the fuck was that? is he the guy you’re hung up on or something?”
“no!” you exclaim incredulously. “hyuka is a nice guy, and he’s just… helping me with some things right now.” you’re not the most eloquent person on a good day, much less while drunk, so that’s all you can really say at the moment.
“what ‘things’ could he possibly be helping you with?” he snaps before realization dawns on him. “you told him about that guy, didn’t you?! you can tell him but you can’t tell me?”
“he… he just understands,” you say. you knew beomgyu wouldn’t just let this shit go and be done with it. he’s like a child finding out his dog likes somebody better than he likes him, and it’s exhausting.
“are you sleeping with him?”
“what, no!” you say firmly.
“you are, aren’t you?” he sneers. “you won’t let me touch you, but you’re letting him?”
“is it so hard to believe that a man just wants to be my friend without wanting to fuck me?” truthfully, yes. you’re good looking and his experience tells him that men always harbor those intentions. well, he does, at least. and for some reason, as he looks at you in your big t-shirt and sweatpants, those intentions are brewing even more.
“beomgyu?” you ask tentatively. his eyes are so intense it seems like he’s even more pissed off, somehow. your innocent look stokes the flames of what’s already been burning for you.
as if he’s possessed, he stalks his way over to you, grabs your face before you can even react, and plants a bruising kiss on your soft lips. you gasp when he meanly takes your bottom lip between his teeth and he can’t help but chuckle. the kiss is cruel for so many reasons, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t knock you off of your feet. you’re usually so restrained around him for reasons only you and kai know, but you feel your inhibitions melt as his tongue enters your mouth. he tastes like alcohol, but then, so do you, and he doesn’t seem to mind. in fact, if his hungry kiss in any indication, he seems to love it.
one of his hands travel under your big hoodie and he tweaks your already hardened nipple between his fingers.
“does that feel good, baby?” he asks lowly, and you feel yourself becoming even more wet. you're too embarrassed to respond, but judging from his tone, he already knows your answer.
his kisses are unrelenting and fierce, no gentleness or care to be seen, but you’re so sweet he can’t control himself. he’s been wanting to do this ever since he hit puberty, but you’ve never seemed interested in him for reasons he can’t understand. but now, you seem more than interested as you let him lead you to your bedroom. he lays you down on your bed and takes off your sweatpants. when he sees you, naked and glistening just from a few touches, he licks his lips in anticipation.
“all this from a few kisses?” he teases, rubbing his fingers up and down your slit. you can do nothing but gasp in response as he pushes one of his long, calloused fingers into your heat.
“s-so tight, it’s sucking me in,” he moans. “i can’t wait to see how you feel around my cock.” he adds a second finger and curls, hitting your sweet spot. all you can do is moan as he takes his thumb and rolls your clit. he watches your body rise and fall with the pleasure and it fascinates him like nothing he’s ever seen. your eyes are screwed shut, but he can’t help but prod and tease to see the different facial expressions you show him. before long, he’s pounding into you. the sound of squelches mixed with your moans only goads him further and further until you’re clenching down mercilessly on his fingers.
“aww, does that feel good, baby?” he coos. “wanna feel even better?” post-release clarity should hit you right about now, but you’re only more eager when he removes his clothes. his lengthy cock, angry and reddened, springs up and slaps his stomach. you whimper at the sight and he smirks at how needy you are.
he hovers over you and slowly, agonizingly slowly, he begins to rub his stiffened length up and down your slit.
“gyu, you need a condom —” you begin to protest.
“why? i’m clean. and i don’t fuck just anyone raw,” he argues as the head of his cock comes dangerously close to hooking on your entrance. you’ve never been able to say no to him for any meaningful amount of time, so relenting isn’t out of the ordinary for you. but more than that, his words, though unromantic, spark a bit of hope in your heart. you’re special, you think.
“do you trust me?” he asks.
no. not at all.
“of course.” and he pushes in. his arrogance falters as you take him in, inch by throbbing inch. it’s a tight fit, and the way you clench around the tip of his cock only drives him further and further into madness. how can you feel so good? how can this feel so perfect?
your poor pussy is equal parts trying to suck him in and trying to resist so the intrusion is forced out. to him, it feels like heaven.
“t-tight!” he hisses. “relax, baby, or you’re gonna break me.” for some reason, his words comfort you, allowing him smooth entry until he’s completely sheathed in you. you both moan when he completely bottoms out, balls hitting your ass in the most lewd way. his precum mixed with the result of your release seep into the bedsheets. he stays there for just a moment, pushing your hair out of your face, and his next words are uncommonly tender.
“you look so pretty like this,” he muses, and you don’t even have time to blush before he’s unsteadily pulling out, pussy pulling him back in like it never wants him to leave, then thrusting back in again.
“oh m-my god,” he says as he begins to ram into you. “so good, baby. you’re taking me so well.”
“b-big!” is all you can manage to say as he continues to fuck you open.
“oh baby, are you going dumb on my cock? can’t even manage to get the words out, can you? it’s okay, don’t think. i’ll take care. of. you,” he says, punctuating each word with his mean thrusts.
you’re crying now, the pleasure too great to stifle your tears. beomgyu thinks you look absolutely lovely like this, lovelier than anyone he’s ever seen, especially when he looks at where you two are joined and watches himself enter and exit your puffy pussy. each gasp, each breathy whine you emit makes him feel crazier and crazier. he aches so much, he has no choice but to continue pounding into you until he's relieved. so he does. he’s gripping the plush of your thighs like he might die if he doesn’t have something to hold onto.
he leans over to give you a nasty kiss, all tongue and teeth. when he parts from you, a lewd string of saliva falls from your mouths and he can’t control the chuckle that escapes him when he sees your pupils are blown out as you flounder for his lips again.
“look, baby. look at how good i’m fucking you.” you look down and see how his cock protrudes from your tummy as he rams in and out of you. “nobody else has fucked you right, but don’t worry, i’ll make sure to fix that.” your pussy involuntarily clenches at his filthy words and it’s enough to make you come.
“c-coming!” you manage to choke out as you spasm around him, back arching deliciously. he follows soon after, thrusts becoming uneven before you feel his cum shooting inside of you.
-
fucking beomgyu comes naturally, and often. he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you. hooking up becomes almost a daily affair, but you’re so hungry for him you can’t bring yourself to protest. you fuck in his car, on his couch, over the fucking kitchen counter, even. all plans to go out with anyone else are immediately dashed in favor of being with him, instead. you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with him, and even if you know, know, know it’s fruitless, you can’t help but relent when he looks at you like a man starved.
“this can’t be good for you,” kai tells you one evening in the comfort of your apartment. it’s a rare occurrence to have a free night from beomgyu’s clutches. kai hasn’t seen you in weeks because you’ve been too “busy” with beomgyu.
“well, i know,” you sigh, too tired to argue with him.
“if you know, then why do you do it?” he asks tentatively. you can’t help but give him a look.
“you know why,” you say.
“he's just messing with your head. you know this can't end well.” you flinch at the word “end”. you know it, he knows it, beomgyu surely fucking knows it, but you can’t help but give in every time. “what are you gonna do when he inevitably fucks you over? and he will, just like always.”
“i… i’ll deal with it when the time comes,” you protest. he sees your defeated expression and lightly tilts your head so it’s resting on his shoulder. your retribution for your actions was always well on its way, but you didn’t know it would come so soon.
you hear a key turning in the door. there’s only one person in the world you’ve given a spare to, so you aren’t surprised in the slightest when beomgyu walks in with that signature smirk on his face. he scowls a bit when he’s greeted with the scene of you and kai sitting so intimately.
“am i interrupting something?” he scoffs as you raise your head from kai’s shoulder.
“no,” kai replies before you can even fix your lips to respond. to your mild surprise, he doesn't push any further.
“whatever,” he shrugs, plopping down next to the two of you and pulling out his phone.
“wanna see this girl whose number i got today?” he asks casually, swiping through his phone eagerly. so that's why he didn't wanna meet up. your heart feels like a hole’s been blown straight through it. you and kai share a deep look, which beomgyu completely misses as he pulls up a picture of a beautiful looking girl.
“this is her,” he says with a triumphant smirk. you don’t — can’t — respond. you just have a blank look on your face.
“what?” he asks petulantly. “she’s really pretty, look!” he insists, pulling up another picture. “she’s one of the hottest girls i’ve seen in a minute.”
any last shred of hope or dignity you have is strangled in its crib at his careless words. your eyes are hot and your stomach hurts so much you feel like you’re going to vomit. kai notices your discomfort and decides to put a stop to this once and for all.
“alright, that’s enough,” kai snaps. “nobody wants to see that shit.”
“what’s your fucking problem?” beomgyu retorts.
“my problem is that you’re a fucking moron. grow up.” beomgyu’s not one to get physical, at least not in a violent sense, but he’s on the precipice of breaking that streak at kai’s harsh words.
“stop, hyuka. it’s okay,” you say softly. beomgyu is so furious, he almost forgot you’re here, but he's genuinely confused by kai’s words.
“what's okay? what is it that you're not telling me?” beomgyu asks.
“it's not okay, actually. he’s fucking you but he comes around and pulls this shit right in front of you?! she won’t say it, but i will.”
“kai, don’t —”
“she doesn’t care! no strings attached, that’s always been the deal.”
“you may be stupid as fuck, but surely you’re not that stupid,” kai sneers. “so if you say you don’t already know, you’re just a fucking liar.” beomgyu pauses at this. is he saying what he thinks he’s saying? surely you didn’t catch feelings, right? but one look at your face, and he knows kai is telling the truth.
but why? and when?
“since when did you…”
“since always,” you say quietly.
“oh, fuck. look, i —”
“it’s okay. i already know,” you cut in. and you do already know, but you can’t bear to hear him say it. beomgyu, in all his glory, processes this and instead of regret, all he feels is anger.
“i’m the piece of shit guy you can’t get over? are you fucking serious?”
“hyuka, you should go,” you say instead of letting him watch the melodrama unfolding before him. kai looks uncertainly between the both of you before relenting.
“call me later, okay?” he says, wiping tears from your eyes that you didn’t realize had fallen.
“okay,” you reply with a sad smile. he sends beomgyu one last scathing look before gathering his shit and slamming the door behind him.
“you tricked me!” beomgyu exclaims as soon as the door shuts. “i would’ve never fucked you if i knew you’d be like this.” just like everyone else. he doesn’t need to voice the last part, but you already know he wants to say it, which just hurts you even more.
“did you really not know, or were you just pretending not to know ‘cause it’d be inconvenient for you?” that shuts him up. kai was right, he’d be stupid not to know. maybe not at first, but surely along the way. surely when you’d look at him so longingly after sleeping with him, or the way you’d look so sad when he didn't stay after sex.
“listen, i’m so sorry that you’re scared, or angry, or whatever it is you’re feeling. i really am. but are you so selfish that you really think nobody else is afraid to have their heart broken? and do you think that means you’re allowed to hurt everyone else instead?” you ask quietly. every new word pierces his heart like nothing he's ever felt before. he wants to say something, but for the life of him, he can’t think of anything quite fitting.
“i think you should leave,” you say after what feels like an eternity of silence. he looks at you with watery eyes and you almost feel guilty, but you’re through with feeling things for him that he’d never have the courtesy to feel for you. “go,” you repeat defeatedly, striding to the door and holding it open for him and he feels more and more like a rat you want to chase out of your home.
he looks like he wants to say something, but one look at you tells him you’re done listening. with heavy feet and an even heavier heart, he heads through the doorway, pausing only before he’s about to cross the threshold. he has a sinking feeling in his gut that tells him this is probably the last time he’ll be here.
“are we still friends after this?” he asks lowly, eyes wide and more desperate than you’ve ever seen them.
“no,” you say simply, and shut the door.
notes: not a ton of smut in this part, but i think the next part will have more i fear.
taglist: @my313 @superbbananananana @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @everythingvirgoes @beomnoullitheorem @sunny4cast
#niningtori#make you cry#beomgyu smut#beomgyu angst#beomgyu hard thoughts#txt hard hours#beomgyu hard hours#txt hard thoughts#txt smut#txt angst#txt x reader#beomgyu x reader#mdni
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Ex boyfriend Gaz giving you a hand
The bed rattled beneath his weak thrusts. You didn’t know how much more you could take of this, laying limp under Kevin while he fucked you. On nights like this you’d think of Kyle as much as you didn’t want to. He would always know when to be gentle or rough. After long hard nights at work he’d be so soft, kissing down your body like you were something to worship. His thrusts were slow but intense, ensuring to keep eye contact until you unraveled under his touch. On other nights, after a fight or after he’s home from deployment it would be carnal and intense. His hand would grapple tightly in your hair, his breath would fan against your ear as he whispered some of the dirtiest things that you’ve ever heard in your ear. His thrusts were harsh but even then, managing to keep a steady pace as he slammed into you.
“Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum” You were snapped out of your thoughts by the harsh breathy request. You liked him of course you did, sometimes you just wondered if you rushed into it. You broke up with Gaz because he was always away with work, arguments becoming more and more abrupt. After you broke up you were lonely and your pride was too strong to allow you to run back to Kyle so that’s how you ended up with Kevin. And he was…fine, he was nice, just different. Your relationship was calm, simple. And, that’s what you wanted. Right?
Kevin didn’t do aftercare and you were ok with that, you guess. He’s simplistic, he doesn’t need to do aftercare. That’s just your relationship. “Did you finish?” He asked, giving you a quick kiss on the forehead before flopping back onto his side of the bed. You nodded and plastered a smile on your face. “Good.” With that he promptly rolled over and fell asleep leaving you alone with your thoughts, with your memories of Kyle. He would always give proper aftercare, carefully wiping down your sensitive pussy and sticky thighs, whispering sweet praises in your ear, holding you close as you slowly drifted to sleep in your big arms. He was stuck firmly in your head and it was infuriating. You wanted to go over to his flat and punch him…and then suck his dick.
It has been two hours since he fell asleep, you were alone here in the dark and desperately horny with a broken vibrator. You sigh and get up and slip out of the sweaty sheets and wander into the cool air of the living room. Your phone was held tightly in your fingers. You stare at your list of contacts, his name still in there, the last in ‘K’. One click. That is all it would take to get to talk to him again. Nothing serious, completely innocent. People chat with their exes all the time. Slowly, you clicked his name and then proceeded to pace round the room while the phone rang. He was probably out, with another girl or getting drunk or at work. He could be in the middle of fighting a war and you’re here calling him. What are you doing?
Before you could hang up and get back into bed resuming your normal simple life he picked up. You thought you were going to throw up at the sound of his voice, he didn’t even sound angry, completely neutral. “Hello?” Deep, familiar, sexy. Your heart skips a beat at the sound of your name coming out his mouth. Pathetic. It felt like when you first started talking to him everything was so exciting for no reason. It was driving you insane. You didn’t want to think like this but your mind was against you. You were fighting a loosing battle.
“Hi.” You squeak, eventually you stop pacing and flop back onto the couch, fiddling with the hem of your pajama shorts. You were full of nervous energy. “I didn’t know if you were working or not. Probably should’ve checked first.” The words stumble out of your mouth clumsily, not like the sharp wit you were used to using against him.
“You’re fine, lovey.” He soothes, his voice remaining silky smooth. You don’t bother correcting him on ‘lovey’, deciding to allow it you also don’t admit that you like it a little too much. “How’s what’s his name?” He knew his name, you know he knew his name but instead he’s keeping up the unbothered act.
“Kevin and yeah he’s fine.” You mumble not going into any more detail then you have to. You didn’t call him to talk about Kevin, you didn’t even want to be thinking about Kevin right now to be perfectly honest. “He’s asleep.”
“Ah bet he doesn’t know about this.” His voice sounds sincere but really you could hear the smirk in his voice. Smug bastard. “There any reason you’re calling me? This...Kevin not cutting it anymore?” He hums down the line, his voice low and dark making you squirm in your seat.
“No..” It came out in almost a whine which didn’t help your case. You took a deep breath and cleared your throat in an attempt to collect yourself but you couldn’t stop the heat from pooling in your stomach. “No, he’s good, great even. More than cutting it.” A lie, a big fat lie and from the silence down the line you could tell he knew.
“Why did you call me then?” He pushes. He couldn’t just hang up but instead he just keeps poking at you. This time it was your turn to be silent. You knew exactly what to say, exactly what he wanted you to say but instead you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You couldn’t bring yourself to say I want you to fuck me or he doesn’t fuck me as good as you. “Do you know what I think?” He drawls, opting to break the silence himself. “I think that you want me to make you feel good but you’re too scared to say it. I think, no, I know, your little boyfriend doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.” His words carried weight, they were dark and promising. “You need me, love. I know that much.” As condescending as his words were, they didn’t make you any less wet, you could feel yourself getting warmer by the minute.
You can feel the fight seeping out of your skin already. You don’t want to fight, all you want to do is let him take control. Despite your words your hand slips down to the waistband of your shorts, hesitating as it reaches the elastic. “This is bad.” You whisper, nervous that any minute Kevin could be walking in on this. You just wanted it so badly. “This is so so bad. Wrong.” You rationalize though there’s no point in it neither of you are listening to it.
“It’s one night.” He reassures making your hand which was once lying flat on your stomach slip under your clothes to feel the sticky heat of your cunt that had been collecting. “One night of you finally getting what you want. That’s not bad, that’s not bad at all.” His words were like poison, infecting your mind. He’s ruining you and you didn’t mind one bit. It was all so gentle, something so slow and sweet but the edge was prominent. You both knew this was wrong and that’s what made it so good. "You can keep touching yourself, you can. You've just got to listen to what I say, I'll help you feel good." He guides, his orders so firm but so gentle at once. "Keep rubbing your clit, nice and slow like I used to do when you felt like being bratty." You follow his orders quickly and let your hand slide under your underwear, rubbing yourself slowly, slick collecting on your fingers. Your moans were getting louder and more erratic. He was basking in it, you knew he must be. You could tell as his orders were getting more precise. "One finger in, just one." You whined at that, one finger wasn't enough. It wouldn't feel anything like him. Despite your pleas he wouldn't budge. He knew what he wanted and he wanted you to listen to him. He wanted to be in charge again. "Just one, if you keep complaining then I'll hang up and leave you with that pathetic boyfriend of yours." You didn't want him to hang up so you shut yourself up, pushing your index finger in your hole.
Your hips bucked up against your own hand, the pleasure slowly building. Your finger pumped in and out of your clenching hole, an obscene squelching noise following with every thrust. "Please," You begged meaninglessly, you didn't know if you wanted another finger or if you wanted to cum right then or if you just wanted him to be here with you. "Fuck. Feels good." You moaned simply, words feeling heavy as lead coming out your mouth.
"Moan my name." It was clear what he wants, he wants to be the one to own you, the name you moan, the one to share a connection with you. "Moan my name and I'll let you put another finger in, I'll let you finally stretch yourself out a bit." He coos, the offer sounding far too sugary sweet to resist.
“Kyle. Oh fuck Kyle please.” You moaned down the line, high and whiny but this time toy hadn’t attempted to tone it down you were too far gone for that. His order broke through your haze of pleasure allowing you to put another finger inside of you. You did, both your fingers now sliding in and out of your gummy walls. It was better. Almost like the stretch he gives you, almost
“That’s it. You’re always so good for me.” Kyle praises bringing that cool closer to snapping. He knew exactly what to say, what to do. Sometimes it made you wonder why exactly you broke up with him, the nostalgia rose coloured haze clouding your vision. You couldn’t concentrate on that right now the only thing you could do is desperately trying to bring yourself to climax. “You’re getting so loud. You’re close aren’t you?”
“Yes, yeah. Close- I’m close.” You splutter, biting down on your lip tightly to silence yourself. It was 4am now, the house even the city was completely quiet. You just needed to finish, cum without giving yourself away that’s it. “Kyle! Oh fuck Kyle.” You moaned his name repeatedly not to get any sort of reward or to earn something, instead because he was the only thing on your mind.
“Good girl, such a good girl.” His praise is soft and genuine leas dark from when your fingers were stuffed deep inside your cunt. It was like he wanted to crawl through the phone and stroke your hair, kiss your forehead… then your sore pussy. You curled into the soft plush of your couch, you needed to get up and shower, wash the cum from your thighs and the guilt from your skin. Act like this never happened. He apparently had other ideas.
“Go unlock the door. I’ll be there in half an hour, someone needs to help get you cleaned up.”
#cod mw2#call of duty#call of duty: modern warfare ii#kyle gaz garrick#cod mwii#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#gaz nation
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My Sunshine
Jack Hughes X Reader
Part 1
a:n This is a little shorter than I wanted, but it's jack's intro and I think it's really cute. pretty much a bunch of fluff. the next chapter will be released on Friday since I am working on Lukes next. Message me to be added to the tag list and lmk what you think.
Masterlist Link
Summary: Jack and Y/N meet by chance at their local coffee shop on a day clouded with uncertainty. A piece of good news finds its way to Y/N, giving her the strength to keep moving forward.
Word Count - 3685
...
The air in the dimly lit home is heavy and oppressive, like a thick fog that clings to your skin as you stumble through the door. The alcohol coursing through your veins dulls your senses, making the world around you feel distant and muted.
Jason sits on the worn couch, his posture rigid and unmoving, like a statue carved from ice. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now bore into you with an intensity that sends a chill down your spine.
The shadows cast by the weak light play across his face, accentuating the hard lines of his jaw and the deep furrows of his brow.
As you come into view, disheveled and intoxicated, his features contort with a mixture of anger and disappointment. The lines around his mouth deepen, his lips pressed together in a thin, disapproving line. His eyes narrow, the icy blue of his irises almost grey in the gloom, like a winter sky heavy with the promise of snow.
"You're home late. Where were you?" His voice is calm, but it carries an edge.
You try to steady yourself, but the room spins around you, the walls closing in as if to suffocate you. You struggle to find your words, your tongue thick and clumsy in your mouth, the taste of regret bitter and metallic.
"Out with the girls," you manage to slur out, the words sounding hollow and unconvincing even to your own ears. You kick off your heels, the clatter breaking the heavy silence like the crack of ice on a frozen pond.
He rises from the couch with a deliberate slowness, his movements calculated and menacing, like a predator stalking its prey. The air seems to grow colder as he approaches, the chill emanating from his body palpable even from a distance. He closes the distance between you, his presence looming over you like a gathering storm.
He latches onto your purse, his grip tight and possessive, his fingers digging into the soft leather like talons. "You were flirting with other guys, weren’t you?"
His words are laced with accusation, each syllable like a shard of ice piercing your already raw nerves. The cold fury in his voice is like a winter gale, cutting through you and leaving you shivering in its wake.
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, you shake your head, movements jerky and unsteady, as if your body is fighting against the weight of his accusations.
"No, Jason, I told you, I was just out with my friends. I wasn't flirting with anyone." The words feel hollow and meaningless. The chill of his gaze seeps into your bones, leaving you numb and aching.
He steps closer, his presence overwhelming as he towers over you, his broad frame blocking out what little light remains in the room. "I don't believe you, Y/N. You've always been too friendly with guys. I know you're hiding something from me."
Desperation claws at your chest, you plead with him, your voice cracking with emotion, "I'm not hiding anything! Why can't you trust me for once?" The question hangs between you.
Your words are a desperate prayer for understanding, for forgiveness, for a chance to thaw the barrier that has grown between you and salvage what's left of the love you once shared.
His grip tightens on your purse, his knuckles turning white with the intensity of his hold. His eyes blaze with a fury that seems to consume him from within.
Under the weight of his gaze, you feel small and insignificant.
"Because every time I trust you, you betray me! You're always sneaking around, meeting up with guys behind my back. I can't take it anymore!" His voice rises with each word, the volume cutting through your silence,
Tears spill over onto your cheeks, the hot saltwater a stark contrast to the cold emptiness that fills your chest. They cascade down your face, leaving glistening trails that reflect the lights.
"Jason, please… I love you, but I can't keep doing this. I can't live like this anymore." The words come out in a choked whisper.
For a moment, his expression softens, the hard lines of his face smoothing out like snow drifts in the fleeting warmth of the sun.
"You're just like all the rest. Always looking for an excuse to leave me. Well, go ahead then. Leave. See if I care."
With a final, wrenching sob, you turn away from him, your footsteps heavy and leaden as you make your way towards the door.
The cold metal of the handle bites into your palm as you grasp it. But before you can turn the handle, Jason's voice cuts through the silence, his tone suddenly weary and defeated.
You pause, your hand still resting on the doorknob, your heart pounding in your chest as you brace yourself for whatever new accusation or insult he's about to hurl your way.
But when you turn to face him, the expression on his face is one you've never seen before. Gone is the anger and the suspicion, replaced by a look of guilt and shame that makes your stomach twist.
"I've been seeing someone else for the past few months. I... I didn't know how to tell you."
You stare at him, your mind reeling as you try to process the implications of his words. All this time, while he was accusing you of sneaking around and betraying him, he was the one who was being unfaithful.
"How could you?" you whisper, your voice barely audible over the roaring in your ears. "How could you do this to me, to us?"
Jason shrugs, his eyes cold and unapologetic as he meets your gaze. "I'm sorry, Y/N, but what did you expect? It's not like we were going to last forever anyway. You pushed me away, always nagging and complaining about every little thing. I felt like I was suffocating in this relationship."
"When I met her, it was like a breath of fresh air. She understands me in a way you never could. She doesn't try to change me or control me like you do."
You thought you knew him, thought you understood the depths of his love for you.
…
2 months later
You stood in line at 'The Brew' coffee shop, the warm, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloping you like a comforting embrace. The rich scent of roasted beans mingled with the subtle sweetness of vanilla and caramel.
Ahead of you, a charming elderly couple deliberated over their order, their laughter filling the cozy space. The woman poked her husband, her lips curved into a playful smile. "Do you think we should try something new today? Maybe one of those fancy lattes?" Her voice was a melodic lilt.
Her husband chuckled softly, the sound a deep, rich rumble that seemed to emanate from his very core. His hand rested gently on his wife's shoulder. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at her.
"You know how much I love my black coffee," he said, his voice a soothing baritone. "But if you want to try something new, I'm more than happy to indulge you."
As you waited patiently, your eyes wandered to the man next to you, who seemed lost in thought. He was engrossed in a conversation on his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration, creating a series of deep lines that etched themselves into his forehead.
He shuffled his feet nervously, the movement causing the light to catch on the polished leather of his shoes. His gaze flickered to the menu before him, a brief moment of indecision flashing across his face.
Your curiosity piqued, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him, admiring the way the soft, golden light of the café danced across his features, The angles of his jawline were sharp and defined, a stark contrast to the soft, inviting curve of his lips.
The air seemed to crackle with an invisible energy. Who was he speaking to, and what stories lay hidden behind those piercing, enigmatic eyes? The questions danced on the tip of your tongue, begging to be asked, as the world around you faded into a blur of color and sound.
the man beside you turned, his eyes catching yours in a moment of recognition. His lips curved into a charming smile, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards as he spoke.
"Oh hey, you're my neighbor, right?" he asked, his voice smooth and warm, like honey drizzling over freshly baked bread. “You live on Baker Street?”
You blinked, surprised by his sudden acknowledgment. Your eyelashes fluttered against your cheeks, "Yes, I do" you replied, your own voice soft and hesitant, a stark contrast to his confident tone. You felt your shyness begin to fade, melting away like frost under the warmth of his gaze.
"I'm Jack," he said, extending a hand towards you. His movements were fluid and graceful, his arm cutting through the space between you with a sense of purpose.
As he reached out, you noticed the way his fingers flexed, the tendons in his hand shifting beneath his skin like the strings of a finely tuned instrument.
You shook his hand, your own fingers grazing against his skin. His hand was warm and firm, his grip strong and reassuring. You could feel the roughness of his palm, the slight calluses on the skin.
"I'm Y/N," you said, your own name sounding foreign and new on your tongue.
"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Jack said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. The light seemed to dance in his irises, like stars winking in a midnight sky. "I've seen you around, but we haven't had a chance to chat."
"I'm usually too shy to say hello," you admitted, feeling a blush creep onto your cheeks. The heat rose in your face, painting your skin with a rosy hue. Your gaze darted away from his, suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his attention.
"Well, I'm glad I broke the ice," Jack said. His words were punctuated by a soft chuckle, the sound rich and inviting, like the first sip of a perfectly brewed cup of coffee. "I'm a bit of a chatterbox myself."
You laughed, finding yourself drawn to his easygoing nature. The sound of your laughter mingled with the ambient noise of the coffee shop. As the line moved forward, you approached the counter, your steps falling into sync with Jack's.
Standing nervously, your gaze fixed upon the menu, you tried to focus on placing your order. Jack stood beside you, his voice was a soothing hum, his sapphire eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched you deliberate over your choices.
As you opened your mouth to speak, Jack's voice broke the silence. "Can I have a banana muffin? And whatever she's getting, we're together." His words caught you off guard, and you turned to face him, your eyes wide with surprise.
Before you could protest, he raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a playful smirk. "Yeah, I'd like a banana muffin and a green tea as well, thanks." You uttered to the cashier.
The barista nodded, punching in the order as you stood there, momentarily stunned by Jack's gesture. You managed a small smile, your heart pounding erratically in your chest.
…
You collected your drinks and made your way to a nearby table. Settling into your seats, you wrapped your hands around your warm cup, the heat seeping into your skin and grounding you in the moment.
Jack's gentle gaze fell upon your hands, and you suddenly became aware of your own nervous habit. Your fingers were picking at your cuticles, a subconscious gesture that betrayed your inner anxiety.
"You should stop doing that, you'll do some serious damage to your cuticles," Jack said softly, placing his warm hand over yours.
"Nervous habit," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the hum of conversation around you.
Glancing at Jack, you found his piercing gaze already fixed upon you. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue, seemed to see right through you, as if he could read your every thought and emotion. You felt exposed, but not in a way that made you uncomfortable.
"So, Y/N," Jack said once you had paid, his voice smooth as honey. "What brings you to The Brew today?"
You fumbled through your words, your shyness threatening to hold you back. But as you looked into Jack's eyes, you saw nothing but patience and genuine interest. He listened intently to your every word, his focus unwavering as you spoke.
"Just a quick drink to fuel my day," you replied, your fingers fidgeting with the cardboard sleeve of your cup. "I have a lot of work to catch up on."
"Sounds like my kind of day," Jack said, his lips curving into a sympathetic smile. "I play sports, so I spend a lot of my down time at coffee shops."
A playful glint flashed in your eyes as a sudden burst of confidence surged through you. "Oh, so this is something you do all the time? Talk to pretty girls in coffee shops?" you said, your tone light and teasing.
Jack's eyes widened, and he sputtered, caught off guard by your unexpected quip. You raised your hands in surrender, a grin spreading across your face. "I'm kidding, Jack. What do you play?"
a laugh escaped his lips, the sound rich and warm. "Ice hockey for the Jersey Devils," he stated nonchalantly, his eyes searching your face for any sign of recognition. You nodded, a hint of uncertainty in your response. The name sounded familiar, but it was never a sport you had invested much time in.
You vaguely recalled Jason, your ex, being an avid Rangers fan, and you assumed the Devils must have been the team he was always passionately screaming about during games.
"I don't know much about the sport, but it sounds like fun. Do you enjoy it?" you asked, your tone genuine and curious.
Jack nodded, his response somewhat reserved, as if he didn't want to delve too deeply into the subject. Shifting the conversation, he inquired, "What do you write?"
"Novels, mostly," you replied, your eyes lighting up as you spoke about your passion. "Romance usually, and when I can, I help out with this sports magazine, ya know."
"I love reading romance novels," he said, his confession causing your eyes to widen in surprise. You hadn't pegged him as the type to enjoy the genre, but the revelation only served to intrigue you further.
"Well, then I guess I'll have to add you to my mailing list," you said, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.
With each sip of your green tea, you felt your nerves slowly melting away. Jack's laughter filled the air, the sound rich and infectious, and for a moment, you forgot all your worries.
As you finished your muffin, savoring the last few bites, Jack turned to you, his eyes holding a hint of something more profound.
"I'd like to see you again," he said, his voice a gentle whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Maybe we could exchange numbers if you want to, of course?"
A surge of excitement coursed through your veins, your heart beating a little faster at the prospect of seeing him again. "Yeah, I'd really like that," you said back. You smiled, feeling a flutter in your heart as you exchanged numbers, your fingers brushing against his as you handed him your phone.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N," Jack said, his voice warm and sincere. His eyes lingered on yours, holding your gaze for a moment. "I hope to see you around."
"I hope so too, Jack," you replied.
…
The sterile smell of disinfectant mingles with the faint aroma of latex gloves. You sit nervously in the doctor's office, your foot tapping an anxious rhythm against the tiled floor. The ticking of the clock on the wall seems to echo in your ears.
The door opens, and the doctor enters, a warm smile gracing their features. Their white coat rustles slightly as they move, the fabric crisp and pristine. The doctor's presence brings a sense of calm to the room.
"Hello, Y/N," they say kindly, their voice soft and soothing. They take a seat across from you, the leather chair creaking slightly under their weight. "Let's get started, shall we?"
You nod, swallowing hard as a lump forms in your throat. Your hands fidget in your lap, fingers intertwining and untwining as you try to calm your nerves. The doctor begins by asking about your medical history, their pen gliding smoothly across the clipboard as they jot down notes.
The conversation shifts to your recent symptoms, and you describe the fatigue that has left you drained and listless, the nasal swelling, and the tender breasts that have made even the slightest touch uncomfortable.
After discussing your health, the doctor suggests running a few tests to confirm your suspicions. "We'll start with a urine test to check for the presence of hCG," they explain, their tone reassuring. They hand you a small plastic cup, its surface cool against your fingertips. "I'll be back shortly to collect the sample."
You take the cup, your hand trembling slightly as you rise from your seat. As you make your way to the restroom. The tile floor feels cold beneath your feet.
In the privacy of the restroom, you take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies that flutter in your stomach. You follow the instructions, your movements mechanical and precise. As you cap the sample, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, your reflection staring back at you with a mixture of hope and trepidation.
You return to the examination room, the plastic cup clutched tightly in your hand. The doctor takes the sample, offering a reassuring smile as they prepare to run the test.
The minutes seem to stretch into hours as you wait, the silence broken only by the gentle hum of the air conditioning and the distant murmur of voices in the hallway. The waiting is the hardest part. The doctor returns to the room, a reassuring smile on their face.
"Thank you, Y/N. Now, while we wait for the results, can you tell me the date of your last menstrual period and any potential dates of conception?"
You take a deep breath, trying to focus your scattered thoughts. As you provide the information to the best of your recollection, a knot forms in your stomach, the memories of those moments flooding back to you.
The doctor nods, jotting down the details on their clipboard. They ask a few more questions, their tone gentle and understanding, the conversation flows naturally.
After what feels like an eternity, the doctor excuses themselves to check on the test results. The room falls silent, the only sound the ticking of the clock on the wall, each second a reminder of the life-changing news that awaits you.
When the doctor returns, they have a file in hand. They take a seat beside you, their expression softening as they meet your gaze. There's a warmth in their eyes, a sense of understanding that puts you at ease, even as your heart races in anticipation.
"Y/N," they begin gently, their voice filled with compassion, "the urine test came back positive for hCG. It looks like congratulations are in order—you're pregnant."
A wave of conflicting emotions washes over you, a tempestuous sea of feelings that threatens to overwhelm you. Tears well up in your eyes, a mixture of joy and sorrow, hope and fear. The doctor places a comforting hand on your shoulder.
They talk about prenatal care, healthy lifestyle choices, and the importance of self-care during this transformative time but it's tempered by a sense of overwhelming sadness, a bittersweet realization that this moment is not quite as you had imagined it.
…
As you step into your home, the weight of the news settles upon your shoulders. Your hand instinctively finds its way to your stomach, a gentle caress that acknowledges the life growing within you.
You look around the living room, your eyes falling upon the photographs that adorn the walls and shelves. Images of you and Jason, frozen in moments of happiness and love.
One by one, you lift heavy pieces of furniture, rearranging them with a vision of a brighter future. The familiar layout melts away, replaced by a canvas upon which you can paint your hopes and dreams.
Framed photographs and cherished trinkets that once held sentimental value now seem like relics of a bygone era, you gather them up, your heart no longer clinging to their memories. The walls, once adorned with the echoes of a broken past, now stand bare, ready to be filled with the laughter and love of a new chapter.
You run your fingers lovingly over the smooth surface of your stomach just as you finish your cathartic cleanse, your phone chimes with a message.
You pick it up, a smile spreading across your face as you see Jack's name on the screen. You settle into the couch, sinking into the soft cushions as you eagerly open the message.
"Hey there, I was thinking about you. How about dinner tomorrow night? I know a great little Italian place."
Your fingers hover over the screen, poised to type a response, but hesitation grips you. Your fingers hover over the screen, poised to type a response, but hesitation takes hold. The news of your pregnancy weighs heavily on your mind, a secret that both excites and frightens you.
You know you should tell him, but doubt creeps in, insidious and persistent. You and Jack aren't even officially dating yet. Your relationship, while promising, is still new and undefined.
The thought of burdening him with this life-altering news so early on feels unfair, potentially derailing the tender connection you've begun to forge. What if the prospect of fatherhood sends him running?
"Dinner sounds perfect," you type, hitting send before you can second-guess yourself.
…
Tag List <3
@fearfam69691, @alwaysclassyeagle, @rebelatbay, @dancerbailey3
#fluff#angst#masterlist#x reader#jack hughes fanfiction#jack hughes#jack hughes fic#timo meier#njd#new jersey devils#luke hughes#dawson mercer#jack hughes x reader#new fic#jack hughes smut#jack hughes imagine#jack hughes x oc#jack hughes x y/n#jack hughes blurb#jack hughes masterlist#jack hughes x you#jack hughes x sister!reader#new writers on tumblr#nhl x reader#hockey imagine#nj devils#jh86
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Roommates | One Shot
Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader x Suguru Geto [MMF]
About:
You’re late on rent again and rather than evicting you, your roommates figure out a different way to make you pay.
Tags/themes:
Roommates AU, threesomes, dubious consent, one shot smut, doggy style, blowjobs, sexual coercion (to keep the rent free), kissing, 18+.
Final warning for dubcon, the reader is implied into it but the consent isn’t made clear.
Word count: 2.1k
You were late on rent again.
A couple months ago you had the excuse that you lost your job so you were short on your share, last month you missed it entirely.
This month you still didn’t have anything and your bank account was running dry, finding absolutely zero luck on the search—living frugally as a result.
Satoru always collected rent in the middle of the month as he was the one who owned the unit. His friend Suguru, lived in an adjacent room to his while you took the smaller room opposite.
Living with two men had certainly been an experience, but they both for the most part kept to themselves and would never bother you, but then you lost your job and your presence became more of a nuisance than just being someone in the background of their lives.
”Again?” Satoru asked as he maintained a friendly albeit strained smile, his tone not quite a whine but you could tell he wasn’t pleased either.
“I-I’ve been trying, but it’s so difficult to find work right now.” You replied, even though that excuse was starting to get stale; it was the truth, but the truth didn’t fill your pockets and that much was a problem.
His demeanour tightened as he struggled to remain polite; you knew that money wasn’t an issue for him and he could afford the entire place alone if he had to, but at the same time you could see where he was coming from.
He wasn’t usually so serious, but he did what he had to do when he needed to. The Satoru you would usually see, so carefree and vibrant, stifled down due to your own misfortune.
Suguru in the midst of this ate breakfast in utter silence as he watched the entire thing unfold from the kitchen table. You would meet his gaze every now and then by accident as he would then try to avoid you, staying quiet as he tried to eat through his good friend doing his best not to scold you.
You mustered up the courage and swallowed away the last of your dignity once more, surrendering to asking for one final chance.
“I know that it’s a lot to ask, but can you please… please give me just a little bit more time?”
His icy blue eyes flashed over your body for a moment, his body language thawing as a new idea came to mind. Instead of going back on forth with you on the topic, he took a deep breath and removed himself from your company momentarily.
His smile grew curt, laced with unreadable intent. “One moment.”
You sat yourself down on the arm rest of the sofa, watching as Satoru went off to whisper something off to Suguru. You considered genuinely just moving back home rather than bothering him further, the other prospect of couch surfing seeming daunting.
Every now and then you’d glance back to the kitchenette from the open plan area, watching as Satoru planned something with Suguru. Their expressions were a little too casual for it to have been something serious and your stomach coiled at the possibility of mockery.
Suguru seemed hesitant about something as his dark eyes landed on you every now and then, his gaze meeting with yours and then disconnecting. Satoru continued to dispense his trademark smile, eyeing you up and down from head to toe, settling on some type of resolution.
The two men then approached you, planting an an uncertain sort of feeling in your gut—your instinct begging for you to choose flight as they both closed in.
“It’s your lucky day,” Satoru announced, his voice suddenly playful and teasing, “rent’s on the house.”
There was definitely a catch.
You stood up and took a step back. “Why…?”
He took a step forward, following you in your tracks as he cornered you.
“You’re gonna do something for us, that’s why.” He added, his words doing nothing to settle your quickly building unease.
“Do what?” You dared to ask.
“You’re a smart girl, [name],” Satoru purred, “you can figure it out, can’t you?”
You weren’t an idiot; you could put two and two together to understand exactly what it was that he was implying—rent was on the house and you weren’t a total prude, understanding that he wanted you to pay your dues with a favour instead.
You just didn’t think it would ever come to something like this. How humiliating, almost.
It was the fact that Suguru seemed to be involved too that further worsened your feelings on the issue. You were already barely into the idea of trading sex for a place to stay, but you now had the influence of two slowly approaching guys who had a different sort of idea of what to do with you.
As you pondered all of the possibilities, you found yourself so distracted that you didn’t even have time to react properly—wait.
Satoru already gave into his building curiousity with you; his wandering fingers pinched at the hem of your top, rolling up the fabric to reveal your bare stomach—your arms protested by anchoring down, but his strength relented and he pulled it off of you completely.
His cruising pursuit moved towards your shorts next, revealing the finishing piece for your bra’s matching set—how cruel it was of such fate to align on a day when you’d be wearing such a thing; both of their eyes shining with a delighted glint.
You blushed as you scrambled to cover up, your cheeks burning cherry red as your temperature turned feverish from the events that quickly unfolded.
“You look so cute when you’re all embarrassed like that.” Satoru commented as he flashed you a cheeky grin, his frosted lashes fluttering as he continued to stare at your now exposed skin.
He slipped right behind you, pulling you into his chest—his arms wrapped around your stomach, his cock pitching against his trousers, feeling his hardness pressing against your back; he wanted you so much, so soon. His lips sank as he nibbled against your neck, leaving behind rosy love bites from suckled flesh.
“Can you feel how hard you’re making me, [name]?” Satoru asked as he continued to grind—you didn’t dare reply, your voice caught in the back of your throat whenever you’d try.
Suguru moved closer at this point too, finally giving into his own thoughts within the company of your exposed form. His dark eyes brightened as he glossed his gaze over your frame, reeling his focus back onto your chest—curious hands unable to resist a feel for a second longer.
His fingertips would then trace towards your upper body, finally parking at your jaw as his fingers settled on a pinch against your chin; he wanted to keep your sights pointed towards him and him alone.
Suguru then lowered his lips to meet with yours, his tongue slowly pushing into your mouth as the wet fleshy muscle wrestled with your own to keep you subdued, pulling strands of webbing saliva back as he disconnected the kiss, just as though to take in his sight of you before going any further.
He took a step forward with intentional purpose and drive, you stepped back as he herded you, finding yourself perfectly sandwiched in between both Satoru and Suguru with absolutely zero wiggle room to spare.
It was then that Satoru once again didn’t give you any room to think as his hands brushed around your waist; greedy hands palmed around your hips before retreating to to the base of your shoulders, pushing you down to assume an entirely different position as your body listened.
Before you even had a chance to react even further, you were on your hands and knees before them both. Your knobbly joints tanking the pressure from the wooden floor, a sensation slightly painful as it rubbed you raw.
Through it, you felt some type of deeply rooted shame as you didn’t even protest, instead accepting the pursuit—you liked this, not quite knowing nor understanding why; feeling so wanted, so desired by both of them at the same time.
Satoru’s trousers fell to his knees as he too surrendered to the floor, his sweatpants gathering by your legs as moved closer in. You felt the tip of his length tease you as he prodded against your opening before sliding into you with such welcomed ease; your pussy already soaked and taking him in without a single hint of a struggle.
“You’re loving this, aren’t you, [name]?” Satoru couldn’t help but tease, “—you’re so wet for me already~!”
Your breath hitched as you once again couldn’t reply, instead eliciting a rushed gasp as he rammed the rest of his cock into your gushing heat, filling the otherwise silent room with the sounds of smacking pleasure as his rhythm quickly surrendered to something hurried, rather than taking the time to savour you.
Suguru was next; his face continuing to focus on yours as he looked down, towering himself above you. He slowly lowered himself to his knees too, succumbing to a certain type of idea that he had in mind.
“Your eyes are so pretty,” he spoke, tweezing his fingertips to turn your chin to face him once again, “can you keep looking at me?”
You obeyed as you felt pulled in by his voice, focusing your sights on his eyes as his own hands trailed elsewhere, eager to give you a taste of himself.
Suguru aligned himself with your lips, teasing his tip as he slowly pushed himself in and filled out the rest of your mouth—you took him in so well as he continued to pack his meat inside.
He moved himself further in as he bucked at your skull with his length, delighted by the noises you made as you struggled to take him in. He relented regardless as searched for your throat, his hands weaving through your hair, brushing away stray strands to keep looking at your pretty face.
Satoru at the same time continued to pound into your pussy from behind, his hips slamming against your ass, fingernails sinking into your bruised flesh. Your ass rippled as his pursuit continued, palms hitting your cheeks causing your eyes to water while you gagged on Suguru in the meanwhile.
Struggling to maintain your balance, Suguru lifted you by your arms to keep you right where he wanted you; continuing to slide his meat into your throat, finding an almost sadistic joy in how you reacted.
High pitched whines and breathy moans harmonising with their own grunting pleasure.
His demanding gaze narrowed, his lips trembling as he succumbed to a desperate chant; “eyes on me, eyes on me—“
Satoru seemed to be close to the edge of climax as his thrusting reached relentless pace, his grip against your once blank flesh now canvassed blotched watercolour markings all around your thighs, leaving behind signatures of bloodied etching from such passionate consequence.
He groaned as he half moaned your name; his hold tightening as your own cries meshed with both pleasure and pain—he drilled into you with such anticipated drive before delivering one final pump, milking himself dry into your sopping warmth, before finally pulling out, gasping and entirely spent.
It didn’t take long for Suguru to catch up next as you adhered to his wishes quite well, taking him in like such a good girl—sucking on him as your cheeks clenched, sending him to places he could only dream to go, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat as he continued to fuck your mouth the best that he could.
His release was sudden, emptying thick loads of a hot mess that pooled in your mouth, trailing against your chin as he finally pulled out—his eyes laced with utter affection.
You succumbed to the floor as Satoru pulled you closer, eager to help you recover, Suguru sat close by as he too, surrendered to creeping exhaustion.
Neither one of them could let you go, at least not yet.
“Now, wasn’t that fun, [name]?” Satoru asked as he brushed his hands along your legs, feeling tempted by a second round. “Maybe you should skip next month’s rent too?”
You didn’t reply yet again, but both your expression and flushed complexion along with your relaxed form all pointed to a definite yes—the feeling so wrong, so right, something you wouldn’t quite mind to revisit again and again.
“You should,” Suguru encouraged as he moved closer next to you, “I’d love to see more of those pretty eyes.”
As you settled into an exhausted stupor, wedged between them both, you couldn’t deny that you loved that idea.
So maybe, you shouldn’t rush in finding a job after all.
#tw dubcon#jjk x reader#satoru gojo x reader#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto#satoru gojo#jjk fanfic#jjk x y/n#smut#reader x gojo#reader x geto#reader insert#one shot#fanfic#short but sweet#alternate universe roommates#dubious consent#getou suguru x you#gojou satoru x reader#satoru x reader#satoru x you#getou suguru x reader#suguru x reader#this was my first time writing threesomes lmao#i was locked in and writing this in a fever dream#fem!reader
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A Gift from the Gods (6)
Hiccup x F!Reader
Word Count: 1.2k
Warnings: None
A/N: I finally did it! I apologize so much for getting this out so late. It's not the longest chapter, but I am actually really proud of how this came out, and I hope you enjoy it as well. Until next time, my friends <3
Previous Chapter .~.~. Next Chapter
The flight back to Dragon’s Edge was quiet between Hiccup and you after he situated himself back onto Toothless’ saddle. The silence wasn’t unbearable. It didn’t cause your stomach to twist in uncomfortable knots as you tried to find the words to fill it.
No, this silence was comfortable.
Your mind was allowed to wander as your wings flap to keep you upright beside Toothless. The burn at the base of your wings was barely noticeable between thoughts about how Hiccup had looked at you.
The way his green eyes remained locked on your own when the two of you glided, combined with the bright smile etched across his lips, had your stomach fluttering.
It reminded you of the way your father always looked at your mother. The abstract wonder in his eyes every time she took flight or when she hummed to herself while cleaning. You remember having childlike hope in finding a love like theirs.
You shake your head at the thought. You had only known Hiccup for a short while, and it was definitely not enough time to find yourself gaining feelings for him. Right?
But how his green eyes reflected the sun would be a memory you would cherish for quite some time.
Landing on a cliff edge, Toothless huffs as Hiccup slides off his back. The dragon stretches before walking toward where the other dragons are grouped in the distance.
You watch as Toothless interacts with the other dragons happily, going up to Stormfly while the two bob their heads at each other. A small smile makes its way to your lips as your eyes remain locked in the scene.
The soft sound of someone clearing their throat causes you to look over towards Hiccup, the smile still on your lips, but now there is a hint of confusion in your eyes. Hiccup stands beside you, nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he looks down at you. Something was clearly on his mind, so much so that it was troubling him.
“I’m uh… I’m sorry about touching your wing earlier and scaring you. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His voice came out as nervous as he looked.
His confession caused the confusion to wash away from your eyes, your smile softening as you shook your head slightly.
“It’s fine, I wasn’t expecting it, so it was a bit of a shock,” You say gently before extending your right wing towards him, “You just need to ask so I can prepare myself.”
Hiccup’s eyes look towards the outstretched wing, taking a quiet second to think over your words before reaching a hand towards it, albeit hesitantly, “Is this okay?”
Your gaze was locked on his hand that barely touched your wing before you gave a silent nod to his question. You take a deep breath, emphasizing in your mind that you were the one who offered your wing to him.
You remind yourself that you aren’t in any danger. You’re safe. You’re not living in the forest on constant alert anymore.
His fingertips finally graze against your wing. The feeling is something you’re so unused to that your body flinches, causing Hiccup to pull his hand away quickly. His eyes filled with worry at how your body reacted to his featherlight touch.
“I’m sorry, are you-”
“I’m okay,” You interrupt him while releasing the breath you had been holding, “You can keep going.”
Green eyes observe you silently for a few seconds, his eyes locking with yours as if searching deep into your soul for the truth. You stare back into his eyes, the corner of your lips tugging into a reassuring smile as you push your wing back toward him.
He slowly reaches his hand toward your wing while keeping his eyes locked on yours. His fingers gently caress the top of your wing, and instead of your body flinching away from his touch, your body shivers.
Your eyes remain locked as his fingers take in every sensation of your wing. They glide over scales and the occasional small cut that littered across it from years in the forest. Silence fills the air between you.
You can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.
Your wing twitches slightly from his touches, but Hiccup does not move to pull away like last time. He keeps running his fingers over the top part of your wing, feeling to the edge before slowly going back toward the middle and continuing toward the base.
His touches cause your breath to deepen, your heart racing in your chest as you try to accustom yourself quickly to the unfamiliar sensation.
All the while, Hiccup keeps eye contact with you. It was as if he never wanted to miss a single reaction, no matter how small it may seem.
Just like when you were both gliding, the seconds feel like hours while the two of you stand on the edge of a cliff. His fingers move closer and closer to the base of your wings, his eyes silently questioning if this was still okay. You answer it by staying still.
Hiccup takes a small step closer to you, his arm reaching over your shoulder to where his fingers stay connected with the top of your wing as he almost reaches where your wings connect with your back. Your breath hitches at how close he is now.
You could make out every freckle, every blemish he had on his face. You could even see the light scar on his chin better now. You still wanted to ask how he got it. Now was not the time.
Everything was too much and not enough at the same time.
His lips part, ready to say anything to fill the silence between you, but he’s suddenly interrupted by the shouting of his name. His fingers quickly retract from your wing, his body stepping away from you as he looks to whoever called for him.
Your heart aches at the void of his touch and the cold that washes over you when he steps away.
Astrid was running towards where the both of you stood, the others trailing close behind her, as she carried a terrible terror in her arms. When the group arrives in front of you and Hiccup, you finally notice the paper in Astrid’s hand.
“It’s from your father!” Astrid pants out while handing Hiccup the letter, the terrible terror jumping out of Astrid’s arms and beginning to head over to you.
You pick up the small dragon while Hiccup reads the letter, gently scratching its chin before making eye contact with Astrid, who is staring you down. She wasn’t the only one. The others were as well.
You begin to feel your cheeks heat up in a flush. Your gaze slowly goes to the dragon in your arms, deciding to pay attention to how it purred and nuzzled against you.
Hiccup suddenly calls for Toothless, who is still over with the other dragons. You look back towards the brunette with silent confusion at the worry that fills his tone. The other riders follow his lead and call for their dragons.
Green eyes find yours as everyone mounts their dragons, unease shining in them as he looks down at you. You give him a slight tilt of your head, a silent question of concern. He holds his hand towards you, beckoning you. Moving the terrible terror to lay around your shoulders, you take Hiccup’s hand and allow him to pull you up to sit behind him.
Toothless adjusts his body slightly, not used to having a second person on his back.
“It’s going to be a long flight,” He says to you before looking over towards his friends, “Looks like we’re heading back to Berk.”
Taglist: @spiderlily-w1tch-blog @millie--billie @persipeoni @honethatty12
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When the Cardinal got the call about the attack on Mouse and the sibling, do you think he reacted sharply over the phone to whomever he spoke with, or cooly responded and waited until he hung up to go ballistic? I’m curious about his initial reaction to the news. 🫢
The Cardinal sat there, alone in an unfamiliar office, and thought about the changes so close at hand. It had been a long time coming, he supposed; the steadily ticking clock on the wall kept his toiling years in the forefront of his mind. All the bustle and the striving, the whole dogged pursuit of his own dark papacy, might actually be soon behind him. Copia relaxed back in his chair for a moment, admittedly irritated at the gentle ticking, but grateful nonetheless for this brief respite. The Ministry could be a tumultuous place, but for now, all was quiet, and he was ready.
His door was open, and an assistant poked her head in. “My apologies, Your Eminence.. you have a phone call,” she said, gesturing towards the phone upon his current desk. He noticed a light blinking there. “Sister Imperator.”
Giving the girl a nod before she left, shutting the door behind her, he reached out for the receiver. “Pronto, eh… Hello?”
Sister’s voice a bit tinny over the antiquated line. “Cardinal. I trust you’re well?”
“Yes, Your Dark Excellency.” Imperator wouldn’t have called without a reason. “What’s this about?”
“I’m calling about the girl you’ve been tutoring.” The leather of his glove tightened more firmly around the receiver with an audible sound.
“What about her?” Imperator didn’t answer right away, and Copia felt a surge of something like a panic forming deep in his chest. “Sister—”
“Oh, she’s quite all right, Cardinal. Don’t worry, honestly.” Don’t worry…
“What—”
“She…” Her voice sounded pained, and he heard her take a little breath. “There was a fair bit of trouble up in the old cemetery today. Some kind of a transient was… bothering her and another girl. They’re a bit rattled, naturally… fought him off and ran. Nothing beyond a mere scuffle happened, they assured me, but…”
“I’ll be there shortly.” He could feel the blood rushing in his head, and he fought to remain calm.
“Your Eminence, you do understand what you’re meant to accomplish over there?”
“I do, Sister.” He let the weight of his decision hang for a moment. “I should be able to manage arriving back at the abbey… tomorrow at the latest.”
“The girl is perfectly fine here; a few abrasions… I only thought you’d like to know as a courtesy. Considering the time you’ve spent together.”
A few… abrasions. “Please expect me tomorrow, Sister. Thank you.”
“Cardinal.”
“Yes?” The word came out heavy with concealed rage.
“She is perhaps not perfectly fine. If I’m being honest with you.”
He hung up the receiver without another word, and he watched his hand shake, threatening to splinter the plastic. Taking a steely breath, he extricated his fingers from the thing, and then he methodically began to pack up his desk. As he worked, measured and silent beneath it, the soft and steady ticking of the clock on the wall threatened to drive him insane; a horrible reminder of how far he was from her. This was hell, truly; right here in the passionlessly beating heart of the Satanic Ministry. Copia gulped, fighting the hot fury rising inside him, the urge to retch out the pit of ice settling in his stomach. He wouldn't waste any time; he would not give in to his inner torment here. How was she faring with her own?
When he was done, he reached out for the phone again, his hand now steady.
“I want a car waiting for me downstairs. Ten minutes.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On his way down the hall to her room he bumped into Terzo, exiting his papal chambers.
“How is Mouse?” Copia queried, without thinking.
“Who?”
“The girl!” he snapped, ready to lose it.
“Shhh…” Terzo was carefully shutting his door, “Sophie’s still sleeping…”
“The other girl! I hear she’s injured? Why aren’t you with her?”
“I only have one dick, Cardinal.”
Copia pondered on how exactly his life would change if he snapped Terzo’s neck right there in the hall.
Terzo chuckled for a second at his seething expression, before getting serious again. “She’s got a nasty scrape on her head, poor thing. I tucked her in earlier, no fucking involved, Cardinal… She’s resting, says she’s fine, but…” Terzo frowned further. “She’s quite shaken up, I believe, contrary to what she’ll tell you.”
Not bothering to converse any further, Copia continued on down the hall. When he finally reached the door to her dear little room he paused for a second, gathering his scattered thoughts.
It was darkening inside, and he let his eyes adjust for a moment, though it was hardly needed. He knew the room well; how many times had he let himself in here, just to look upon her? How many times had he done much more than look?
She lay on the bed, curled up in a fretful slumber, and the icy rage he had carried all the way here to lay at her feet began to melt at the piteous sight of her. His poor sweet Mouse!
Reaching out, he arranged her blanket a bit more snugly around her, and he noticed then what she was clutching in her fingers; a swathe of red that left his swelling heart bleeding. He lay down beside her.
He wanted to hold her close, desperately, but he would not yet allow himself that gift. She needed to sleep; she needed to be safe. She needed to be loved. And for all the ways he had failed her, he could at least do that, effortlessly and beyond severe. He would love her beyond his last breath, he thought, watching over her precious ones, her fragile chest rising and falling softly.
After some time, he noticed her begin to stir, and eventually she reached out for her light.
“Dolce,” he said, gently. She whirled around, and the look in her dewy eyes at the sight of him made him want to weep.
Finally, he held her.
link to ao3
#ask box#anon ask#thank you dear anon#sadglo#sadglo: none could compare#sadglo part 16 chapter 4#I hope you enjoy
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— chrysanthemums.
elbert greetia x gn! reader
content: sfw ; angst ; character study ; mild(?) spoilers for william’s route ; victorian flower language ; self indulgent (screw plot)
(partially) inspired by: tonight you belong to me by patience and prudence
word count: ~754
a/n: first ikevil fic, trying to wrap my head around the characters …
Of course Elbert knows you belong to Will.
After all, you were the most beautiful when you're with him. He's seen the image many times throughout your stay in the castle. The way you light up when William enters the room, the lift in your voice when speaking to him, the love in your eyes when William is reflected on it.
The way that William is the reason for your beauty.
If the gods pried into his brain and search for the question he's asked the most—the question thought to himself in fitful nights of longing and early morning blues, something that even Elbert feels guilty of admitting through words— it would be:
Why?
Why you? Why William? Why not him-
That was the thing he has been trying to find the answer for ever since his own eyes landed on you that night. A robin caught in a gathering of villains, like a single white rose in a bush of red. He had almost wanted to pluck you and keep you to himself. Until William’s voice chimed in, recognizing you, and you, who shared the same sentiment.
A month passed by in a blur, it was easy for Elbert to get lost in time. But he would always remember the determination in your eyes in that meeting regarding the papers detailing the “crimes” of William Rex. Your eyes shone with a beauty brought out by the King himself.
You'd almost caught him marvelling at the sight of you.
He wanted to help, one way or another. However, the Crown could not move under the name of the Queen, or in large groups due to the risks in secrecy, so he asked Alfons to act in his stead.
“Your ability is suitable for infiltrating the enemy headquarters… May I trouble you to go with them?”
In the end, he's aware of why it was William you chose. It was a fact that he knew deep down in his heart, something he'd rarely acknowledge and yet will resurface everytime his mind wanders to the thought of you.
William Rex is everything that Elbert Greetia isn't.
And in that very fact alone lies Elbert’s own tragedy. One that'll slowly eat him up from the inside until there's nothing left but the remains of a monomanic yearning.
Not every beautiful thing could be his, Alfons would poke in the playful manner that he usually dons. But perhaps his words do hold weight in this situation.
It's alright, he can settle for watching from afar.
(No he can't. His curse could never allow it. He wants, he wants, he wants... And that was how his destiny wrote itself in tragedy.)
Elbert knows of the fact that he's awful at suppressing his tendencies. Hands that can't be kept to himself, always wandering to something he'd desire, it was usually a question of when he'll have it- rarely a question of if, up until now at least.
Those same hands that desired more, now held yours in a slow waltz.
"Al informed me that William went out on a mission... I was… quite surprised to find out that you did not come along with him."
"It's because it's quite late, and William insisted that I stay behind tonight."
step, step, step.
A dance across the garden, that was his invitation. Indulging in the opportunity that arose in William's absence. It was Elbert’s own way of satiating his want.
(though it will never be enough)
Some part of him feared that by interacting with you like this, he'd yet again desire for more. More than a longing stare across the dining table, more than a dance in the garden, more than just his hand in yours.
“How about you, Lord Elbert? You seem troubled these days.”
“...Ah, how so?”
And just as both of you reached the middle of the pavilion, you let go. The coldness setting on his hands faster than he'd like in the absence of your warmth.
And in the next breath, you'd take your leave- greeting the wistful earl a goodnight. Heels clicking as you step out of the pavilion and into the moonlight, until you were nothing but a distant figure, one he did not take his eyes off until you'd reach the confines of the castle, your silhouette disappearing from his sight
And once again, he stood alone in the garden pavilion.
The yellow chrysanthemums looked bitter under the moonlight, and he knows that those same flowers would never bloom in an azure hue.
© sylacris. 2024 —
#elbert greetia x reader#ikemen villains x reader#ikemen series#ikemen villains#elbert greetia#ikevil#ikevil elbert#cybird otome
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idk if you can do this but can you do a poly!marauders x gn!reader, and the boys’ reactions when yn wears a binder one day.
i'm not trans nor have i ever worn a binder, so i hope this is an accurate portrayal!! feel free to correct me on anything i've messed up.
Getting a binder was a long time coming. After months of research, hesitations and all the time spent waiting, going to the store and getting one, you never thought wearing something to bind would make you feel so damn free. Finally, understanding what people meant when you heard about gender euphoria.
You hadn’t told the boys about your latest purchase. In fact, you hadn’t brought up the concept to them. Not that they hadn’t been supportive of you, they really were. In a world of magic, pronouns were something that hardly needed grasping, and they would correct anyone who messed up politely, sending you a soft smile as they did. But- you couldn’t help but be anxious about them finding out. What if this was too much? What if they get freaked out?
So, you kept your binder to yourself.
At first, you didn’t think they had noticed. You wore looser clothes or sports bras earlier, so it probably wasn’t as big of a difference to others. It wasn’t until dinner that night where you noticed Sirius staring at you from across the table.
“What?” You said, chomping down on a bread roll to hide the way self conciousness ebbed in your chest.
Sirius squinted his eyes, looking like James when he tries to read without his glasses. “You look different.” He says. “Did you do something to your face?”
James laughs from next to you. “Did they do something to their face? What kind of question is that, Padfoot?”
“Well, I don’t know!” Sirius exclaims, “Admit it though Prongs, something about them is different!”
You find it hard to not instinctively crawl under the table to hide. So you curl in on yourself, pressing your chin to your chest to calm the heat across your cheeks. As if he can sense your anxiety, Remus places his hand on your shoulder.
“Guys stop.” He says, light concern lacing his voice, but he’s clearly trying to hide it. “Obviously they’re just relaxed now that the holidays are coming, isn’t that right?” He says to you, giving you a slight smirk and raise of his eyebrows that only happen during his most devious pranks. ‘go with this’, he silently urges you.
You smile, nodding your head. “Yeah, I’m glad classes are almost over.”
“Well,” Sirius starts, “We should have holidays more often then. Haven’t seen you this confident in- I don’t even know.”
“I’ll start the petition!” James pipes.
You smile, glad to be supported by your boys, but still relieved that your secret remains yours.
Little did you know later that night, the boys had a plan to throw a movie night with you in the common room. So at nighttime, when you had changed out of your binder so you wouldn’t sleep in it, James surprised you by barging into your room.
“Oi! It’s movie time- oh sorry.” James said, cutting himself off to cover his eyes as you put on your sweatshirt.
Remus followed him, quickly closing his eyes and turning around when he saw you, “Jeez Prongs! They’re changing!” He scolded.
“I know! That’s why I’m…” He trails off, gesturing to the hand that’s covering his eye- going completely unnoticed to Remus with his eyes shut tight.
You shake your head, a soft giggle escaping from your lips. God, they’re dramatic. “It’s okay guys, don’t stress.” You throw your sweatshirt over your head. “Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
James makes a soft grunt, before removing the hand from his eyes and taking you in. “Well, sorry again.” He says. His eyes slowly drift behind you to something on your bed, and tilts his head. “Hey what’s that?”
You almost jump, turning behind you to see your binder laid out on your bed, ready to be put away. You shudder a deep breath before trying your best to gesture nonchalantly. “It’s uh-” It’s hard not to cringe at how your voice trembles. Okay, nonchalant isn’t working. So you instead opt to be candid. “It’s my binder.”
James looks between you and the binder, his brows furrowed. “Binder…?” He questions before his eyes go wide. He paces towards you in a frenzy. “You’re not binding your magic, are you? Listen, you shoul-”
A giggle almost slips out again as you interrupt him before he explodes, “No Prongs! It’s for my chest. It binds my chest.”
Despite the reassurance that no, you were not binding your magic, James doesn’t look any less confused. If anything, he looked even more. “Why would you want to bind your chest?” He asks, his brows furrowing as he makes his way from you to the binder.
Candid, you remind yourself. You’re being candid. “So it would be flatter.” You say.
A beat passes before James replies, still looking down at the material.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” You ask. Your heart thumping in your chest with anticipation.
He makes a small squeak as he turns back to you, “I-I just didn’t realise that was something you worried about.” He says, his voice sympathetic but laced with concern. “It’s not…” He pauses,
“Is this where we’re supposed to say something to make you feel better? Because you don’t have to do that for other people you know...”
“No, I get that.” You say, a small smile making its way to your face. “This isn’t for other people, it’s for me. I’m more comfortable with myself when I wear it.” You gesture to the binder, as if it hasn’t been the subject of the past couple of minutes.
With that, James’ whole demeanour changes. The tension in his body disappears as he smiles wide. “Well then, we’re thrilled for you. Aren’t we moony?” He says, nudging Remus who has just been staring at you since the conversation started.
As if he has just awoken from a nap, Remus startles to attention. “Oh- uh yes! I’m supportive of whatever you choose as long as you're happy.” Remus replies, smiling at you before chuckling “Sorry it’s just- I knew that’s what was different.”
“You staring at their chest are you?” James teases Remus. “Perv.”
“No! I-” He exclaims, a red tint painting his face.
You smile at him, about to reassure the boy, when a crashing sound comes from downstairs before a yell echoes through the hallway. Remus mutters a small ‘fuck’s sake’ as the cause of the noise comes bounding towards your room.
“Sorry gentlemen- gender neutral, of course. The popcorn has burned.” Sirius announces before he’s entered the room, reeking of burnt popcorn with a few pieces lodged in his hair. Sharing James’ nosiness, his eyes quickly fixate on your binder. “Hey, what’s that?”
James scoffs before turning to Sirius. “It’s a binder, Padfoot, and they’re very happy.” He says with pride, his chin lifting. “Catch up.”
Remus’ attention, however, has drifted away from the binder and he asks the real important question, “How the hell do you burn magic popcorn?”
Sirius jumps to the defensive, “Hey! I’m the one who told you not to put me in charge of food!” He says, throwing his hands up. “I’m obviously more suited to the pillow gathering region.”
With a dictionary worth of swear words, Remus stomps down the hall to make some unburnt popcorn. James quickly following behind, arguing why him being the pillow gatherer was the best choice.
With Sirius and you alone, he turns to you. “Hey, it’s cool that you have that now. Reg used to use one a while ago.” He says, before grabbing your hand, “Now, let’s watch some movies on a subpar pillow arrangement.”
You laugh as you both go to follow the other two boys. “Sounds good.” You say, feeling more secure with them than ever. Your binder sitting blissfully on your bed, ready to be used again tomorrow.
poly marauders masterlist
#marauders#harry potter#poly!maraduers#marauders x reader#poly!marauders x reader#marauders fluff#marauders x y/n#marauder x you#marauders fanfic#sirius black x reader#james potter x reader#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin fluff#james potter fluff#sirius black fluff
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Ruki’s Pov:
I return back to the manor, printing out the photos then taping them onto the wall of photos I have of her in the secret room connected to my room. When I see her at school, she is always with the irritating Sakamaki brothers, and I remain stoic and cool, yet I do try to obtain her trust. Day by day I am getting closer and closer to bringing her here, once she sees this shrine I have dedicated to her, she'll never escape me. Plotting this for the past few months has been exhausting, admittedly but it will all be worth it when I get her in my clutches.
The next night, I noticed she was walking very slowly, she must be drained of her intoxicating blood, I "accidentally" bump into her. "Ah..Ruki..I'm so sorry." She apologized, that apology took all of her strength. "You're really okay with being reduced to livestock?" I asked her, sounding somewhat concerned in my tone, but this was all a part of my plan. "..I..I don't know how to answer that..'' she stammers around, unable to provide a solid answer. I place my hand on her cheek, cupping it gently. "If you come with me, I can guarantee you will not be reduced to that level.." I lied, of course. She still looked hesitant. "You know that I used to be a human right? I understand pain and suffering better than anyone, I wouldn't put you through that. " Another lie pours out my mouth. After a few more moments of convincing, I had her wrapped around finger and she came back to the manor with me. The plan was going along just right.
As soon as she came up, I offered her food or drink, as expected she said no and we went up to my room. Once we entered, there was no going back. I pushed her down onto the floor and locked the door, blocking off any chance of escape. “Ruki..??” She questioned, I chuckled slightly and opened the secret room with my shrine of her, she look mortified. “..these are all pictures of me..? And this doll- it looks just like me..” she quietly said to herself, shaking in fear. “Yes I’ve been admiring you for a long time” I tell her, coming closer to her but she backs away in fear, this offends me. “Ruki please ..this is scary” i laugh at this then pull her close to me, sliding my hand to her waist. “It’s not scary at all, I’ll show you proper loving, I’ll make you forget all the tainted misfortunate memories you’ve had with those Sakamaki turds.” I tell her, close to her ear. I pull her in for a deep kiss, her lips felt juicy she tried her best to suppress the pleasure she felt, I wasted no time and began touching her inappropriately. Sliding my hands under her clothing and cupping her breasts, I gently pressed deeply against her so so could feel how aroused I was getting.
I took her hand and placed it on my crotch. Using her hand to rub it, this won’t do. Her mouth would be better suited for this. I tugged down my pants a bit so that my part would plop out, she looked at me confused but I told her to get on her knees and relieve me, she hesitated at first but then she did, it felt sensational. This was Eve doing this to me, I can become Adam after all, I noticed her bopping her head up and down looking into my eyes, yes that face, I took out my phone and snapped a picture, I wanted this as a memory. I had to finally finish and I did, in her mouth but she did not swallow it she spit it out…
“That won’t do..lick it off the floor” I demanded. She looked disgusted. “Lick it off the floor or I’ll fuck you to death” I clarified, that must’ve triggered something in her because she did it, how disgusting, I laughed at this. This was just the beginning of all the things I was going to do to her body, she’s never escaping me.
#diabolik lovers#diabolik boys#dialovers#yui komori#diabolik brothers#diahell#yui x ruki#ruki mukami#smut diabolik lovers#smut fiction#manga and anime#diabolik lovers community
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Nico saying that Lewis gives his daughters boxes of presents every Christmas just got caught in my mind.
Imagine you were a mixed race boy born in Hertfordshire, different from everyone else around you. Bullied in school, being raised by your father to compete in a sport where money is very much of essence and you and your family do not have a lot of it. And then you meet this other boy who comes from the kind of life you dream to live one day. You're friends and fierce competitors. You find solace in each other. You visit Monaco for the first time with your friend, dreaming up the life you will have when you make it, when you beat out of the mould that the world thought it could capture you in.
And then you two grow through the ranks and you're at the pinnacle of your sport and you have what it takes to win and the world recognises that you can win. And you win. You win with your friend and fiercest competitor by your side fighting with you for those wins, and this fighting ruins something something that was valuable to both of you when you were still innocent and unsullied by life.
But despite everything that went into the doing and undoing of this relationship, you still realise that this person you once called a friend has a life and family beyond your bitter dynamic. He has children, and children need love and affection and good memories. And you're a better man now so you understand that. So you make sure the kids get gifts on Christmas. And you make sure of it every year. Afterall, if you met someone you loved deeply when you were both kids, wouldn't you feel a pang of nostalgia when they had kids. Wouldn't you try to extend the warmth that you couldn't find for your friend to his children. Afterall, whatever happens during childhood basically remains with you forever.
#and nico's perspective of the same is just#being bullied as a child and being profoundly lonely till you find this friend who is in many ways the yardstick for performance#and even when you go through all this rancidity and the love has almost evaporated down to bare bones politeness#you know there is something that remains deep down#and so he gets your kids Christmas gifts each year#both their childhoods were sites of pain and both of them found something with each other#and lewis honours that by being a positive presence in nico's childrens' lives#albeit from a distance#and of course we're no strangers to how much Nico loves his kids#you can bet if Lewis had kids Nico would do that same#sorry this caught in my heart a little#I knew he had been giving presents for a while and I always thought of that as very beautiful but seeing it on the tl made me remember#man#love haunts you in such peculiar ways forever#brocedes#lewis hamiton#nico rosberg#f1#formula 1
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