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tender-rosiey · 5 months

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hiii 😭 I REALLY LOVE UR GOJO X YN SO MUCHHH 😔😔 I was also wondering like maybe what if y/n has a wound, like any where 🥲 it could be either on her back, arms, legs but she doesn't wanna tell gojo abt it and she hides it, then he will find out about it either she winces when gojo hugs her, starts wearing long sleeved clothes or her shirt lifts up while sleeping 🤧 TYSMM❤❤

strain — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: I am honored that you like my works, love! hope you enjoy this as well 🫶💕🫶 also happy birthday to the man, the myth, the legend: gojo satoru!! (it’s still his birthday in my country so hush I am not late)

you are more than a capable sorcerer. in fact, you are one of the strongest in the field.

however, like anyone else, there are some moments where things get a little out of hand, and you come back bearing a rather long slash on your left arm.

but since it’s pretty late, you decided you will bother shoko about it in the morning. that is how you’re finally in your home, with satoru nowhere to be found.

you frown lightly at the fact that he is still out there fighting curses, but a part of you feels relieved that you don’t have to explain your situation right now.

the night should pass by smoothly, and you will go to shoko tomorrow: a fool-proof plan!

so you do what you can to sanitize the wound, and cover it until you can get it treated properly. you also take the chance to indulge in your favorite snack as a good job treat.

after finishing your food and tidying up for the day, you’re finally in bed, all-cozied up and avoiding anything touching your wound as much as possible.

a deep breathe in, a deep breathe out, and you slowly drift to sleep.

not much time passes before satoru’s familiar footsteps echo throughout the house.

your husband has an abundance of energy.

but it seemed like today’s missions have drained him a bit more than normal, so he skips eating anything and heads straight to your shared bedroom.

his heart softens, and his muscles relax upon the sight of you tucked in bed. he walks to press a small kiss on your forehead, quickly changing into his pajamas and settling right by your side.

he stretches a bit and turns to spoon you as per usual, eyes closing in contentment.

but you wince, even if adeptly, and it sends alarms ringing through his head.

he jerks up, and his hand is instantly placed on your arm again, softly. there is an ever so faint change in your expression as your eyebrows furrow, and he has never pulled his hand away so fast.

he keeps debating in his head whether to wake you up or not, but he swiftly settles for the former.

he needs to know what happened. so he, regrettably, nudges your sleepy form, “y/n?”

you groan, but, nonetheless, you reply, “…what?”

while satoru often likes to base theatrics around his every move and phrase, but he also knows when to get straight to the point, “did you get hurt on today’s mission?”

you’re no longer half-asleep, and you quickly sit up, eyeing your husband. knowing there is no escape nor denial, you fidget with your fingers and nod slowly.

then you hurriedly utter, “but I was going to see shoko first thing in the morning; I promise!”

he nods slowly, holding your hands in his own. you’re left to look him in the eyes. satoru’s eyes being exposed makes him feel so vulnerable, or at least that’s how he is with you.

you can see every wrinkle, and every crease; you can see what he is thinking about in real time. he has long given up hiding anything from you, and, besides, it feels fresh to just let go.

but right now, as you look into his eyes, you see them swarming with confliction, pain, and worry.

he doesn’t scold you about not going right now because he knows that you will tell him that you either thought it wasn’t a big deal or that you didn’t want to bother shoko with it.

instead, he settles on a hushed whisper of “can I see it?”

you throw him a confused look, “why? I am getting it treated tomorrow anyway,” then you smile, “it’s not going to permanent if that’s what you’re worried about.”

he shakes his head, “it’s not that; I just—“ he takes a deep breath then looks at you pleadingly, “just let me see it.”

perhaps it’s to silence his thoughts and to show him that you’re truly okay, as okay as you can be.

you’re still alive, and that’s what matters, he thinks. nevertheless, he feels the need to see just how serious is the wound anyway.

reluctantly, you slowly take off your jacket to reveal the poorly bandaged gash on your arm.

he looks up at you, asking for permission because even if he needs to see it for his own selfish reasons, he has to put you above anything and everything else.

you nod, giving the free reign to slowly take off the bandages. you can barely hold back any pained noises, but you can’t help the wincing of your body.

satoru’s frown deepens, and with every move, your husband’s heart aches. it goes like that until the wound is finally unveiled.

you feel satoru observing the cut so intently that you look away. satoru curses everything that he can think of, and never has we wanted the ability to heal others more than right now.

he straightens his back, “that’s a deep cut, y’know.”

“I know…”

“you also realize that the wound could’ve hit your chest and inevitably heart, right?”

you huff, “listen, if you’re going to give me a lecture or keep making me feel bad about it then I will have you know—“

“you could’ve died.”

you notice the strain in his voice, so you turn to finally look eyes with him. he looks pained, so hurt, maybe even terrified at the fact that there was a chance that he could’ve lost you.

your expression immediately becomes that of sympathy, “but I didn’t, and dwelling on the fact that I might’ve died will only bother you for no reason,” you hold his hand, “I am here and alive, aren’t I?”

your husband sighs, resting his head on your right shoulder, “you’re hurting my poor little heart whenever you put yourself in danger like that.”

a giggle escapes your lips, and your hands naturally find their way in his hair, fingers gently carding through, “whatever shall we do.”

“if things went my way then you would just stay home looking all pretty like you always do,” he states, and you roll your eyes.

“well, they’re going my way tonight, so—“ the clock strikes twelve, “happy birthday, silly boy.”

his eyes widen and he pulls away to look you in the face. he blinks dumbly then looks at what’s in your hands: a cupcake with a candle.

a wide grin of unbridled joy appears on your husband’s face. his eyes shimmer in the moonlight as he laughs, “I really didn’t expect it this time!”

“you outdid yourself, pretty girl,” he hums, hand caressing your cheek.

“I still have a lot more things for you,” you beam with pride. satoru can’t contain himself anymore, and he pulls you into a loving embrace.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs beside your ear, pressing a light kiss to the side of your neck.

you pat his back, “I love you too, ‘toru,” you laugh, “but you’re pressing on my wound, and I think I am just going to cry and not because of overwhelming love.”

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blkkizzat · 4 months

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WFH!Nanami

Work From Home Nanami = best house husband

a/n: lol this is nanami brainrot while I wait for my Toji fic to get beta'd so I know how dog it is. ETA: FYI, this is a semi-repost of a self-ship collab with a now deactivated account. I repurposed my selfship part to reader and expanded to WFH. cw: smut (pussy pounding, gagging on CAWK) fluff, nanami being the perf husband and male specimen per usual wc: 1.6k

WFH!Nanami doesn’t have to worry about waking up early to go into the office but he still rises with the sun to get his day started and do his favorite thing, which is to spoil you. Waking you up with gentle kisses, placing a hot espresso by the bedside and being your personal snooze button when you tell him 5 more minutes (he is so punctual it will be 5 mins on the dot).

You will still likely end up strolling into the office late regardless though because knowing you, you can’t start your day until you’re squirting all over daddy. But this is Nanami, he is nothing if not efficient so your early morning romp is definitely in the shower where he can clean you up after in order to get you out of the door sooner, your breakfast is already packed to-go.

WFH!Nanami love language is acts of service. You never stress about what to do for lunch either because there’s always a Michelin star worthy bento waiting for you next to your keys before you leave for the day.

In fact, what Nanami doesn’t know is that his bento is famous not only around your office, as your envious coworkers gather round to see what your perfect husband has prepared for you today, but also on TikTok. The ‘KentosBentos’ TikTok account you made has over 350K followers who not only watch for the mouth watering yet nutritious bentos but to also hear you gush over the cute little notes your hubby leaves for you.

Your top video has over 2.5 million likes and thousands of swooning women in the comments when WFH!Nanami made you an extra special lobster bento for your birthday and left you the note: ‘In all the world there is no love for me if I don’t have yours. Happy Birthday to my lovely wife, whose smile shines bigger and all the more brighter than the sun, moon and stars.’

Continuing with acts of service WFH!Nanami always has an equally delicious dinner ready for you when you get home. On days you work overtime and arrive home late, there's always a warm bubble bath waiting for you first. You love to rest with your back laid against Nanami’s utterly ripped torso in the tub while his thick arms envelope you. Relaxing into the safety of WFH!Nanami’s hold, your doting hubby kisses your temple and gives your keyboard fatigued hands a delicate massage. Nanami is nothing but a patient yet active listener while you recount your stressful day at work.

On days when you both get the opportunity to work from home you email WFH!Nanami a meeting invite to block off his calendar for 30 min during lunch. The invite is always titled ‘Ken and Barbie’s Lunch Meeting’. The location? ‘Pound Town’ The time? Noon, sharp!

Of course WFH!Nanami never actually schedules it on his work calendar lest his boss sees the meeting. (Gojo would never let him hear the end of it). As a result, since he never actually has the time officially blocked off, on some rare occasions he does actually get booked for a real lunch meeting at Noon that he cannot reschedule.

Meeting or no meeting though you are determined to keep your lunchtime dick appointment with WFH!Nanami. A noon dicking is a noon dicking and it’s a non-negotiable for you as you don’t often get to stay home from work!

WFH!Nanami is focused and poised during his camera-on meetings with his team. Therefore he doesn’t hear you open his office door. Nor does he see you as you drop to the floor with feline grace, hips swaying seductively as you crawl right under his desk. In fact, Nanami does not notice you at all until your soft hands grip his thick powerful thighs and you’re sliding your body up between his legs. Never faltering on-camera, WFH!Nanami’s stiffened jaw and tensed shoulders are the only tell-signs of you palming his rapidly hardening cock under the desk.

WFH!Nanami who tests the absolute limits of the stress ball he keeps handy (usually for tough negotiations) when he feels you press your hot mouth on the fabric covering his dick. You know your stoic husband won't ever outwardly falter when on the clock but you know inside he is a mess. That much is clear to you by the girth bulge straining against his tan fitted slacks.

WFH!Nanami who knows you are upset about him working through your ‘lunch meeting’, but wishes you wouldn’t torture him like this while he’s on the clock. He can tell you are enjoying yourself though as your sinful little tongue drags tiny kitten licks over the hard bulge in his pants. Soon though you are pawing at his zipper and pulling his girthy cock free through the hole, not even bothering to undo his belt. Taking him fully into your mouth, WFH!Nanami bites his inner cheek, when his boss Gojo makes a comment on how he looks more tense than usual when he should be thrilled after closing the biggest deal of the year.

WFH!Nanami who takes a long moment to deeply clear his throat before he calmly relays to Gojo that he is very pleased with the win but already thinking of the next big acquisition for their company. Yet Nanami’s voice hitches ever so slightly when your pink stiletto nails dig into his muscular thighs. It fools the rest of the team but Gojo merely raises a brow before cheerily moving on to the next subject.

WFH!Nanami spares a look downward at you once the work conversation has shifted to see you gazing up at his mouth full of his cock. You wear an angelic look as if he can’t tell the hand that left his thigh and is now slotted between your own isn’t furiously rubbing at your clit. He knows you are pleased at finally drawing a reaction, even a small one, from him while on the clock.

WFH!Nanami whose eyes twitch when he’s closing the call he sees his boss Gojo’s knowing smile and hears the start of the question, “So Nanamin… is Y/N, working from home to–”

WFH!Nanami doesn’t stay to hear the end of the question, quickly exiting the call and ignoring the message pings full of raunchy emojis he receives from Gojo.

WFH!Nanamiwho is still seated grabs you by your hair and ruthlessly face fucks you as soon as his camera turns off. He forces you swallow all eight and a half inches of him as you gag and slobber around his girth. Your jaw begins to ache but your eyes still roll back into your head with pleasure and you go limp in his grasp. You are willingly allowing your loving husband to turn your throat into his personal cocksleeve as you rub your cunt up against his leg, so close to cumming from the chafing of his slacks against your cunt.

Frustrated and annoyed it isn’t long before WFH!Nanami cums himself. His leg you are riding jerks up into you giving you the extra push you need as you moan around his cock and cream on his leg leaving a wet spot. WFH!Nanami has you choking down his thick seed. His cum and your drool dribble down the sides of your face when he finally slides out of the warm cavern of your throat cunny, leaving you panting as you try to catch your breath.

WFH!Nanami wordlessly wipes your face with the tissues he keeps on his desk and promptly ushers you out of this office, locking the door behind you. You aren’t upset though as you know what's in store for you once his work day is over. The locked door is more to keep him IN, than keep you OUT. Nanami would have to take the rest of the day off if he were to properly discipline you now. You being forced to wait and wonder how long he would take to finish his work was part of the punishment anyway.

You know WFH!Nanami is ready to administer your punishment once he calls you out by your FULL government name “Y/N Nanami!” Tonight is different and there is no dinner nor warm bath for you. Just a tired Nanami, weary of his bosses teasing and ready to take out all his frustrations on his wife’s naughty little cunt.

Your cunt in question nearly starts voguing in anticipation as heat pools between your legs once you are called into the bedroom. You already know what time it is once you see WFH!Nanami loosen his tie and take off his belt slowly while sternly saying your name once more.

The belt and tie?

Oh, the belt is used to tie your arms behind you and the tie is now a gag, for having such a filthy cock-loving little mouth he will tell you. It’s not long after that until you are face down, ass up getting pounded into the mattress as WFH!Nanami nearly cracks the headboard with the force he is using to thrust into you. Your cries of “K-Kento!” are muffled into the makeshift gag when a firm slap causes your ass to ripple more aggressively against his pelvis.

Nanami growls deeply into your ear.

“Welcome to Pound Town, Barbie.”

Any muffled cries for mercy fall on deaf ears as WFH!Nanami is too focused on his retribution for your earlier antics as he continues to wreck your pussy from behind. His heavy balls smack against your clit and your sloppy cunt echos vulgar squelches that bounce off your bedroom walls and erotically ring in your ears. The hand pressing your head further into the pillow beneath you is the same hand Nanami wears his wedding band on. It glimmers brightly even in the dimly lit room.

WFH!Nanami loves seeing his ring and remembering his vows in the moment. 💖

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or graphics, do not translate.

a/n: Nanami brainrot overload (i wfh! lord god when is it my turn, bring me a nanami i BEG) and day 18 without adhd meds lol, finally finished something though. Nerd!Geto and The Nursery ft. Toji is soon I promise!

reblog to get your on WFH!Nanami but comments and likes are always appreciated!

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hypnotiiize · 5 days

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𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘦𝘹𝘦𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘥𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥’𝘴 𝘣𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: this is real old and angsty like not for fake. it’s short though. also i grew up catholic so u gotta bear w the lil references and shit. trigger warning religious talk kinda

She couldn’t remember much of the year if she was being honest.

She could remember her best friends’ wedding.

She could remember Valentine’s day.

She could remember March and April breezing past her, a mixture of Easter and celebrating her friend’s birthday.

She could remember the drowsiness that overcame her in May. She could remember how it followed her well into June.

She could remember her friend’s baby being born, and she could remember smiling down at his tiny squished face.

And she was happy for them, she was. But, when she found herself in her newly quiet home at the end of the day, the reality remained that she was alone. Utterly alone. No one to turn to. No one to rely on. Alone. She felt that this was her fault.

When her friend called and cried to her about new motherhood delivering a swift kick to her backside, she accepted the opportunity to stay with her friends for a few days, maybe even weeks— however long it would take for her friend to get back on her feet with a new addition to the household.

The record was three weeks. July was almost over. Amelie, ever-grateful, had even told her that she could go back home if she wanted. The woman, not wanting to overstay her welcome, accepted that as well.

She had been accepting a lot of things, it seemed. She would leave the following week, after the event that was planned meticulously for the baby.

It was when she was getting ready to go to sleep early— the baby had a habit of scream-crying at the break of dawn and she liked being up with him— that she received a knock at the guest bedroom door. Curious, she tip-toed across the room and found herself opening the door to reveal her tired friend whose smile grew as she rocked her fast-asleep son. [y/n] invited them in and grabbed the baby at once, sitting on the bed with his little body cradled in her arms.

“Okay, I wanted to tell you so that you weren’t, like, bombarded with this,” Amelie began after a small chat about how the baby had just done something cute.

She involuntarily put pressure on her eyebrows, furrowing them together.

Amelie folded her hands in her lap. “You know his baptism is next week and you know you’re his Godmother, of course... I tried to talk Trent out of it, but he’s going to make you know who his Godfather.”

She could feel herself gasp at the mention of you know who. She definitely knew who.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I get it. And I get it if you’re not ready to see him. I can have someone else step in as his Godmother for the ceremony if you can’t do it. You don’t have to go to the party. What are you feeling?” Amelie asked.

She bit the skin of her bottom lip. She looked down at the almost two-month-old who looked so much like her friends that it was crazy. He was blinking up at her with his bottom lip poked out, looking scandalized. She laughed and rubbed the pad of her finger over his dark waves.

“I’m feeling a little overwhelmed… But I can do it. I don’t care about him. This is for my Godbaby. Right? This is for my Godson,” she cooed to the baby who half-smiled.

“You’re sure?”

“Sure. Yes. Yeah.” She was trying to convince herself more than anything and she knew it. “No one cares about that man, anyway. It’s just Rayan’s day..” The baby smiled as if he knew what they were talking about, and the women fussed over him a bit more. When the familiar weight pressed itself against her shoulders, She sighed. “I need a drink.”

“Go raid Trent’s cabinet, girl. You know he’s not shy about Don Julio,” her friend joked about her husband.

There was a painful twang in her chest at once. Her husband. Her friend was joking about her husband. A man who she shared a child, a home, and a life with.

She could taste iron. She would later realize that she had bit the inside of her cheek open. For now, she chopped the stinging sensation up to the of moths fumbling about in her stomach.

Her friend took her Godson and she was left alone once more. She laid her head on the linen pillow and stared blankly at the room before her. Wistfully, she imagined Amelie and Trent embracing each other at the end of the very long day. She imagined them nuzzling against the other as they gazed down at their sleeping baby boy. Then, she imagined everything that could have been.

She fell into a slumber with remnants of saline tears on her cheeks, and she woke up days later wearing a crisp white blouse and her best earrings. Rayan’s baptism.

He barely left his mother’s arms that day. He was tiny and it was a big day for him and he was wearing a long, pristine white dress that used to be his grandfather’s when he was that small. So Rayan slept, and she tried not to kick open the church doors and run as far as her legs could take her.

She knew he was in the room. She could feel it. If she opened her mouth to speak, she could taste it. If she inhaled too deeply, she could smell it. His presence was the sustenance that her soul had been missing for far too long and she was being punished for it. Her hands were shaking. She slipped off to the bathroom three times before she realized that her issues could affect the day. Being unreliable or looking flaky was the last thing she’d wanted to do after making it so far through the day. When she sat back down in the pews, she crossed her hands extra tight in her lap and kept her neck arched high. She would shake it off. This was for Rayan.

After some time she stood with her friends and made her way to the front of the church. She could feel him behind her. Then beside her. She willed herself not to look at him and focused solely on swearing to remain a key figure in the baby’s life.

For you, I’ll do my best.

He made his pledges after her. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe. He was so close to her. She could feel the echo of his baritone in her feet. She could taste iron, far more pronounced this time.

The baby was placed in her arms, and the metallic flavor dissipated at once. She secured her arm around his head and tugged his gown down. He whined, only to stop a second later when his mother kissed his hand.

The priest asked the Godparents to move closer. She stepped forward and nodded when appropriate. The priest said something that she didn’t really catch. She had been too busy making sure Rayan was comfortable. Brown hands came forward and untied the loose strings around the baby’s neck. He pulled the baby’s hat off. She could hear the ocean in her head.

She leaned forward and lowered her elbow an inch. The priest placed his hands in the tub of water before him and her. He poured water on the baby’s dark tufts of hair. One hand, then two, then another for good measure. Rayan let out a short cry from the temperature of the water.

“It’s okay, honey, you did great,” she whispered to her Godson when it was all over. She held him tighter, closer to her face.

“Maybe he’s cold,” the familiar voice said. “Here, let me put his hat back on.” Brown hands came into view and she watched him make the loose loop-the-loop. Rayan calmed down.

Rayan’s parents came and uttered softly to their son. His mother fought tears. His father let them glide down his cheeks freely, rubbing the top of the baby’s bonnet with a thumb.

“Hey,” the Godfather’s low voice was saying. He was not whispering. Anyone could have heard him. Though, when she thinks back on the moment, she can remember the soft, whispering tickle of his breath hitting her ear. She wanted him to be whispering.

She greeted him back weakly and she did not try to hide it. With everyone focused on Rayan, the awkward encounter would just be their own and she could not muster the strength to make it anything but.

The corner of his mouth quirked up, weakly too, and he said, “You look really nice.”

All at once, she could hear the ocean. She could hear volcanoes erupting. She could feel the familiar sharp chill of ice, and she could smell the smoke of paper burning.

She could not remember what her response was, or if she even responded at all. She could only remember the pain of living without the only man she had loved for months after being together for so long.

Through the fog, a voice prompted, “Let’s get a pic with the Godparents.”

She craned her head and found herself staring at a man that she had gone to school with. Kareem was known for being tall, charismatic, and a photographer. Therefore, she was not surprised that her friend had invited him to the gathering. Though she wished that someone would have filled him in on the current situation before he suggested such things.

Rayan’s parents moved away. She took a half step closer to Rayan’s Godfather. Rayan’s Godfather took a half step closer to her.

For the first time in months, they were pressed against each other.

Her chest felt hollow. Icy. It burned to inhale. It took too much effort to exhale. She lifted the baby so that he was perfectly between them. A brown hand fixed the baby’s dress. Fingertips grazed fingertips. She could taste iron pooling just behind her teeth, and then she smiled.

Her first tear fell when the camera shuttered for the last time. The people were emotional, too. They spoke to the baby in whispers. The Godfather left her side to go gawk at his Godson.

It was only her in the center of that stage. She was alone. There was no one in her corner anymore.

She had no husband. No new baby to baptize. No boyfriend to envision her future with.

She felt as if she was going to drown. She sucked in a burning breath.

She tasted the iron.

#jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham angst #jude bellingham x oc #jude bellingham x you #x black fem reader #x black reader #trent alexander arnold x black reader #trent alexander arnold #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine

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ficnation · 2 months

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Chapter 10: The Big Bad Wolf

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 5,0k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, canon divergence, gore A/n: I hope you enjoy it just as much as I did. This is also a bday present for my friend. Happy birthday!!! Don't freak out <3 Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

“Every social worker enjoys certain aspects of the job more than others,” the man explains with a smile that seems almost too forced; it’s been glued to his face since the moment Alana greeted him. “There are cases that you reach and cases you don’t reach.”

You spin the pen between your fingers with a steady rhythm, your mind wandering and tuning in and out of the conversation between Clark Ingram and Alana Bloom. But something about his demeanor strikes you—the way his bright smile seems permanently plastered on his face. It’s off-putting, unnatural, as if he’s struggling to maintain the facade of a polite and helpful citizen.

“Peter’s had persistent cognitive problems. Confusion, paranoia, rage.”

“Peter’s a sheep,” you mutter to no one in particular. “He can’t hurt an animal, let alone a human being.”

“You really like sheep, don’t you?” Jack jokes, reminding you of your choice of words from not long ago.

You look at him with a raised brow before nudging him in the arm with your elbow. “And you don’t? At least sheep don’t bite.”

Jack chuckles at your retort, but his expression quickly turns serious as he turns his attention back to Clark Ingram. “So, what do you think, Agent Avant? Is Peter Bernardone capable of violence?”

You pause, considering the question carefully. “It’s hard to say,” you reply, your tone measured. “But based on what we know so far, it doesn’t seem likely. His cognitive issues suggest a lack of capacity for such brutal acts. If he was ever violent toward anyone, it’s likely he was pushed to his limits and lashed out.”

Will and Hannibal stand to your left, listening intently to the conversation between you and Jack, as well as the one taking place on the other side of the thick one-way mirror. Their expressions are unreadable, betraying little of what they might be thinking or feeling.

They’re silent until the moment when Alana reaches out to touch Ingram’s hand. The social worker does nothing to hide his discomfort as he quickly shifts his hands away and leans further into his chair.

“That’s smart,” Will explains, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. “She keeps pushing him on his feelings, not on the facts.”

Hannibal nods in agreement, his gaze focused on the interaction between Alana and Ingram. He casts a fleeting glance in your direction every now and then, his eyes catching your presence in his peripheral vision before returning to the scene before him.

“She’s trying to gauge how comfortable he is with emotion, if he has any,” Will adds, glancing at you too, curious to know your thoughts. “He couldn’t bear being touched by her.”

“It’s a telling reaction,” you remark, your voice calm and measured. “It suggests a deep-seated discomfort with emotional intimacy. Perhaps indicative of a psychopath?”

“Yes, his responses are typical of psychopaths during interviews, but could also indicate resentment,” Hannibal agrees.

“No, I don’t believe it’s resentment or hatred towards women,” you assert, your tone firm. Your eyes narrow thoughtfully.

“No, his eyes are dead,” Will concludes. “He’s a predator.”

“It’s the absence of empathy, of any real connection to the people around him. That’s what makes him dangerous.” You glance over at your husband, seeking confirmation or perhaps an alternative perspective, he acknowledges your words with a nod of his head.

The conversation between Ingram and Alana continues for a while longer, but your mind is too preoccupied to fully focus. You’re aware of their words, but your thoughts are elsewhere. You can’t shake the feeling that Ingram is hiding something. It’s the way he recoils from her touch, the way he conceals himself behind smiles and warm words. There’s an eerie resemblance to your father that sends chills down your spine; something in his demeanor triggers warning bells, a deep and primal instinct for danger.

You attempt to refocus on the conversation, but Ingram’s subtle gestures and body language keep drawing your attention. There’s something sinister about him, a feeling that resonates deep within your bones.

Suddenly, Jack’s voice pierces through the room, pulling you away from your thoughts. “Let him go,” he commands.

The panic in Will’s eyes prompts you to react, and you turn towards your boss with an annoyed expression. “Jack, don’t do that. You know he’s the one.”

“I’ve got nothing to hold him on,” Jack responds calmly.

“We can still get something out of him,” you insist, your eyes pleading. You couldn’t care less about the killer on the other side of the glass, but it’s evident that Will is invested in this case.

“Peter Bernardone is psychologically disadvantaged. He’s been manipulated,” Will argues, his hands clenching into fists by his sides. “As his social worker, this man is in a position of trust, and he has betrayed that trust.”

The realization hits you like a brick—this is personal. In a twisted, complicated way, this is no longer about catching the man responsible for killing sixteen women in cold blood. It might not even be about Peter anymore. The next sentence coming out of Will’s mouth confirms it.

“I know what it’s like to point at a killer and have no one listen.”

“You pointed in the wrong direction.” It’s all Jack says before leaving the room.

Your gaze instantly finds your husband’s face—his expression a mix of disbelief and powerlessness. You reach for his hand, and he doesn’t resist at all as you squeeze it reassuringly, nails gripping into his skin to keep his mind in the room with you and Hannibal. God, Hannibal. You almost forgot about his presence beside you with how quiet he’s become.

“We won’t let Peter Bernardone suffer for all of this, Will,” you assure him. It’s all you can offer—a useless promise that you might not be able to fulfill.

You find yourself in the BAU’s headquarters not long after, walking through the almost-empty corridors leading toward Crawford’s office. You can’t shake your husband’s heartbroken expression from your mind. It lingers hauntingly in the back of your thoughts, refusing to be forgotten.

The atmosphere is uncomfortably quiet, with only the echo of your footsteps breaking the silence as you make your way through the corridor. Your focus is consumed by the folder in your hands, flipping through its pages absentmindedly for at least half an hour. The world around you becomes a misty haze as you try to concentrate on the contrasting words printed on the white paper.

Suddenly, you’re snapped back to reality as someone grabs you by the arm and forcefully pulls you into the nearest room. The sequence of events unfolds so rapidly that it’s all just a massive blur.

“Hey, what the hell!” You react instinctively, swinging blindly at your assailant. Your hands make contact with their face, nails poised dangerously close to their eyes. It’s not the most efficient form of self-defense, but your reflexes have dulled since you’ve been out of the field.

As your vision clears, you recognize those dark, menacing eyes, though you’ve never seen them so up-close before. Their gaze is hypnotizing, compelling you to loosen your grip on their jaw. Despite the danger, you can’t bring yourself to let go entirely.

“It’s just me,” Hannibal’s voice cuts through the tension, tranquil and unaffected by the threat of your fingers near his eyes. His hands grip your elbows firmly, though not painfully, as he meets your panicked stare head-on.

“Why did you grab me like that?” you question him, a hint of vexation in your tone, though you notice how soft his skin feels under your palms.

“Do you prefer a gentler approach?” Hannibal responds calmly, his demeanor unruffled.

You blink slowly, confusion replacing your initial anger. You glance around the empty conference room behind him. “Why are we here?”

Hannibal’s grip on you loosens slightly as he looks over his shoulder before acknowledging your question. It appears he only just became aware of your location himself. “Coincidence.”

Hannibal’s eyes find yours again, and you both stare at each other in silence, unmoving. The tension between you is palpable, each moment stretched taut like a drawn bowstring. You’re not even sure if either of you is breathing, but you can still detect the faint fragrance of his cologne—notes of leather, cedarwood, and a hint of something darker and more mysterious, perhaps oud. The stillness of the air crackles with anticipation, and your shared curiosity poses the question: “who moves first?”

“Would it be rude of me to ask you to release me?” he finally breaks the tension, his tone almost reluctant, as if he secretly wished you would hold onto him a little longer.

You release him, albeit with some apprehension. “You wanted to see how I handle sudden threats, huh?” Your words are more of a statement than a question, delivered with a certainty that seeks confirmation.

“Yes,” he replies simply, catching you off guard with his honesty. It’s almost unnerving how straightforward his answer is.

You watch as a tiny smile quirks one corner of his mouth, the faintest twitch of his lips. It’s as if he was born to be intimidating yet effortlessly charming at the same time. Everything he does seems so well thought-through to the point of being eerie.

“And what conclusion did you reach?” you ask, striving to keep your voice steady. There’s an undercurrent of tension flowing between the two of you, and you can feel his eyes scrutinizing you, taking in every detail.

“More of a confirmation, really,” he replies, his gaze traveling from your face to your hands and back.

You know he noticed your hesitation before you let go of him. You know he’s still analyzing you, taking in every detail, every little movement you make. You can feel his eyes weighing you, measuring every ounce of your reaction, your breath, and your pulse.

“You reacted almost instinctively,” he concludes, not asking a question or suggesting that he expected anything less from you. “It’s a sign of strength.”

You can’t tell if he’s being serious or just saying that to be polite, and you feel compelled to challenge him on that statement, so you do: “And what would’ve been a sign of weakness then?”

“Not fighting back,” he replies simply, his eyes never leaving yours. “Not putting up a fight.”

Your mind struggles to process his answer. “So, what you’re saying is that someone showing weakness by letting themselves be attacked and possibly killed is worse than someone who reacts and fights back?” you reply, not hiding your disbelief at his words.

His response is almost immediate. “Precisely.”

You almost laugh at the straightforwardness of his reply. His words are as chilling as his demeanor. You want to challenge him, to call him out for his bluntness. But you can’t summon the energy, and your gaze falls away.

“What if someone doesn’t have it in them to fight back?” you ask, curious to see how he’ll respond. “Maybe they’re not capable of it.”

He considers the question for a moment, seeming to weigh a myriad of variables in his mind before giving you an answer. “The instinct for self-preservation is primal, ingrained in every living being. It doesn’t matter if they don’t have the physical ability to fight back; the urge to live overrides everything. Even a child will fight when pushed against the wall. Only the weak would let themselves be slaughtered without at least attempting to survive.”

You feel almost appalled by his words, their harshness sinking in. There’s a hint of sadness in your voice as you ask, “So you believe someone who doesn’t fight back is weak?”

“I don’t believe it, I know it,” he replies with a coldness you’ve never seen in his eyes before, a spark of something dark igniting in his pupils.

He’s serious, there’s no underlying joke or hidden meaning behind his words. You feel a chill run through you, the tiny hairs on your arms standing on end.

Hannibal raises his hand toward your face, dragging his knuckles over the skin of your jaw. He seems almost impressed that you don’t flinch at his touch.

“You’re as strong as they come, my dear,” he murmurs, his voice so low it almost blends with the hum of the wind outside the windows. He leans in, his soft lips pressing against your forehead, and then he leaves the room without another word.

You’re left there alone and stunned, your eyes staring ahead but not really seeing. Your body trembles, but instead of pure fear, there’s a hint of excitement running through your veins. Adrenaline rushes through you, and the feeling of his presence lingers in the air, both comforting and unsettling.

You wait in the conference room for a few minutes, trying to collect yourself, half-hoping that Hannibal will return. You feel like you’ve just been through a whirlwind of emotions, thoughts, and sensations.

But all you’re left with is the memory of his scent lingering in the room and the soft touch of his lips on your skin.

“You look like a man who has suffered an irrevocable loss,” Hannibal’s voice breaks through the quiet melody of the aria playing in the car. The psychiatrist’s choice in music doesn’t surprise Will in the slightest; he’s gotten used to his refined tastes.

“I’m trying to prevent one,” Will counters, gazing over his shoulder at your sleeping form curled up in the backseat.

“You look so peaceful—far more relaxed than he imagined you would be. Hell, just ten minutes ago the thought of you sleeping in the presence of Hannibal Lecter didn’t even cross his mind. It was different from the last time; this time you didn’t have anything to drink or soothe you—nothing. You just let your guard down so easily as if you didn’t see a threat in Hannibal anymore. Will didn’t like that at all.

“Do you think if you save Peter Bernardone, you can save yourself?” Hannibal’s voice breaks the silence, his words carrying weight in the confined space of the car.

“Save myself from what, Dr. Lecter?” Will asks, his eyes staring ahead yet again, but there’s a hint of annoyance in his voice—barely detectable.

“From who you perceive me to be,” the psychiatrist responds, his eyes briefly leaving the road to glance at you through the rearview mirror. Will swears he sees a subtle quirk of the man’s mouth at the sight of you.

“I’m afraid I need to be saved from who you perceive me to be.”

“Many troublesome behaviors strike when you are uncertain of yourself,” Hannibal observes, his focus returning to Will. Perhaps he senses he’s been caught. “Peter Bernardone lies in the same darkness that holds you.”

“No, I’m alone in that darkness,” Will replies without hesitation.

“You’re not alone, Will. You have me and her, standing right beside you through all of this.”

Will’s eyes find your figure again, and he bites the inside of his cheek, lost in thought. “I’m not sure if I want her to be. I don’t want to scare her off.”

“You won’t, Will. She’s not going anywhere, trust me.” Hannibal reaches for the other man and squeezes his arm gently—it’s strangely comforting, though it shouldn’t be.

When you reach Peter’s place, it’s eerily empty. All of the cages have been left open—no animal in sight. You can’t imagine the agony Clark Ingram must have put him through. The sight breaks your heart into a million pieces because you know Peter Bernardone has been pushed to his limit.

The three of you rush toward the stables, ready for the worst. Will is panicking inside and out, his hands trembling and breath coming out in shaky puffs of air, while you and Hannibal remain fairly composed. The contrast in your behaviors is visible from miles away.

As you find Peter, he’s kneeling on the ground beside the body of a dark-coated horse, his work nearly finished. The needle slides through the animal’s skin effortlessly, like gliding through soft butter.

Will is the first to break the silence as he steps toward the kneeling man slowly, with apprehension evident in his movements. “Peter…” he whispers hoarsely, his eyes glued to the sight of the blood-soaked animal before him.

The scene takes a while for your mind to process. The image of that defenseless horse lying lifeless on the stable floor, the smell of blood lingering in the air along with the subtle scent of death. All of you already know what has happened here—it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

Hannibal catches your gloved hand in his and pulls you closer to himself. You feel his steady presence beside you, a calming force amid the turmoil. His touch is unexpected, yet it speaks volumes.

“Is your social worker in that horse?”

“Yes. I used to have a horrible fear of…” Peter speaks up, his voice trembling slightly but not out of fear. “Of hurting anything.”

You glance at Hannibal to gauge his reaction to the situation, but instead, you find him already looking at you—his eyes filled with a strange admiration. You were right after all; Peter couldn’t hurt a fly unless he was pushed to his limits.

Weirdly enough, this twisted reverence makes you feel just a little bit sick to your stomach. You shuffle forward, seeking proximity to Will and distancing yourself from Hannibal, forcing him to release his grip on your hand.

“But… He helped me get over that. Feels so abnormal.” Peter lets out a pitiful chuckle, tears rolling down his bony cheeks.

“An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior,” Hannibal concludes, his eyes now cold and distant. You’re unsure whether it’s due to the situation before you or your withdrawal from his affectionate touch.

“I think he deserves to die,” the kneeling man says, his voice filled with helplessness as he looks between the three of you.

“He does,” you mumble, more to yourself than anyone else. You’re relieved when there’s no immediate reaction to your words, but the way Hannibal’s eyes bore into your back tells you he heard.

“But you didn’t deserve to kill him, Peter,” Will says, shaking his head. He crouches beside the man, offering a reassuring hand that rests gently on his back as Peter stares at the dead horse. “I want you to come with me.”

You and Will help the man stand up as his legs shake, threatening to give up beneath him. Only now do you see how much damage this situation has done to the poor guy. He didn’t deserve any of this, but the world has always been a cruel place—evil humans’ second nature.

When Will and Peter head toward the barn door, you and Hannibal linger behind. Will’s uncertain, but not worried glance your way is a testament that something has shifted between the three of you. You just have to figure out what.

“Cruelly poetic,” you say, standing a safe distance away from the man and the corpse.

“He’ll be just fine,” Hannibal murmurs in response to your statement as he watches Peter and Will slowly make their way out of the stable. His gaze is calculatingly cold, the smallest twitch of a muscle in his cheek betraying the emotions underneath—the genuine emotions he rarely lets others see.

“It was necessary,” he adds softly. “He needed to rid himself of that darkness within.”

“Necessary?” you question, your eyes still glued to the two men walking away and not the psychiatrist standing before you.

Hannibal’s eyes move from Peter and Will to you, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slight smirk. You feel like he’s expecting you to say something more, but you can’t think of anything to reply.

“Necessary,” he repeats, and now his eyes find yours with that same calculating stare.

“The way you view life and the world itself... It’s peculiar,” you notice, sticking your hands into the pockets of your coat.

Hannibal’s gaze never leaves yours, and he doesn’t reply at first. There’s a slight smirk playing on the corners of his mouth again, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he’s judging you or if he agrees.

“I find my way of viewing life perfectly reasonable,” he finally says quietly, the words almost whispered. You notice a small twitch of the muscles beneath his eyes, and you wonder if you said the right thing or not.

“You do?” you ask, still searching for his gaze, but you can tell that he’s no longer looking at you. He’s staring at something in the distance instead then heading toward one of the stalls that holds white sheep.

“In life, we need some form of guidance to help us navigate the unknown,” he adds quietly as he pets the woolly animals. They’re not afraid of him. “I’ve found mine. What about you?”

Before you have a chance to respond, you notice Clark Ingram’s bloody fingers, ripping the stitches on the dead horse’s stomach. He tears through them from within, letting the guts spill out of the corpse as he crawls out of it.

Hannibal strolls toward him so casually, his hands dipped into the pockets of his perfectly pressed pants as he looks at the man’s struggle. You join him by his side as an involuntary smirk crawls up your face at the sight of the social worker coughing out blood and stumbling over his own legs. It’s amusing.

The psychiatrist admires your expression, slightly astonished by your reaction. He certainly didn’t expect you to show your true colors so fast. Not a care in the world of how your satisfaction might come across to others.

When Ingram reaches for the bloody hammer, you feel Hannibal’s hands tugging you closer yet again. You let him, leaning on him like an old friend—hip to hip. The warmth of his body is comforting, stirring something insatiable deep inside you.

“Mr. Ingram. Might want to crawl back in there if you know what’s good for you,” Hannibal says casually as he steps aside, taking you with him.

You didn’t even realize that Will had entered the stables. He holds a gun steadily in his hands, pointing it straight at Ingram’s head. Your smirk disappears just as quickly as it appeared, slight shock taking its place on your face.

“Will…” you mumble breathlessly.

You try to reach for him, but Hannibal doesn’t let you step away from him as he tugs you even closer into his side. He presses his lips to your temple and whispers, “He won’t do anything. Don’t worry.”

You’re not sure you believe him. You’ve seen how personal this was to Will, how panic and pure anger took turns in taking over his body since the moment he met Peter. The emotions were controlling him in a way nothing and no one else could.

Ingram drops the sledgehammer to the ground, falling to his knees with arms open and raised like wings—like a blood angel. “Officer… I’m the victim here,” he breathes heavily, but the smile that flashes over his features tells a different story.

“I’m not an officer. I’m Peter’s friend,” Will counters, ignorant to your begging eyes.

Don’t do it, Will. Please, don’t do it.

“Peter’s confused.”

Will feigns hesitation as he lowers the gun just slightly. But the way he grips the weapon tells you easily that he’s far from done with Ingram—his hold doesn’t loosen even for a mere second.

“I’m not.” He raises it back up with an air of palpable confidence. He knows what he wants. He wants to see Clark Ingram begging for life, drowning in the pool of his own blood, choking on it.

You squeeze Hannibal’s fingers so tightly, you’re surprised when he doesn’t even flinch. He just observes Will expressionless.

“Please, Hannibal,” you beg him under your breath, barely audible. You know he hears you, even if he pretends otherwise.

“Pick up the hammer,” Will throws the command, gesturing toward the bloody object that was just thrown to the ground moments ago.

Hannibal glances at your horrified expression, then at Will’s lips pressed tightly in anger. “Will,” he finally interjects with so much stoicism in his voice. His stare alone is insistent enough to make just about anyone listen to him.

But not Will. Will is deaf to Hannibal’s words—especially right now. He doesn’t want to hear him, he doesn’t want to be heard by him. He has a chance to make it right for Peter’s sake, maybe even for his own sake.

“Pick it up,” Will keeps insisting, now, even more agitated. He pops the safety off and puts the pistol almost directly in front of Ingram’s face.

“It won’t feel the same, Will,” Hannibal tries again, stepping toward Will. “It won’t feel like killing me.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“You did the best anyone could do for Peter, but don’t do this for him. If you’re going to do this, Will, you have to do it for yourself.”

You blink slowly in shock before you push Hannibal away from your husband. You take his place and move so close to Will, you can almost feel his shaky breath on your skin.

“Will, please,” you beg softly, “don’t ruin your life. This isn’t going to fix anything.”

“How do you know, huh?” he spats out, his voice mean—meaner than he ever was toward you.

The adrenaline and the rush of the situation are threatening to derail any semblance of calm you’ve managed to keep over the past hour. You grit your teeth and murmur so quietly, in hopes only he can hear you, “Trust me, I know.”

That seems to awaken him temporarily as he looks at you for a second, confusion written all over his face. His eyes are wide open, searching your face for answers—he finds nothing.

Hannibal’s gaze never leaves you two, watching you carefully. Will is so focused on this mystery, he doesn’t even notice when you take the gun out of his hands and point it at Ingram yourself.

“What?” Will asks, his eyes snapping back to you as you push the gun towards Ingram.

“P-please… Please don’t,” the social worker begs as you step closer and press the gun harshly to his left temple.

“Oh, would you like me to be gentler?” you ask, tilting your head. There’s something deeply attractive about the way you hold the gun with unwavering determination, a fierce protectiveness radiating from you. There’s not an ounce of doubt in your expression; you really do look like a cop now.

Will, amidst the chaos of his thoughts, finds himself strangely drawn to you in this moment. His gaze is fixed on your face, and he can’t help but admire the way you look with that gun in your hand. It’s such a contrast to the innocent woman he married—it’s a side of you he never knew existed. There’s a primal allure to your fierce stance, a primal instinct that resonates with him on a level he can’t quite comprehend.

Hannibal notices the expression on Will’s face, and a smirk plays across his lips. He understands the magnetic pull that emanates from you—the allure. He shares the sentiment with Will, recognizing the primal attraction you exude as you hold the gun with a steady hand.

Your complexity intrigues and captivates them, drawing them in despite the inherent danger. They find it both thrilling and unsettling. The darkness hiding in them stirs with your presence, awakening that primitive instinct that’s been lurking in the depths of their souls. You have them completely entranced, and they can’t tear their eyes away.

Will once thought you were quite simple. He learned to read you like a book, then you disappeared and came back after almost ten years with no contact and he still felt like he knew you well enough. But lately? You’ve been unpredictable, complicated and twisted in your own particular way.

All of them hold their breath, the tension thick. The only sound heard is Will’s breathing—heavy and slow.

Ingram’s eyes are glued to yours. Something in the look he gives you makes all the anger and resentment wash away from your mind, and it takes you a moment to remember why you’re standing there with the gun.

You lean over Ingram and whisper something in his ear that no one else other than him can hear. Judging by the puddle of his own piss that pools on the floor, no one else would want to hear it. His eyes bulge with fear and shock, and he can’t make a peep in response.

Then, you pop the safety back on and hit the social worker in the temple with the butt of the gun. He tumbles over to the floor with a thud.

“Temporal region,” you conclude, straightening up. “You hit it with enough force and you can either kill someone or make them pass out.”

“Good to know,” Will mutters, looking at you again with newfound appreciation and respect.

Hannibal is also staring at you, with a newfound sense of admiration. He’s suddenly aware of your own power over others. As a psychiatrist, he’s learned what kind of tactics are used to break people down, and he knows that you used them against Ingram with devastating precision.

“What did you say to him?” he asks quietly, the rage still lurking just beneath the surface.

Hannibal watches as the two of you stare at each other intensely. He can’t help but feel a strange excitement rising inside of him as he watches the two of you square off against each other.

Will’s intensity is almost palpable—there’s a primal instinct within him that craves power, and he’s fascinated by the way you wield yours.

“Nothing that you need to know,” you reply simply, not about to divulge the details of your threat.

When Hannibal sees the intensity in both of your gazes, he can’t help but feel a strange stirring within him. He’s never seen the two of you so intense about anything before.

Will’s eyes narrow as he stares at you. He wants to know what you said, he wants to know the darkest depths of your mind. But he respects that it’s something you don’t want to share and lets it go.Hannibal can’t take his eyes off the two of you. It’s almost like he’s staring at a trainwreck he can’t look away from. He might just be right.

Taglist (I tag ppl that leave a comment or ask me for it): @strrvnge @raininhell @crowsoundsonly @gabriella-aesthetic @gayschlatt69 @russian-soft-bitch @lokittyy @hellouseemc00l @justaproudslytherpuff @it-s-tickety-booh @r4diocabeca @sanriogarbage @zoleea-exultant @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @emily-roberts @unsolvedghoulboyz @00hellohello00 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @jadenblueberry @slashercupcake @octobermania @magdalenmillicent-blog @unsolvedghoulboyz @gabbyonjupiter @lanklr @oliviathecat06 @fatkissers

#hannibal nbc #hannibal #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x reader #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #will graham x reader #will graham x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x will graham #will graham #eat your heart out #murder husbands #hannigram #hannibal lecter

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saintsenara · 2 months

Note

Favorite Ron Weasley fics?

thank you very much for the ask @thesilverstarling! my king's birthday seemed like the perfect time to drop this...

six ron-centric fic recs

[for the best sixth son in literature]

envy by @floreatcastellumposts

harry potter & ron weasley teen | 8.6k words

why i recommend it:

ron's capacity for jealousy is something which generates a lot of fandom discourse - especially the role it plays in his relationship with hermione. this fic is a look at one of the canon moments which foreground this trait - ron's falling out with harry when his best pal's name comes out of the goblet of fire - and it does a wonderful job of exploring ron's less pleasant characteristics without bashing him.

like a brother would by @wolfpants

harry potter/ron weasley explicit | 5.2k words

why i recommend it:

i have a real weakness for ronarry - largely because i love how ron would give anything in the world to get to take care of his bestie. this fic takes that urge to its natural conclusion...

the english opening by lordrowantree

fleur delacour/ron weasley teen | 55k words

why i recommend it:

because it respects ron’s canonical rizz and asks the very important question: what would happen if fleur said yes when he asked her to the yule ball?

and, in doing so, it also respects all the rest of ron’s canonical traits - his intelligence, his kindness, his big-picture thinking, his sense of daring - and uses them to offer an exploration of fleur’s character which is considerably kinder and more nuanced than the one she receives in canon.

plus, it’ll teach you something about chess, which is a bonus.

ghouls in the attic by speechwriter

tom riddle/ron weasley general | 8.9k

why i recommend it:

because - as the author correctly notes - i have seen your heart and it is mine is an outrageously romantic thing for the horcrux to say to ron [especially because it happens just before voldemort canonically suggests that hermione is mid].

collateral damage by @danpuff-ao3

draco malfoy/ron weasley explicit | 16k words

why i recommend it:

i also have a weakness for dron - above all because the two of them are narrative mirrors, defined by their relationships to their families and their relationships to harry, brought into conflict by their polar differences [draco's wealth versus ron's lack of it, etc.], and possessed of similar personality traits [a desire to be recognised as important and be the centre of attention; a capacity for jealousy]. this fics plays with those similarities - and also with ron and draco's more positive shared traits - in a really striking way. i ship these two losers. i hope they're happy.

some i love who are dead by brightened

hermione granger/ron weasley teen | 2.2k words

why i recommend it:

because it's a lovely, bittersweet look at ron's character from the perspective of hermione's old age - thinking about the man he became and the husband and father he was.

#asenora fic recs #ron weasley #ronarry #romione #ronmort #dron #flon... i guess

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leclerc-s · 4 months

Text

the blue - part eight

series masterlist // previous // next

zendaya amelia grace holland be honest. how many songs ave you written about oscar?

amelia holland

sam holland the better question is how many songs have you written about fake scenarios in your head?

amelia holland oh that one's easy at least five. this month. i've got a really good one called i should hate you, i wrote that one with aaron.

tuwaine barrett DID CHARLES HELP PRODUCE THIS AGAIN??

amelia holland i think he almost shit himself when he found out aaron was also producing this one. tuwaine barrett CHAMELIA MY BELOVED! GET THIS MAN ON STAGE WITH TAYLOR FOR A SURPRISE SONG! amelia holland he's been on my ass about that to. did you team up with him or something? tuwaine barrett why? did he say someting?

harry holland speaking of charles, how's texas? is it fun?

amelia holland it's hot as fuck.

amelia holland you're in texas now? any plans on coming home?

amelia holland kinda promised oscar and lando that i'd stick around for the triple header. there's a week off in between vegas and brazil but lando's birthday is a few days before vegas and abu dhabi is the next weekend. so i'm not sure. might be home for a couple days at most.

harrison osterfield it's almost like oscar's career is monopolizing all of your time

sam holland for the record none of us have problem with it. this is the first time in a long time we've seen you happy. if traveling with oscar makes you happy, do it. harrison's being a dick, ignore him. but like also please come home for the holidays?

amelia holland is that his default setting? - danny ric

amelia holland sorry about that, the fake american took my phone.

amelia holland real american here, is that his default setting? - logan sargeant

amelia holland charles here! is that his default?

amelia holland this group is tragic. ours is much more fun - max

amelia holland I CAN FINALLY STOPPED BE CALLED NORIZZ BECAUSE CLEARLY THE SECOND STRING LOSER HAS LESS THAN ME! - LANDO

amelia holland i would never piss a songwriter off because you'll be branded as the second string loser for the rest of your life. - pierre

amelia holland i swear they’re normally house-trained - oscar

amelia holland he's lying - alex

tom holland YOU HAVE A GROUPCHAT WITH THEM??

amelia holland it's quite fun. murder is threatened at least 3 times a day and lestappen is in full force. it is no just for the camera, i genuinely think they're in love with each other

amelia holland yuki’s quite violent, in case anyone was wondering. he may be pocket sized but he holds a lot of rage

harry holland and who exactly is in this group chat and why haven’t we been invited?

amelia holland the twitch quartet, max, daniel, yukierre, estie bestie and his two husbands, twinkclaren, and me

harrison osterfield you call your boyfriend a twink?

amelia holland it’s a term of endearment - lando

amelia holland she calls lando a fucking weenie and she called someone a weird second string loser, so i’m okay with twink - oscar

amelia holland WE'RE KIDNAPPING AMELIA! WE'RE IN TEXAS BABY! - DANNY RIC

amelia holland SAVE US! - CHARLES & MAX

ameliaholland posted new stories

someone's super excited to be back in texas COTA! pre-quali look with oscaroo. he's not happy at the moment, says it's too hot to be in texas. i agree. :) logan said he knew a place and took us to cane's. clearly one of them is happy to be here.

ameliaholland the plans made it out of the group chat, so when in texas...

tagged: oscarpiastri, lilymhe, francesca.cgomes, alexandrasaintmleux, danielricciardo, landonorris, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, alex_albon, logansargeant, yukitsunoda, pierregasly, georgerussell63, estebanocon, mickschumacher, lancestroll

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tuwaine I HAVE NEVER WANTED TO BE IN TEXAS SO BAD

↳ ameliaholland you're missing out so bad tuwaine

tomholland2013 AMELIA GRACE HOLLAND YOU BETTER NOT BE DRINKING!

↳ ameliaholland i'm not? there's a heineken in my hand? it's non alcoholic.

↳ landonorris she literally had shots with max. she's a liar.

↳ ameliaholland shut the fuck up norizz.

username oh god, i've never wanted to be apart of a friend group this bad

username thank goodness someone put boots on the correct way. if i saw another picture or video of the drivers with their jeans tucked into their boots i would riot.

↳ username i hope daniel scolded them for doing so.

samholland1999 PUT SOME PANTS ON AMELIA!

↳ ameliaholland I AM WEARING PANTS! IT'S CALLED SHORTS DINGBAT! IT'S HOT IN TEXAS

username now this is a group i never thought i would see hanging out. at least not all of them together.

username this is so iconic of them wtf?

georgerussell63 i have never met someone who can out drink max, please join us the next time we go out.

↳ harryholland64 did not know my little sister can out drink max verstappen but i'm somehow proud?

↳ username this just in, something max verstappen is not good at doing, out drinking amelia holland.

lilymhe we have to do this again!

↳ francesca.cgomes we do!

↳ alexandrasaintmleux oh, we should

↳ ameliaholland give me a time a place and i'll be there!

↳ carmenmundt count me in too! i would love to meet amelia.

↳ username icons meeting other icons, love to see it.

finish the lyrics with lando norris and oscar piastri

comments

user we were robbed of cowboy oscar!

user lando and the holland brothers being the captains of the oscar x amelia ship is so funny to me

user but who did lando call a dick and why?

↳ user probably harrison, if the context clues we've been provided are anything to go by.

↳ user lando has been their biggest defender since day 1 and i stand by that

user was i the only one who caught that brocedes reference?

↳ user lando knew what he was doing making that joke.

user lando casually wanted to remind everyone that oscar's brother-in-law is spider-man.

↳ user had to quickly flex on spidey's biggest fan, estie.

user and to think this whole joke started because of a taylor song.

user HE CALLED HIM A MUPPET!! THIS IS MONUMENTAL!

user lando is oscar and amelia's biggest defender, you can't change my mind.

↳ user it's oscmelia girl, get it right.

↳ user you're right my bad, terribly sorry.

harrison osterfield i don't exactly appreciate your friend and boyfriend calling me a dick online.

amelia holland and i didn't appreciate being strung along for almost 2 years...

sam holland HOW LONG?

tom holland but he was with his ex for almost a year?

tuwaine barrett oh damn

harry holland you have got to be fucking kidding me harrison.

zendaya never trust blonde men with blue eyes

amelia holland what about max and logan? zendaya never trust blonde men with blue eyes whose name starts with an h or a j. those two you can trust.

tom holland by the way how's oscar doing? we watched the race.

amelia holland a bit bummed about the dnf but that's the way things go in this sport. besides it's not like it can get any worse than this.

TWO HOURS LATER

amelia holland HOW COULD I BE SO FUCKING WRONG?!

ameliaholland posted new stories

💋 i'm totally going to lose tonight... you're looking at the winner of the bowling tournament. it was luck really, but operation cheer up charles and oscar was a success.

taglist: @six-call @1nt3rnetgf @fernandoswarcrimes @skynel09 @arieltwvdtohamflash @Mimolovescookies @brekkers-whore @natcha888 @camdensreg @mycenterfold @woozarts @dear-fifi @tygecjjd @cataf1 @nothaqks @caipng @nataliambc @formulaal @lichterfee @prongsvault @kaa212 @anxxiousaries @julesbabey1 @julesbabey @georgeparisole @hobiismyhopeu @melissayalene @nikfigueiredo @bella-1 @nichmeddar @namgification @anniemae299

strikethrough means i couldn't tag you

¡leclerc-s speaks! just when you think he can't get any worse, he does! i have very strong opinions about texas, in case that wasn't obvious. texas was my breaking point + brazil, in case you couldn't tell who my favorite drivers were, you do now.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #the blue series #formula 1 #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x female oc #formula 1 fic #fanfic #fanfiction #f1 #f1 smau #f1 fic #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au

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f10werfae · 1 year

Text

My wife is fine, thanks

pairing: Husband!Henry x Wife!Reader

summary: I LOVE YOUR HENRY CAVILL POSTS!So can I request an Instagram blurb for wife!reader (obv for Henry Cavill), where fans react to wife!reader and henry having an age gap (10+). (requested by @chaotictwig)

requests are open/likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated♥️

Full M.List, Henry M.List, Taglist Form

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

@/hellostarsky: Can everyone stop hating on Henry, so what if he’s 39 and she’s 28?? They’re both legal consenting adults, he did not groom her and treats her with the utmost respect. She does not need the stress of you guys while she’s pregnant with their baby.

@/caviilll: I don’t care what anyone says, Y/n and Henry are so mf cute. The way he spoils the hell out of her and just always holds her close♥️♥️ If only

@/relatimefr: Ok but their age gap is so weird, she was being born when he was like 11 wtf

>> @/Prettyprincess: They lit started dating at 24 and 35, you can calm yourself honey, they did nothing but fall in love☠️

@/Henry Cavill: Happy 29th birthday to my lovely beautiful wife, the future mother to our baby(ies) and my best friend in life. Glad to be doing life with you and no one else, can’t wait to see you when I get home tonight, both you and baby Cavill ♥️

@/Holymacsncheese: But their age gap suits them sm, Y/n makes sure Henry keeps up to date with all the new things today, and he grounds her to a sense of comfort and love. They compliment each other so much, match made in heaven I say

@/Polypockets: yall acting as if he groomed her straight out of highschool, they literally met on set where she had to play his wife, yall just jealous cause it ain’t you 💋

@/Y/nCavill: 35 Weeks today! Baby Cavill is now officially nearly here, unfortunately i’ll be taking a break from future projects for some time, I want to finally settle down and accept my new role. The role of motherhood. Hope you all understand, Y/n xx

>> @/HenryCavill: I’d like to follow this by saying that, after this new movie I will also be taking a break for the next year or so, who knows. Just would like you all to know that I appreciate those who support us wholeheartedly, and I can’t wait to start this new journey!

@/User19204726: That picture of Henry showing Y/n new dresses in the maternity shop while she’s sitting watching him, is the cutest thing. She was too tired to walk about the shop, so he literally went around and got everything to have a mini fashion show for her

@/pumpituplease: God bless Y/n for posting pictures of Henry painting the nursery, that man is giving real dilf material now, and we can’t forget about the milf Y/n. Sexiest Power couple for realsies

@/geraltlovers: Omg I thought we were over the whole age gap thing?! Why the hell are papers still calling him all these names and calling Y/n naïve?? They lit have a child together, get a grip

>> @/petalsforpeps: omg ikr, like get over yourselves because they don’t care about what you have to say

@/Y/nCavill: Henry and I would like to welcome baby Penelope into the world, she arrived on September 25th and is currently rocking it! No pictures will be shared, hope you all understand that ♥️

@/cpatainsy: HENRY IS A DAD GUYS OMG, HIM AND Y/N’S BABY IS GONNA ACTUALLY SLAY THE REAL WORLD. WE BETTER PREPARE OURSELVES!!

@/rainbowsncakes: Omg that photo Y/n posted with Henry’s back to the camera, you can just see the tiniest bit of baby Penelope’s hair out of the corner of his arm, AND ITS DARK HAIR, SHE GOT HIS CURLY HAIR I BET

>> @/lotsoocks: YOO ACCORDING TO HENRY’S MUM’S POST, BABY PENELOPE CAME OUT ROUGHLY THE SAME SIZE HENRY WAS WHEN HE WAS BORN. POOR Y/N

>>> @Y/nCavill: NO BECAUSE THIS IS TRUE, 38 HOURS OF PURE HARD LABOUR. Thankful for all the nurses, doctors, midwives and especially my bear of a husband who didn’t leave me alone once♥️

@/user823783: Fuck this family bullshit, when is Henry gonna back to our screens?!

>> @/HenryCavill: i’m sorry but I don’t tolerate anyone speaking about my family like that, a fan of mine wouldn’t speak of people I love like that. We want to live a peaceful life full of love, if you can’t respect that then i’m glad i’m not back to work yet. Family comes first.

@/HenryCavill: I love my wife @Y/nCavill and my gorgeous daughter Penelope, the exact double of me I must say (sorry babe) I also love the people who support me, and it hurts me to say that it’s a minority of you that seem to keep harassing my family. Please respect our lives, not only has our relationship been through enough, but our privacy has been violated more than enough times. Enough is enough.

>> @/jellyjumpbean: What sorta losers are still hating on them?! Can we please grow up and stop being delusional, the man is happy with his own family now. None of then deserve this abuse and especially not little Penelope who hasn’t even been here 5 minutes

@/Dcornarvel: Y/n is absolutely growing post pregnancy, you would never guess that she’s edging 30, Henry is one lucky man for real

>> @/HenryCavill: That I am. Thank you very much my friend ♥️

———

Taglist Tags (Form is up there^^): @fdl305 @alexxavicry @bookfrog242 @alina02 @aerangi @i-beg-your-pardon-laufeyson @sparklemarysunshine @oliviah-25 @mischiefhasbeenmanaged @nikkitc0703 @misshale21 @hallecarey1 @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mansaaay @princess-paramour @stormcloudss @uwiuwi @marvelgurl @taramaria @mysticfalls01 @kebabgirl67 @athena-roy @tinyelfperson @madebylilly @dumb-fawkin-bitch @vrittivsanghavi @beck07990 @kimhtoo17 @thereisa8ella @pandaxnienke @marvelstarker-mha98

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill one shot #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fandom

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ingravinoveritas · 3 months

Note

Feeling really normal about Georgia calling Michael "the boyfriend of my husband"

Okay, so...wow. Definitely a lot to unpack today, but first let me wish our own Welsh seduction machine the happiest of birthdays. Happy Birthday, Michael! 🎉🎂

So, there have been a few posts since last night, and my thanks to @moriarty-sisters for including the above screenshots. Posting some larger ones so we can take a better look, starting with AL's post:

And then we have Georgia's from this morning:

(Standard disclaimer that what follows here is only my opinion/observations, and does not mean that I am completely right. As I've said before, if I am wrong, I am more than happy to acknowledge that.)

It appears that a party was held in Michael's honor last night, and David and Georgia were in attendance. There has been some confusion about the pictures because Michael's hair length/facial hair are different in the group photo vs. the party photos, so to your Ask @kime11e (which I did not include here just to keep this less cluttered), I think that the group photo is not actually from last night (which then makes me wonder why Georgia didn't post one from last night, but more on that in a minute).

So, of course the first thing that stands out about all of this is Georgia calling Michael David's "boyfriend." As I've mentioned previously, Georgia has been calling Michael David's "other wife" since the end of 2021. (David has also called Michael his wife in other contexts, which was confirmed by Rob Wilkins.) "Boyfriend," however, is new. And in this instance, "boyfriend" feels very deliberate. While I don't think it's possible to say that this confirms what the exact dynamic between them is, what I think is confirmed is that something about that dynamic has changed.

But let me go back for a moment and talk about AL and Georgia's posts and the differences between them. In Anna's post, I was particularly struck by the difference in Michael between the picture of him and AL vs. the picture of him with the cake. The disconnect to me is so strong that it's like looking at two different people--the real Michael (cake picture) vs. the version of himself Michael becomes in every picture with her, as if he is playing a role. There is no light in eyes, no trademark twinkle that we so often see--he's just muted, somehow. And Anna again is so wrapped up in showing him off and making sure that she looks good in the picture that she doesn't seem to care how Michael looks.

I do want to note that I would not even be saying this were it not for the fact that this is the...third?...picture he's taken with her in the last month and a half where he looks like this (and noticeably only in pictures with her):

I've mentioned this previously on my blog, but even if Michael is doing a "bit," he is choosing to look this way in pictures with Anna. Seeing the response to Georgia's post today, however, I almost wonder if it's because they know the fans will never take anything the four of them do seriously, to where AL could say (just as an example) "Michael and I hate each other," and the fans would eat it up and say how funny they are. So in that sense, I could see them deciding to stop pretending entirely and for Michael to let his true feelings out because it's easier to hide in plain sight. I don't know for certain that is the case, but I also don't know how else to explain AL seemingly having no problem with her partner looking like this in multiple pictures with her.

Going back to today's birthday posts, aside from the pictures, I was also perplexed by Anna's caption on her post. It's so over the top in some ways, but somehow not enough at the same time. Again, this would have been an opportunity to say what a great father Michael is, or how he's such a wonderful person, but instead, Anna's caption focuses on how great she is for being willing to throw confetti on the floor, and to celebrate Michael's birthday even though it's apparently an inconvenience. It comes across as self-involved and self-serving, which is further augmented by this tweet of Anna's from earlier bragging about how great she is for the birthday present she got for Michael. All of this taken together, I think what bothers me is how it feels more like Anna is promoting herself than Michael, and that she saw his birthday less as a special occasion and more as a PR opportunity.

Looking at Georgia's post, what stood out to me (apart from the caption, that is) is the picture. Something I have noticed is that Anna seems to always have that tight, pained smile on when anyone other than her is taking the picture. I think Georgia knows enough about "bits" and narratives to know how to set things up, and it's interesting to me that when she does, Anna sort of looks out of place, even unintentionally. Then we have Michael and David, who are beaming in this group picture, and Michael in particular has a huge smile on his face, as he often seems to whenever David is near. And again, for me it's the massive contrast between Michael's expression in that group picture vs. in pictures with AL, as well as the contrast between Georgia and AL's expressions vs. Michael's and David's. What also stood out is what wasn't posted: A picture of Michael and David together.

Which brings me back to my earlier point about the dynamic between the four of them, and to @phantomstars24's comments. I think what's most noticeable to me is that, contrary to what I have also seen some folks say today, this is not "Oops, we're all dating" or a continued joke about them being a polycule (at least not in the way that many fans are assuming). Because in all of this, not once has there ever been a comment or joke about David/Anna or Michael/Georgia. (Heck, Anna doesn't even post a word about David on social media unless it's a reshared post from Georgia or official promo/behind the scenes photos.) So the contrast between what is available for public consumption (group photos, Michael/AL photos) and what isn't (Michael/David candid photos) is very curious.

With that in mind, what this this feels like is a shifting of a preexisting narrative as a form of damage control. Because, as we remember, Georgia has been calling Michael David's "other wife" since 2021, so why didn't she start the "flirting" with Anna at that same time? Or even in 2020, when the first season of Staged happened? Why wait until four years later, especially when she had ample opportunity to do this well before now? Perhaps we will never know why, but if I had to guess, I would say Georgia didn't have a need or reason to do it until now. And as the saying goes, the best place to hide the truth is between two jokes. "Anna is my wife." / "Michael is David's boyfriend." / "Georgia is my wife." Hiding in plain sight, while also taking the heat off of Michael and David.

Again, I realize everyone has different interpretations of this, and I am not going to tell anyone that their interpretation is wrong, or that they have to agree with me. But for me (and I would guess for many others), shipping Michael and David did not start with Georgia calling Michael David's "boyfriend." There is no way that that statement alone would cause such a reaction, but rather the cumulative effect of everything that has happened since 2018, including Michael and David flirting and adoring and eyefucking each other in countless interviews and appearances and much more, long before Georgia ever said a word about it on social media. Now that she has, however, it would seem almost foolhardy to discount the possible reasons why, and in my opinion, I can't see why it wouldn't be as likely that it's because Michael and David are lovers as it is because they are good friends.

So yes, those are my thoughts on today's events. Glad as always to hear from my followers and see what you think of these latest developments. Thanks for writing in! x

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lowkeyremi · 8 months

Text

His birthday k. bokuto

Remi's note: Happy birthday to my favorite owl, ily (also i wrote the sky-diving thing based on my own experience)

CW: established relationship, fluff, kinda rushed

"WOOHOO!" He screams, and you startle awake.

"W-what? Ko baby what's up?" You ask sleepily. You open your eyes, they're bleary and you're trying to comprehend what's going on right now.

"Honey get up! It's my birthday! Let's go celebrate!!" Bokuto spouts all at once. You'd think after a certain age people wouldn't care too much about their birthdays. Your husband proves you wrong because he is twenty-eight, and still excited like a two year old going to chuck-e-cheese for their birthday.

"Slow your roll, I still need to get up. I also need caffeine." You mumble. Those golden eyes watch as you sit up and blink slowly to adjust to the morning.

"Don't worry, sweetness! I already made you some (coffee or tea)!" He exclaims with a cup in his hand. How did that get there? You could have sworn that wasn't in his hand a few seconds ago.

When he hands you the mug you take a nice long sip with a loud exhale at the end. "Thanks, Ko."

"Mhm, what're you feeling today? I have a couple outfits picked out for ya!" He points to the dress where sure enough, there are three or four outfits laid out.

"Where are we going? You seem to wanna get a move on." The one thing that you never understood was why Bokuto wanted to spoil you on his birthday. He always takes you places and buys you stuff. He says 'seeing you happy makes me happy, and that's all I want for my birthday.'

Every year he tells you not to get him anything besides your love. Which is cheesy. You got him something.

This actually took a long time to plan because you had to think of something he wouldn't expect. Kuroo played a role in your surprise gift.

"Yeah I do. We're driving two hours today. The sooner we get there the better." You look at him in disbelief.

"Kotaro Bokuto." You say sternly.

"I promise this time it's gonna be something I wanna do." That's what he's said in the past and it was never true.

----

He watched you go through you're daily routine, smiling at every little thing. He was over excited about helping you with little things like slipping your shoes on or setting the timer so your makeup could dry.

You guys where ready to go around nine am. Bokuto stopped by his favorite restaurant to get breakfast to go for the ride.

"These burritos never fail!!" He exaggerates with a loud moan as he takes another huge bite.

"You are a piece of work." You sigh with a smile taking a bite out of your own burrito.

Throughout the ride Bokuto plays songs you used to listen to when he first met you. He purposely sung off key just to piss you off make you laugh.

He wanted to play road-trip games but you had to remind him countless times that he was DRIVING so he can't play road-trip games.

------

You really had no clue where he'd brought you. The place looked empty based on the amount of cars present in the parking lot. Before you can even process it, he opens your car door, "Come on honey, don't wanna be late."

Your hands are intertwined and he guides you into a small white building.

"I brought you to an indoor sky-diving place because I'm too scared to actually sky-dive, yet." He explains, a grin crosses your face when he mentions real sky-diving.

"Let's do it then!" You say excitedly.

Bokuto checks you two in for your reservation. The instructor takes you two back to a little room to teach you the basics of indoor sky-diving. She says it's similar to outdoor sky-diving. She shows you the three hand signals you'll need to know so the operate can know how you're feeling.

Once you two have grasped the concept so she brings you to the sky-diving area. Bokuto goes first, he looks so cute and funny swinging his legs all around in the glass cylinder trying to remember what the woman had taught him.

"Baby look! I'm flying!" He yells trying to flap like a bird, which messes up his flow and causes him to bump into the glass wall. Your giggle goes unnoticed as he exists the glass when the air stops flowing.

"Mrs. Bokuto, you're up!" The operator yells. After checking your helmet once more you're stepping into the cylinder.

Over all the experience was quite fun and you got some good pictures of your husband being silly.

-----

When you arrived home, you put your hand over Bokuto's eyes in order to keep him from looking.

You motion to Kuroo who is already in you're house looking at you waiting for the signal.

"Okay Ko, open them up!" He opens his eyes and you remove your hand. Standing round your kitchen table is Tsukki, Kuroo, Akaashi, Kenma, Atsumu, Hinata, and surprisingly Sakusa.

"Happy birthday!!" They all say in unison.

"I wanted you to celebrate with your friends, so outside I set up the net so you guys can play a few rounds of volleyball." You say meekly with a huge smile plastered on your face.

"Babyyyyyy." Bokuto drags out with a smile.

"Thank you so much! Come on guys! Let's go play some volleyball before it gets super late!" Bokuto kisses you. When he detaches his lips from you, he grabs your arm and drags you out to come play volleyball with all his friends.

#bokuto hcs #kotaro bokuto #bokuto #bokuto kotaro #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou #hq bokuto #kotaro bokuto x reader #bokuto x fem!reader #bokuto kotaro x reader #kotaro x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #bokuto koutaro x reader

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storiesforallfandoms · 1 year

Text

they forgot ~ corpse husband

word count: 2022

request?: yes!

“Corpse husband asks his S/O why they are upset two days before their birthday and they reply, "I just got a text from my parents saying to have a happy birthday today." ”

description: in which an early birthday text sends her mood on a downward spiral just days before her actual birthday

pairing: corpse husband x female!reader

warnings: swearing, shitty parents, some self hatred/insecurities due to shitty parents

masterlist (one, two, three)

I never liked my birthday. Cliché, I know. That’s how every sad story with a happy birthday ending starts.

I was a cliché from my high school days, too. I only had two friends, so “birthday parties” were always just the three of us in my basement watching the same movies. I tried to have an actual birthday party once for my Sweet 16. Only because my mother insisted upon it. Made me send out invitations to my entire class and decorated our house before leaving for the night so we could “have a real good time”.

No one showed up besides the usual two friends, and we ended up in the basement watching movies yet again.

That was another issue: my parents.

I know they loved me...in their own way, anyways. Most years we didn’t celebrate my birthday. Not how I would want to celebrate it, anyways. If it were up to me, we’d go out on the night of my birthday to one of my favorite restaurants and maybe have a board game night or something. Just be together as a family for my day. But that’s never how it went. My parents were always “busy” the day of my birthday. Mom made the mistake of telling me once that she forgot it was even my birthday and booked a day out with her friends. She didn’t ask if I wanted to come with them. If we ever did anything, it was usually whatever they decided with very little input from me.

I thought I was weird for disliking my birthday, until I met Corpse.

Corpse didn’t like his birthday either. When it came around the first time when we started dating, I didn’t make a big deal over it as he asked. I got him a gift and a cupcake with a candle in it, but that was it. He did the same for me - small gestures as to not make such a big deal over my birthday.

But, as time went on, Corpse started making a little bit of a bigger deal about my birthday. He’d order in take out form my favorite restaurant, make me dinner (once he also tried to make a cake for dessert), invited over a few of our friends once just to hang out for my birthday. I didn’t notice at first, and by the time I realized what he was doing, I was too happy to be upset. I was finally enjoying my birthday for the first time in...well...almost ever.

Until my parents dragged me back down to Earth.

I was getting ready for work when my phone chimed signaling I had gotten a text. I ignored it at first, figuring I’d answer whenever I finished getting ready. But when it went off a second time, just moments after the first, I figured it was important. I picked up my phone and the screen lit up, displaying two unread texts from my parents.

“Happy Birthday sweetheart. We hope you have a wonderful day.”

“We love you very much and we are so proud of you.”

It would’ve been a really sweet series of messages if it weren’t for the fact that my birthday wasn’t for another two days.

I sat down on the edge of mine and Corpse’s bed. I kept re-reading the texts until they burned into my eyeballs, the words “Happy Birthday sweetheart” standing out every time I blinked, until welling tears washed the image away.

I thought things were different. I thought I was actually becoming someone worth celebrating, or at least worst remembering my fucking birthday. But if my own parents couldn’t even be bothered to remember when their only child was born, how could anyone else be bothered to remember or care about me?

“I thought you had work.”

I jumped at the sound of the deep voice I usually loved so much. I hadn’t heard Corpse come out of his editing room. It had been another night of Corpse’s fucked up sleep schedule keeping him up from sun down to sun up. I had gotten used to our sleep schedules often conflicted, especially when my work required me to wake up semi-early in the morning. I guess I had momentarily forgotten he wasn’t in our bed while I was getting ready for work.

I quickly wiped my eyes and shoved my phone into my pocket. “Yeah, I do. I got distracted, I guess.”

I stood and made my way out of our bedroom, pausing only to give Corpse a quick kiss. I mumbled a “Goodbye, love you” as I exited our apartment, leaving before he could notice I was upset.

~~~~~~

The day passed in a blur. I couldn’t stop thinking about the text. I hadn’t responded, which didn’t trouble my parents too much. Part of me hoped they would realize their mistake if I didn’t respond and would apologize for mixing up the dates. But that never happened. They didn’t text me back at all. Didn’t even acknowledge that I hadn’t responded. They probably hadn’t even noticed.

I couldn’t wait to get home and crawl into bed and end this shitty day. If I was lucky, Corpse also would’ve forgotten my birthday and we wouldn’t do anything to celebrate the day I was once again dreading the most.

Corpse was laying in our bed, re-watching Death Note for the hundredth time. I kicked off my shoes and shrugged off my jacket before getting into bed with him.

“I can’t believe you started without me,” I teased, trying not to let my upset show in front of him.

“There was nothing else to watch,” he responded.

“We have Netflix, Disney+, and Hulu, but there was nothing to watch?”

Corpse put a hand over my mouth and shushed me. I giggled and rested my head against his chest. I was starting to feel somewhat better after the day I had had.

He moved his hand from my mouth to my back and started running his fingertips up and down my spine. “How was work?”

I made a grunt sound in response. “It was okay, I guess.”

“Only okay?”

I shrugged. “Nothing especially good or bad happened. It was just a day.”

His hand ran from my back to my hair. I shivered from the cool feeling of his metal rings against my skin, leaving a tingling feeling in their wake. His fingers tangled through my hair as he started to play with it.

“What’s on your mind, honey?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I responded, although it didn’t come out very convincingly.

“You’ve seemed upset since before you went to work. Did something happen this morning?”

Tears started to prick my eyes again. Corpse always knew when something was wrong. It was like he had a sixth sense about when I was upset, and he wouldn’t let up until I talked about it even a little bit. It could be annoying since I was so used to just dealing with my upset and sadness myself, but it did always help me to feel better when I talked to him.

Corpse paused the show and moved so he could face me. He wiped away the fresh falling tears with his thumbs. “What happened, baby?”

“M-My parents,” I sniffled.

That was really all he needed to hear. Corpse knew about the relationship I had with my parents. He had only met them once and decided that was one too many times for him. His once soft gaze at my sad face immediately darkened when I told him. “What did they do?”

“They...they sent me a text this morning,” I said. “Two, actually. Wishing my a happy birthday and telling me they love me and they’re proud of me.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “But...your birthday is...”

He trailed off as I started to nod. The dam officially broke within me and I began to sob. Corpse quickly pulled me to him, burying my head in his chest and allowing me to cry into his shirt. At least he loved wearing black clothing so it wasn’t like I was staining the material with my sadness.

“Th-They couldn’t even be bothered to remember,” I said. “All these years I thought...I thought I was finally becoming important enough for other people to even...remember the day I was fucking born.”

“Of course you’re important enough.”

I shook my head. “Not important enough for my own parents to remember my birthday. My own fucking parents, Corpse! They were fucking there when I was born! You’d think, of all people, the person who popped me out of her fucking vagina would remember what day she did that. But she doesn’t, and she’s never given enough of a fuck to remember that day and make it special for me. Never! So why would anyone else care that much about me when my own parents can’t?”

Corpse pulled me away from his chest and looked down at me. He wiped the tears from my face again, gently running his thumbs under my eyes and down my face to catch the tears.

“I care,” he said. “I have since the very first day that I met you. If you hadn’t told me that you didn’t like your birthday, I may have thrown you the best party I possibly could just to celebrate you.”

I couldn’t help but let out a shaky chuckle. “You hate people.”

“I love you, though. And if you wanted a party, I’d try to give you a party.”

I shook my head. “Everything you’ve done for me since we got together is more than enough.”

“You say that, but to me it feels like it’s far from being enough. Your birthday is one of very few days that I actually want to celebrate throughout the year because you are something I want to celebrate. I don’t know what I’d do if I never met you.”

“Probably be doing the same thing you’re doing now: watching Death Note all night until you fall asleep at 5am.”

He chuckled. “Okay, yes, but I wouldn’t have someone to do that with me. And that’s what means the most to me. Since I met you, I haven’t felt as alone as I once did. You make me feel so happy, (Y/N). More than I think you could ever know.”

I could feel my eyes welling up again, but this time it was happy tears. I leaned forward to kiss Corpse, before pulling away to wipe my face again. Kissing someone while you’re crying, or while your face is still wet from crying, can be slightly awkward. Not that I thought Corpse would’ve minded at all.

“You make me happy, too,” I told him. “I’m glad I found you, and that we’re building this life together and starting our own family. Well...our found family.”

“One day it’ll be a real family. Whenever I start feeling better.”

I took his hands in mine and kissed them. “I can wait. As long as I have you.”

He eventually coaxed me to lie down with him again and pressed play on the show. I tried to stay awake to watch it with him, but after working most of the day and having cried a number of times, my eyes were feeling very heavy. I had to fight against my eyelids to keep them open, but it was a losing battle. At one point I had even managed to drift off to sleep for a few seconds before a sound on the TV caused me to jolt awake.

Corpse chuckled. “Do you want me to turn it off so you can sleep?”

I shook my head. “No, that’s okay. I don’t mind listening to it while I fall asleep.”

“Falling asleep to Death Note. And I thought I was fucking weird.”

If I had the energy I would’ve playfully hit his chest. Instead, I just grunted and turned into him more.

I felt his chest vibrate as he chuckled again. “Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I mumbled before finally drifting off to sleep.

#corpse husband #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband x reader #corpse #corpse imagine #corpse x reader #youtube #one shot #imagine #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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fiveredlights · 17 days

Note

I saw you mentioned you liked kid fic and had bookmarks— do you have any reccs for maxiel kid fics?❤️❤️

do i ever!!!! one thing about me is that i will eat kid fics up, like i think i’ve read about all the tagged kid fics in the maxiel tag. i love seeing what names authors choose for their children and it just makes me happy. here's a couple and if you want more lmk!

listen to the slow parts by @nobrakesdown [T-7.2k]

Neither Max or Daniel are the one to find the baby. That honor belongs to Christian, and Christian alone.

a lil you, a lil me, a perfect being by 3_33 (@maxcuntstappen) [G-4.8k]

The three of them stand outside, looking at the entrance, August in the middle, clutching tightly onto Max and Daniel’s hands.

“Okay, I need you both to repeat after me.”

“Daniel, we already did this in the car. Can we please just go in?” Max asks, desperately, which only confirms to Daniel the need to remind all of them of the ground rules.

“Baby, please. We need to remember, okay? We are here to meet some new friends and play with them. It is okay if we don’t meet anybody we like. We can always come again. There is no need for us to be upset. Yeah?”

“Yes, Daddy,” August says and drops his hand to give Daniel a mock salute and Daniel really didn’t know he could love someone so much.

“Max,” Daniel implores, knowing that it is as important that his husband acknowledges the plan as much as their kid.

“Yes, yes, Daniel, okay,” Max rolls his eyes but nods in agreement.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Daniel says. The three of them walk in through the doors.

Or: Daniel and Max visit an animal shelter for their son, August's fourth birthday. Daniel is apprehensive. Max and August are vibrating out of their skin.

That's Where I Am by @flawlessassholes [E-47.8k-6/8]

“Her name is Emily,” Daniel says softly. Max’s eyes snap down to the baby, still sleeping on Daniel’s chest. It’s—she’s snoring a little. In that snuffly way that babies snore. “Short for Emilian.” His eyes snap back to Daniel’s face, so serious, and Max knows it’s a joke, of course, but he still opens his mouth to say— Then Daniel’s face breaks into that wide grin, the real one, the one Max hasn’t seen since. Well. In a while. It feels at once so familiar, and also like seeing something rise from the dead.

There’s a month between Melbourne and Baku. A month to convince Daniel to return to racing. A month to learn and relearn how to love. A month for everything to feel right amidst a season that has felt nothing but wrong. A month to create a family, and a month to maybe lose it all.

keep me in the open by Aurelia (Lily_Rizzy) (@lilyrizzy) [E-11.7k]

"Chrissy Baker sounds like a cunt,” Daniel says, then cringes at the pointed look his mum shoots him. “What? It’s not like they’re old enough to repeat that yet.”

Grace laughs, the sound audible now over Livia’s cries, which are quickly fading into miserable whimpers. Of course, she behaves for grandma, and not the dad who dotes on her endlessly, feeds her, cuddles her, and wipes her smelly ass.

“Three words, Daniel,” she says, eyebrows raised. “Cash, money, bitches.”

or, Daniel navigates bed times, bath times and jealousy, while Max races his last season in Formula One

summer sun after the rain by gentleau [T-11.7k]

“Papà? Is Max your friend?” “He used to be.”

then you came by beforemidnight [G-4.5k]

Daniel looks at Max swiftly but pointedly. Smiling, he looks back at the camera. “Marrying him was the easiest decision of my life.”

(don't let) the days go by citydreaming (@thewindowatkirkland) [M-11.3k]

“Hey” Daniel says “thanks for coming over.”

“Is now a good time? If you are busy I can come back later.”

“Now is fine, she’s already asleep so we should be able to talk without being interrupted.”

“Talk about how you have a daughter.”

Daniel bites his lip nervously “yeah, about that.”

OR: single dad daniel returns to the grid for one final year with red bull, max doesn’t plan on falling in love with him and his daughter, but somehow it happens anyway.

#i have also gone through all 187 pages of the maxiel tag alphabetically by author but we don’t need to talk about that #me my ao3 bookmarks and google sheets against the world #f1 fic rec #maxiel

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daisynik7 · 1 year

Text

Dirty Thirty

Pairing: Kishibe x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

cw: thigh riding, cunnilingus, fingering, spanking, spit play, vaginal sex (doggy, cowgirl), cockwarming, use of pet names (princess and Master)

Word Count: ~5.6k

Summary: An alluring stranger gives you a special treat on the night of your 30th birthday.

Notes: Kishibe is in his mid 40s. Also, apparently he is 6’4”, so reader is shorter, below 6’. This is very self-indulgent considering my own 30th is in a few days (shout out to all my fellow Pisces babes)! Also, I started this after finishing Chainsaw Man a few weeks ago, so this is a result of heavy Kishibe brainrot.

Additional Note: Check out Part 2 here: After Last Night! Reblogs, likes, and/or comments are appreciated. Thank you for reading!

--------------------

The bass of EDM music reverberates through the speakers at the DJ’s booth. This particular bar you frequent turns into a club at 11 PM. College kids from the university down the street congregate in this establishment on the weekends, like today. You and your friends have been here since an hour ago, drinking and chatting in a booth hidden away to the side of the dancefloor. After dinner, you stopped by for a quick drink. With the booze and vibes just right, you ended up staying.

Tonight, you celebrate your birthday. It’s the end of an era, really. You’re officially thirty. You’ve been dreading this day for the past few months, sad to bid farewell to your twenties, which wasn’t all that anyways. The number of times your friends reassure you that your thirties are the new twenties only brings you mild comfort. Glancing at the crowd tearing up the dancefloor, you can’t help being envious of their youth.

Maybe it’s your buzz talking. You’re not one to feel sorry for yourself, especially about something as inevitable as aging. Thirty is young. Who cares if you’re the only one in your inner circle who’s single, unmarried, or childless? There’s no shame in it. You’re sick of women being scrutinized each year they get older for not doing what society tells them they should do. Who the fuck cares if you don’t have a ring on your finger or haven’t popped a baby out your vagina yet? It isn’t on your radar, and that’s perfectly fine. Men don’t get this much shit for remaining bachelors well into their forties or fifties, why should you?

You fidget with the glittery Dirty 30! sash you wear over your little black dress. A shimmering tiara sparkles on top of your head to complete your ensemble. Your friend’s voice in your ear snaps you out of your thoughts. “Hey birthday girl, how’s it going?”

Smiling, you hold your half empty glass up towards the middle. “Good. Thanks so much for coming out to celebrate tonight!” You’re ready to chug the rest of your liquor so you can head to the dancefloor. The other three women in your group cheers, clinking their drinks with yours.

You’re about to suggest dancing when your friend says, “Shall we call it a night?”

It catches you off guard. The music just started and it’s not even midnight yet. You’re not ready to go back to the real world; it’s your special day until you fall asleep, which you don’t plan to do for a few more hours. You’re silent though, listening as the other girls repeat a similar sentiment.

“My husband is waiting for me at home, so yes.”

“And my babies have an early morning play date tomorrow!”

Your friend beside you turns to you and asks, “Ready to go?”

Contemplating for a moment, you respond, “I think I might stay, actually. Have another drink or two.”

They stare at you bewildered, surprised you want to be here alone, which is unusual for you. “Are you sure?” they clarify.

“Yeah! Go ahead, I’ll be fine! I’m a big girl now,” you joke, standing up to hug them. They kiss you on the cheek, greeting you one last happy birthday before leaving together to go home to their husbands and children.

Craving another drink, you abandon your booth to approach the bar. You order your favorite: a vodka cranberry, your comfort cocktail throughout your 20s. A reminder that you’re still the same you despite moving up a decade.

You close your tab, promising yourself this is your last, and go back to your table. It’s now occupied by an older man in a black coat, sipping on amber liquor. Annoyed, and slightly intrigued, you sit opposite of him in the same booth. He lifts his head up slowly, noticing you.

“Hi there,” you greet him. Even in the dim light, the stitched scar on his left cheek stands out. The metal piercings on his ears glisten, the strobe lights reflecting off them from the dancefloor.

“Can I help you?” His voice is low and raspy, either naturally or from the alcohol.

“I was sitting here earlier. The other tables are all occupied, and I really don’t want to stand around on the dancefloor by myself. Can I sit here until I finish my drink? There’s plenty of room for the both of us.” You put on your most charming smile.

“Where are your friends? I’m sure you’d rather sit with them instead of with an old man like me.”

“They ditched me to go home. Besides, it looks like you could use the company.” You tip your cocktail into your mouth, keeping your gaze on him.

He watches you, skeptical. “How old are you?”

You glance down at your sash, which is now twisted so that the answer to his question is on your back where he can’t see. You grin at him. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a woman her age?”

He hums, unamused. “I’m not keen on hanging out with girls in their 20s. Not really my style. Not tonight, anyways.”

“How old do you think I am?”

Narrowing his eyes at your tiara, he responds, “You’re wearing a crown, drinking a cranberry vodka at a bar that plays this shit music. I’d say you’re 23.”

This amuses you, like getting asked for your ID does, which is becoming rarer nowadays. It’s flattering.

“Hey, you’re here too. The only difference is that you’re drinking a whiskey,” you tease him, pointing at his glass.

“In my defense, I finished work nearby and this shitty cesspool was the closest bar I could find.” He takes a swig of his alcohol. “So, am I right?”

Sliding the sash to face him, you answer, “Nope. You’re wrong. Lucky for you, today is my birthday. And I just turned thirty.”

He cracks a smile at this, giving you a flutter below your belly. You’re not typically into older men; however, this guy has piqued your interest. There’s something about him that is alluring. Exciting.

“Happy birthday,” he says, swallowing the rest of his whiskey. “Get anything good?”

“No. But the night’s not over yet.” You’re full-on flirting now, not at all ashamed of how brazen you’re acting. Fuck it. You only turn thirty once, right?

There’s distance between you, but the tension is so thick, you could smell the bold scent of liquor coating his lips. He leans closer, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Well, I guess it’s my responsibility now to give you something good.”

~~~

Minutes later, you’re in the back of the cab, riding towards an address he mutters to the driver. He holds you, interlocking his fingers with yours, peering out his window in silence. You focus on your entwined hands resting on the middle seat, the intimacy of it all distracting you from the fact that you’re about to hook up with this attractive stranger.

The driver arrives to a swanky apartment complex. Once inside, Kishibe doesn’t give you enough time to marvel at the beautiful interior of the room. In an instant, his lips are on yours, both palms cupping your cheeks assertively. Breath hot and chalky from the mint you saw him savor earlier in the car. It barely masks the lingering taste of that cigarette you witnessed him drag waiting for your ride. He didn’t have the same type of smoker’s breath that you’re sick of from your coworkers. With him, you don’t mind it at all.

His hand trails down your neck, thumb carefully brushing over a pulse point right below your chin. His skin is rough and calloused compared to yours. The scraggly facial hair scattered along his jaw is scratchy on your cheeks.

He breaks the kiss, gazing at you while he removes his overcoat, hanging it on the rack in the corner, kicking his shoes off in the process. There’s a small bar cart in the kitchen, where he pours himself a whiskey. At the freezer, he reaches for the ice, dropping three cubes into the dark liquor with a plop. You stand still, observing him, nervous and thrilled about what this mysterious man will do to you tonight.

At the couch, he takes a seat, thighs spread wide, his wrist hanging low between them, gripping the top of the glass with his fingertips. “Come here,” he beckons.

Removing your heels quickly and abandoning your purse, you step towards him, ready to sit beside him until he demands, “No. Not there.” He pats his thigh with his free hand. “Here.”

Your body trembles with lust as you straddle him, pussy pulsing against his muscular thigh. He studies you, from your hazy stare down to him between your legs, savoring his cold liquor all the while. You gulp loudly, obediently waiting for his next command.

Gently removing the crown atop your head and tossing it aside, he asks, “What do you want from me, princess? It’s your birthday after all.” Hearing him call you princess gives you a rush you can no longer contain. You start moving on his thigh, riding it to feel the glorious sensations on your clit.

His chuckle vibrates through his chest as you grasp at his collar to hold you steady. “This is what you want? Okay. Take what you need. Come on my thigh. I’ll watch.” His gravelly voice in your ear makes you ride him harder, grinding against him until your creamy mess is soaking through the thin fabric of your panties. You clench his tie, loosening it around his neck. He continues to watch you, sipping on his booze, enjoying his own private show.

Once the glass is empty except for the melting ice, he sets it down on the coffee table, pulling you in closer, his hand behind your neck. Lightly blowing cool, whiskey breath along your lips. You lean forward to kiss him, his tongue slipping past to explore your needy mouth. The longing for his touch on every inch of your body grows stronger by the second as you moan into the kiss, bouncing on his leg.

“Can you come by yourself? Or do you need my tongue on it? I can lick it up real good if you’ll let me.” His obscene suggestion surprises you, as if you weren’t already performing lewd acts on his lap. You tug at his tie to pull him into another fierce kiss before sitting next to him on the couch, lifting the hem of your dress up to reveal your wet undergarments.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want to me. But I’m not calling you Daddy,” you tease, spreading wide for him.

His voice is low in his throat, kneeling on the carpet, face positioned between your thighs. “Good, because I prefer to be called Master.”

You roll your eyes at him, to which he responds, “What? You don’t like that? I bet I’ll have you screaming it all night long.”

This has you speechless as he drifts towards you, staring at the wet spot soaking through your lingerie. “Look how fucking wet you are for me.” He hooks his fingers around the fabric, stretching it to the side to expose your sopping cunt. Leaning in closer, he flicks his tongue gently onto your clit, causing you to squirm above him.

He’s testing the waters, starting slow to gauge your limit. It’s gentle at first, toying with your bud until it’s plump and sensitive. Until your wanton moans are bouncing off the walls of his big, fancy apartment. There’s no doubt that he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s obvious this man has years of experience beyond you. Having this stranger swirl his tongue on the most intimate parts of your body makes you weak in the knees. This is the first time all night that you’re thankful to be turning thirty. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be in this apartment, getting wrecked and torn apart by him.

“I’ve always wanted a plaything I can ruin,” he breathes out, finally wrapping his lips around you. “Will you be my pretty plaything tonight?” He surrounds your clit, drawing an erotic whimper from your mouth.

“Fuck, Kishibe. Yes. Use me as your plaything, fuck.”

He eats you out noisily, emphasizing every wet sound his mouth makes on your swollen bud. Several times, he spits on it, spreading his saliva up and down your pussy, plunging his tongue into your entrance to get it lubricated with his own drool.

“You’re fucking drenched down here. When’s the last time you let a grown man eat you out like this? I bet you’ve never been with someone like me, huh?”

You shake your head, swiping through his hair, spreading yourself wider for him. “Never.”

“I can tell,” he says, slipping his middle and ring finger into your entrance. “So fucking wet for me. I love it.” He pumps into you, curling his digits just right, resonating all the way down to your toes. His lips latch onto your clit, drinking you up to quench his insatiable thirst.

“Hold these for me,” he says, guiding your fingers to your panties. “Want to stroke my cock while I eat this gorgeous pussy out.” You hear the unbuckling of his belt, the sound of him shoving his fist into his slacks to jerk off. The vibrations from his moans tickle your skin as he nuzzles himself deeper into your arousal, practically drowning in it, flattening his tongue to smear his warm saliva all over. You whine in ecstasy, heedless of attracting any neighboring attention to your explicit blubbering.

“Come on my face,” he muffles, too busy lapping up your clit to pull away, fingers pumping in and out of you, shiny and sleek with your slick.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to reach your orgasm, pleasure jolting through your body while he works you until you’re overstimulated, twitching from the euphoria. He laughs softly, face glistening with your essence, taking a seat beside you. You watch him in a daze as he sticks his cum-coated fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean. “You want a taste, too?”

You nod, disoriented from your intense climax. He drags your bottom lip down using the pad of his thumb, mumbling, “Open.”

Obediently, you stick your tongue out for him, knowing fully well what he’s about to do. Your pussy throbs again, ready to be fucked for real by this provocative stranger you were so fortunate to meet tonight.

He grazes your open tongue, then spits in your mouth. “Swallow,” he demands, voice husky with desire. You do, making sure to gulp loudly, incredibly aroused and needy for his cock.

“Show me,” he whispers, opening his own mouth to mimic you. “Ah.”

You show him your tongue again, a dumb expression on your face while he inspects. Satisfied, he grunts, “Fuck, you’re bad. You’re a bad girl, aren’t you?” He reaches down to your soaked panties clinging to you. “Take these off.”

He slides out of his trousers, revealing briefs that barely conceal his obvious bulge. As you slip out of your underwear, he removes his, displaying his impressive cock. “You going to ride this cock now?”

Without a word, you nod. You’re already anticipating how fucking amazing he’s going to feel inside you. Your brain is jumbled with naughty thoughts of him taking you in all positions in every room of his apartment.

There’s a hungry gleam in his eyes as he watches you mount him. You hoist your dress up, stripping it from your body. He unclasps your bra, baring your breasts to him while he still wears his dress shirt and tie. For some reason, you want him to keep it on. Get it nice and dirty with slick and sweat.

You reach behind you to position him at your entrance. Once aligned, you slowly sink onto his cock, allowing yourself a few seconds to adjust to his size. Given his stature, it’s not surprising how big he is, both in length and girth. When you bottom out, he lets out a raspy fuck, holding your ass to squeeze your plush cheeks. “I’m ready whenever you are, princess. Like I said, take what you need from me. Milk me dry. I know you want to.”

Spurred by his provocative encouragement, you ride him, rocking your hips back and forth onto his lap, gripping his cock tight with your wet cunt. Forehead pressed to his, lids closed, jaw hanging open, experiencing the best fuck of your life. With a brief glance, you catch him watching you, a similar dazed expression on his face. You bounce on him faster, his dick pounding into you over and over again, determined to feel every inch you possibly can.

“Fuck, Kishibe, feels so fucking good,” you moan, directing his fingers down to your clit. “I want to come all over this cock. Make me come, Master.”

Bingo. His eyes widen as soon as it slips from your mouth. It’s the magic word. The trigger.

Without hesitation, he brushes his thumb ruthlessly onto your swollen bud. “Say it again,” he demands, pressing it hard as he massages it, eyes wild with lust.

“Fuck, make me come, Master. Make me come.” You’re riding him so fucking good, couch creaking, clutching his shoulders tight, his carnal stare locked on your every movement.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he growls.

“I’m close, I’m close!”

Suddenly, he pulls out, cock covered in your arousal, wet and stiff against his abdomen. Strings of slick cling to the hem of his dress shirt. You’re about ready to yell at him for teasing you. Before you can, he stands up, grabbing your wrist to lead you into the bedroom. His breathing is heavy as he points to the bed, hastily removing his clothes. “On your knees, ass up. I’m going to fuck you so good. Make you squirt all over my fucking sheets.”

The anger immediately subsides and you’re back to being eager again, knowing damn well that he means every fucking word he says. You do as he commands, wiggling your ass to entice him. He chuckles behind you. “I’m sorry for denying you earlier. I just really want to see this ass bounce on my cock like this.” He teases you with his tip, tapping your clit, sliding it along your pussy lips.

“You’re not forgiven,” you pout, growing impatient.

Placing a soft kiss on your lower back, he laughs again. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about this stranger you met mere hours ago, it’s that he is a man of his word.

He guides his cock into you slowly, stretching you little by little until you’re squeezing him, his entire length inside you. “Look at you, sucking me in again like you were made for me.” He starts thrusting, holding you steady to penetrate you deeper.

“So fucking good!” you cry out, fists bunched on his silky sheets, drool leaking from the corner of your mouth.

“I know, princess. It’s amazing for me too.” His heavy balls slap your damp skin with every brutal thrust of his hips, fucking you hard, dipping into your sweet spot until you’re woozy with pleasure. “You take it so good. So fucking sexy.” He tightens his grip on you, increasing his pace. “So fucking beautiful.”

You throw your ass back, arching your spine to get the perfect angle. With your cheeks bouncing obscenely against his thighs, you beg, “Spank me, Master. Spank me like a bad girl.”

Not wasting a second, his rough palm connects with your ass, the loud smack ringing in your ears. He spanks you again and again, your pussy clenching him tighter while you continue to thrust back onto his cock. You’re about ready to burst, desperate to reach your second orgasm after being denied earlier. You play with your puffy clit, electricity rippling through your body upon contact. Whimpering, you rub your bud faster as he pounds into you, cursing under his breath.

“Fuck,” he moans, staring at your ass jiggle after each fresh slap he delivers. “Come on my cock, princess. That’s it. Get it creamy. Just like that, fuck.”

Waves of pleasure sweep over you, the intensity of it causing you to tremble before him. In the midst of your climax, you plead for him to finish inside you, greedy for his cum. It doesn’t take long for him to fill you up, staying nestled deep in you as he releases his warm load, letting out a husky fuck.

He pulls out, his warm release leaking from your pussy, dripping onto his sheets. He ogles at the pornographic sight in front of him, pleased with himself.

“Like what you see?” you tease, lowering your torso and relaxing on the bed.

“You are a naughty, naughty girl,” he says, collapsing beside you. “Can’t believe I let you seduce me.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault? You were the one who offered to give me something good for my birthday.”

He raises a brow at you. “Did I succeed?”

You gaze at him, properly examining his appearance. Scruffy facial hair, eyes that are perpetually tired, the striking scar aligned with his frown. You find yourself wondering what his story is; someone this fetching must have a story.

“Considering the mess we made, I would say you exceeded my expectations.” You lay your palm on his firm chest, his now steady heartbeat lightly thumping against your fingertips.

“I’m glad to hear I wasn’t a disappointment.” He doesn’t take his gaze off you. Normally, you’d be intimidated by such intense eye contact. With him, it’s different. You feel safe. He places his hand on top of yours, rugged thumb gently caressing the skin of your knuckles. The two of you stay like this, enjoying each other’s presence in an easy silence.

“We can’t do this again,” he mutters, finally looking away from you. He turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, your hand still snug under his.

“Why not?” The shift in energy surprises you. This is not the typical pillow talk you’re accustomed too.

“I’ll keep wanting to see you if we keep this up,” he admits. Although it’s a sweet sentiment, he’s deciding to end it here and now, not even waiting until the morning like in a typical one-night-stand.

Matching his candid demeanor, you ask, “What’s wrong with wanting to see me again?” A strange feeling of unease swells in your chest, anxious for whatever truth he’s about to reveal.

He takes a breath before explaining, “I’m a Devil Hunter. The best in the world. My job is very dangerous. A young woman like yourself shouldn’t get attached to me. My life is expendable.” He avoids you while he speaks, eyes laser focused on the ceiling, barely blinking. It’s as if he doesn’t want to say it; rather, it’s part of a script, forced to recite the lines like it’s standard procedure. How often has he had to deliver this sober spiel to his ex-lovers? You start to pity him, speculating how detached he must remain to the outside world strictly because of his risky profession.

You continue to stare at him, letting the information sink it. The air is thick with a serious tension. It’s a sudden switch from the wild romp you just experienced. Choosing not to pester him further, you decide to lighten the mood. You scoot towards him, mouth skimming his ear, muttering, “Well, l didn’t really like you anyways.” The cold metal of his piercings contrast the soft warmth of your lips.

He turns to you again, the tension in his brows easing slowly as he gives you a small smirk. “Oh yeah?”

You nuzzle your nose against his. “Yeah.”

“Good. It’s better this way,” he says, planting a kiss on the forehead.

Sighing, you ask, “Can I at least spend the night?”

“Of course. I’ll even cook you breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean a cup of coffee with a splash of whiskey and a couple cigarettes,” you joke.

He chuckles. “I’ll throw in some eggs for protein, does that work?”

“Sure. I’ll take whatever I can get, since this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other.”

There’s a small smile on his lips as he gazes at you. A minute passes and he reaches for you, grazing your cheek delicately. You feel comfortable in bed with him. Protected. You snuggle into his chest, his arms wrapping you into a bear hug. Cozy in his embrace, you listen to his rhythmic breathing, lulling you to sleep.

~~~

In the morning, you wake up alone, tucked under the covers, clothed only in a dress shirt, barely buttoned. The bedroom door is wide open, the sound of a pan scraping on iron ringing in your ears and the inviting smell of food cooking wafting from the kitchen.

You spot a pack of baby wipes on the drawer next to you, noticing that your body is fresh and clean, opposite the sticky mess you fell asleep to. Next to it is a brand-new toothbrush and toothpaste. With these items in hand, you tip-toe into the bathroom, appreciating his thoughtfulness.

When you’re done, you study his bedroom for the first time, and probably last. There are no pictures hung anywhere, no personal touch to anything. Only small traces of a man whose entire existence is his job. Several ties scattered on his dresser next to a metal flask. A mini calendar on his nightstand with random scribblings of future work commitments. Hamper in the corner of the room, filled to the brim with white dress shirts, black slacks, and a couple of mismatched argyle socks. You’re slightly tempted to investigate some drawers to see the type of weapons a Devil Hunter of his caliber carries, but you don’t.

You lean against the doorframe, watching him in the kitchen. He’s in a plain white t-shirt with navy-blue pajama pants. As promised, he is cooking a batch of scrambled eggs over the stove, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, spatula in the other. Looking domestic and sexy as hell. His words replay in your mind. You shouldn’t get attached to someone like me. You almost regret sleeping with him, knowing you’ll miss him after you leave.

Quietly, you stroll towards him until he notices you. When he does, he takes a sip of coffee and mutters, “Morning, princess.”

Positioned behind him, you wrap your arms around his waist, raising your heels to place a gentle kiss on the back of his neck. It’s only now that you realize how much taller he is than you. “Good morning, handsome. This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I told you I’d cook you breakfast, didn’t I?” He cranes his neck to face you, smirking.

“You did. I’m pleased to see you keep your promise,” you tell him, resting your cheek on his back. “You’re truly a man of your word. I think that deserves a reward.” You slide your thumbs under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, teasing him.

“If you tempt me, you won’t be able to taste this delicious meal I prepared for you,” he comments, setting his coffee mug down the counter and turning off the burner. His hand covers yours, maneuvering it over the growing bulge in his pants.

“Maybe I’m craving something else for breakfast.” You start palming his erection, suddenly hungry for him rather than the food.

He turns to face you, looking at you up and down in his dress shirt, your legs clenched together to hide your arousal. Still smirking, he says, “You’re making this much harder than it needs to be.” He slowly pushes you against the counter, running his fingers up your inner thigh, spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt.

You moan, anticipating another round of intense fucking, this time in his kitchen. It makes you want to christen every part of his apartment.

“How are you this fucking wet for me already?” He whispers, rubbing his thumb on your throbbing clit. “You’re so sexy, it’s driving me insane.”

“Kishibe,” you breath out, struggling to steady yourself. “Fuck.”

“I got you. Get on the counter for me, princess. Spread those legs so I can lick that pussy clean.”

With his hands on your waist guiding you, you hop up, opening wide for him. Knees bent and body folded forward, he starts licking your clit, palming his erection through his pants. You come within minutes, gushing over his tongue as it glides along your slit, nose digging firmly onto your swollen bud.

“Fuck me, Kishibe. Want that big cock inside me. Want you to fill me up again with your cum.” You hop back down, turning around and lifting the hem of the dress shirt past your ass, ready to get railed right there on the countertop.

“Not like this,” he murmurs, kissing you on the cheek. “Wait for me in my room. We’re going to have breakfast in bed together.”

Minutes later, a tray with a plate full of eggs, toast, and bacon set on top is temporarily forgotten as the two of you fuck on the other side of the bed. Him sitting up, back pressed to the headboard, you riding him until he spills inside you, causing you to orgasm again all over him.

You slump forward, resting your head on his shoulder, tired and satiated from another amazing fuck. Attempting to slide off him, he kisses you on the lips, his grip firm on your waist, unyielding. “Keep my cock inside you. Can you do that for me?”

In your blissful state, all you can do is nod, getting comfortable on his lap. He reaches for a slice of bacon on the tray, letting you take the first bites before he finishes it, doing the same for a piece of buttered toast. He feeds you forkfuls of scrambled eggs, using the same utensil for himself. It’s pleasantly intimate for two people who just met. Playing the role of a long-term couple, indulging in simple delights together, like breakfast in bed.

Plate cleared, both your bellies full of nourishment, you stay in this position, kissing each other leisurely, no rush to separate. He whispers your name, fondling your breasts through the fabric of his dress shirt that you’ve made yours. He repeats it a few more times, relishing how it feels on his lips before he never has to utter it again.

It’s bittersweet, knowing it’s ending as soon as it begun. You have no reason to be so smitten with him. You’re two people who hardly know each other. Still, you find yourself not wanting to say goodbye yet. Something’s there. A tiny spark flickering in the distance. Maybe you’re one of many women he’s done this with before. Maybe you’re nothing special. But in this fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it’s real.

The two of you reluctantly part after an especially long, passionate kiss. You dismount him, grabbing the wipes to clean up the mess that was made earlier. He gives you a smooch on the forehead before getting out of bed to exit the room, returning in less than a minute to hand you your outfit from last night. You briefly recall carelessly discarding it all over his living room floor right before you pounced on him. Is it too soon to consider that a fond memory? It hasn’t even been 24 hours and you’re reminiscing about him already.

He leaves you alone in the bedroom to change. Before you undress, you bring the sleeves of the shirt to your nose and inhale deeply, memorizing his scent. You almost want to keep this shirt as proof that this happened. That Kishibe is real.

Back in your black dress, you sit at the edge of the bed, waiting for his return. When he walks in, he points at the sash and tiara next to you on the bed. “You’re not going to wear that?”

Shrugging, you respond, “It’s no longer my birthday, so it feels silly wearing it. Just toss it.”

You check your phone, estimating the time of arrival for the ride you requested. Any minute now, they’ll be here, ending your short-lived tryst. He offers to drop you off, but you refuse, not bothering to explain that doing that will result in you dragging him into your own apartment and keeping him a willing hostage for another few hours. It’ll only make it more difficult to not get attached. He doesn’t question it, probably understanding this himself.

The ping from the app chimes through your phone. You stand up, smiling at him, swinging your purse over your shoulder. “That’s my ride.”

He walks you to the door, waiting for you to strap on your heels. Once they’re on, you smile. “I guess this is it. Thank you for a fun night.”

“Thank you too. This was fun.” It could be wishful thinking, but you hear a waver in his voice. Is he a little bit sad too?

You face the door, ready to turn the knob, when you feel his grip on your wrist. He spins you towards him, kissing you feverishly, his hand caressing your cheek, the other behind your neck. Yearning for one more moment of intimacy with you. He breaks away, resting his forehead against yours, eyes shut as he says goodbye with one last whisper of your name. You avoid his gaze as you exit, walking out of his life.

It’s better this way.

#kishibe #kishibe csm #chainsaw man #kishibe smut #kishibe x reader #kishibe x you #kishibe x y/n #chainsaw man smut #csm smut #csm kishibe #kishibe brainrot #chainsaw man kishibe #dirty thirty

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marthawrites · 9 days

Text

The Post-Flying Gift

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x fem reader

Can be read as a one shot but reads best to pt 3 to "Whore, Pet, Lover"

Word count: 2.2k+

About: A rare fully sunny day beckons Daemon and Rhaenyra to fly their dragons above Dragonstone for hours. You are more than happy to watch them in flight. When they return, their dragonblood runs hot.

Includes: Continued slice of life plot, canon incest (this is canon Daemon and Rhaenyra), f/f, pet play undertones, dumbification understones, pussy eating, vaginal fingering, Daemon is stealthy, m/f, implied dick sucking, implied facefucking, aftercare

Note: Hello lovely reader! Apparently it's been nearly a year since I wrote "the gift that keeps giving". WILD. I definitely wanted to revisit this little mini series because my Daemyra brainrot is always real. As always, reader is non-descript. Please, enjoy! ♥

A warm sun glinted off Caraxes’ crimson body as he flew above the ocean of Blackwater Bay with Daemon at his reins. So red, and so swift was he against the blue sky, that he appeared to rend the sky with each passing by. Chasing and playing with the Blood-Wyrm was Rhaenyra upon the yellow-scaled Syrax who shone like burnished gold in the sunshine. They’d been flying at least two hours now–perhaps longer.

You had a perfect view of the Black Queen and her Prince Consort from where you stood upon their private balcony overlooking all of Dragonmount. Castle Dragonstone was as much your home now as your previous home had been. You were a birthday gift for the Queen. Deemed “the prettiest whore in all of Westeros” by Daemon Targareyn. A whore you were, then, and now, their little pet. They’ve never treated you badly. You’d never given them a reason to. Oftentimes in the sweet afterglow of your shared pleasures you daresay you are their lover: more than a whore and more than a pet.

Turning inside, you tidied their martial chambers and made sure to have clothes laid out for them for when they return from dragon riding. They both had special garb to fly in. Dragon smell was a very distinct thing, and in your experience even the most skilled servants had a hard time fully ridding the stink. A platter of herb roasted fish, tart berries, and salted root vegetables also sat awaiting their return.

With a goblet of wine in hand, you returned to the balcony to watch them in flight. Scanning all over where your eyes could see–and double checking–you didn��t see, or hear, them anywhere. They might finally be done, you thought, and a smile twinkled up to your eyes.

A windswept Rhaenyra was the first to return. Silver strands of hair fell from her once neat braid giving her a wonderfully disheveled appearance. “Your Grace!” You said excitedly.

Rhaenyra grinned, beginning to take her leather riding gloves off. Her eyes were bright and wild. “Hello sweet love.” Flight had a way of elating her like none else could. Her riding garb was a mixture of wool and leather, both ash in color, and embellished with black dragonscales. Silver accents paled only in comparison to red gems highlighting the whole set up: coat, tunic, gloves, pants, boots. Aside from her rich Targaryen gowns, this was her favorite attire. “Did you enjoy watching my husband and I fly together?”

“Always! I could watch you both all day from the balcony.”

Matching Rhaenyra’s eyes, a wild smile took over the rest of her features; something dark and mischievous alike. A challenge and a dare. Proud and amused. “Out of all the gifts my husband has ever gotten me… you are my favorite. By far. My darling little pet,” she cooed as she opened the front of her coat and began unbuckling her belt. She sat in a chair and bent to work the lacings of her boots loose. Kicking them off, she sighed contentedly. “Mayhaps one day I will take you asaddle with me on Syrax. Would you like that?”

If watching your Queen begin to undress didn’t get your blood pumping, then her suggestion of flight surely did. “You mean it?” You asked, half dumbfounded by her proposal. “I would love nothing more!”

Her legs were bare, now, and she tossed her coat over to a nearby chair. The only thing she wore was her linen undershirt and smallclothes. She leaned back comfortably against the chair, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle, and she beckoned you over with one hand. “Come,” she said with a tilt of her head.

The sly little smirk upon her mouth had your belly doing flips as you walked to her. She was so lovely, and radiant, and tension sparked in the air between you two as you stepped between her legs. “Shall I redo your braid?” You asked softly, doing your best to keep your eagerness at a reasonable level. You really didn’t want to seem completely pathetic. Though, Rhaenerya knew how pathetic you could get for both her and Daemon; the glint of her expression told you she noted your anxious yearning.

Leaning up and forward, she gently cupped your face between her warm palms. With fluttering lids she pressed her lips to yours. Soft. Devious. “Not yet,” she whispered between sensuous kisses. “I don’t think that’s what you’re really interested in right now, is it?”

Between Rhaenyra and Daemon, you didn’t know which one enjoyed making you blush more. She could see right through you. And, assumedly due to the thrill of flying, she wasn’t shy of putting you right on the spot. You shook your head and sighed blissfully against all of her kisses. You could kiss her until your lips were chapped and still kiss her more. “Not really…”

Her laugh was warm honey dripping down your spine. “I didn’t think so. Good girl for being honest about it.” Once again she leaned back against the chair as she looked at you with pride. But, the darkness of lust shadowed her features. “Flying is truly magnificent. It makes me feel… powerful. Invincible. And free.” As she spoke, one hand curled into your hair and began to gently urge you down. “It makes me feel good,” she added, raspy. “Be my good pet and keep making me feel good.”

Any thoughts you might have had going on in your brain were quickly shut down upon Rhaenyra’s request. You kept your eyes on her and shuddered with delight. You followed her downward push until you happily knelt right there in front of her–right between her parted legs. You pressed both hands up her thighs while planting kisses all along the smooth insides. “I love making you feel good,” you said to her, and she answered with a curl of her fingers inside your hair. You smiled; thoughts already dissipating from your brain.

“Such a pretty, sweet thing looking up at me like that,” Rhaenyra cooed approvingly. She shifted her hips slightly, just enough to make your ministrations easier.

The Black Queen smelled like a dragon. On anyone else you’d hate the sharpness of it. The stink. But on her? Somehow, it was perfect. Between the salty sea air on her skin, unclouded sun rays in her hair, and saddle leather where you knelt, she was the Dragon Queen. Tension rolled through your body until it left the buzz of excitement behind in each place it lingered. You were humming from the inside out. Purring. Rhaenyra’s pretty pet. Leaning down, you sat on all fours in front of her, now. You kissed her covered cunt where you knew her clit was.

The softest of a sigh left Rhaenyra’s mouth. “Tease me any longer and I’ll forbid you from watching us for the next fortnight,” she threatened.

“Yes, your Grace,” you simpered. Curling your fingers beneath the waist of her smallclothes, you pulled them fully down and off. Now there was nothing stopping you from what you both wanted. You repeated those same kisses over her pearl; each longer, softer, your lips parting more and more with each until you tasted her on your tongue.

“There you are,” she rasped. Looking down at you she smirked triumphantly. She ran her fingers through your hair and said, “keep going. Keep making me feel good.”

A whine broke from you and your tongue slid up through the fullness of Rhaenyra’s slit. When you saw how her head tipped back in bliss, your own head went brainless–focused now only on her pleasure. You lapped, and circled, and gently sucked, over and over again, your whole attention solely on her and her pleasure. Each of her whines, moans, and inhales of breath sent goosebumps pebbling atop your skin.

Make her feel good. Make her feel good. Make her feel good.

You loved the way she tasted. You loved the way she reacted to you. You loved the way she idly stroked through your hair, or pulled it, or held onto your ears. She was never shy in her passions, and neither were you.

You lavished her clit until your jaw ached, but you never let it stop you. Rhaenyra’s sounds of pleasure were coming quicker now, sharper, and you knew she was getting close. It was then you delicately slipped a finger into her and began to work her from the inside, too.

“More,” she half stammered.

You added a second and moaned against her. It was only then that you realized how wet you were. How utterly soaked and needy your own cunt was. It clenched around nothing, your bud practically throbbing, your thighs pressing together to give you some minor relief from the pent up tension knotting in your belly. Yet never once did your own hand wander to that incredibly yearning space between your thighs. Your eyes were rolled closed. Only Rhaenyra’s building climax mattered.

More. More. More.

She shuddered when she came undone around your fingers and upon your mouth. Her orgasm was sweet against your tongue; you dripped with self-satisfaction. It continued to roll through her in waves until the aftershocks had her panting softly. But, even still, you gently licked over all of her. Not enough to overstimulate her, but enough to keep her peak going as long as it could. You moaned softly all throughout; purring.

So lost in bliss, and so focused on your Queen, you hadn’t noticed anything else. You didn’t hear the door open or close. Never did you hear the soft scruff of leather on stone. Nor did you take note of a presence behind you. It was only when you felt fingers pressing into you that you paused to think. Those weren’t your fingers. No. They were too big and felt entirely different than your own. You gasped; desperate. Looking over your shoulder you nearly crumbled.

“Valzȳrys” husband, Rhaenyra whispered with half-lidded eyes.

“Ābrazȳrys” wife, he answered. “You two are having all the fun. Have you any idea how fucking wet your little pet is right now?” As if to make a point, Daemon worked his fingers just right to make you squelch. It was borderline obscene.

Your face was hot and for a moment you thought you’d come right then and there. Your spine dipped lower, presenting yourself to him as he knelt behind you.

“Oh… and how pretty she moans.” Daemon crooned, easily sliding two fingers in and out of you at the most devastatingly wonderful pace. “Did she make you feel good?” He asked Rhaenyra, continuing to finger fuck you from behind.

Rhaenyra grinned wide and smiled breathlessly. “Very.”

“That's our girl.”

You shamelessly pushed back against his hand. You were so slick he could have easily slipped a third in. Despite how well you did, however, you didn’t want to seem greedy, and so you took all that you could from those two fingers.

“Shall I let her come, or do you wish to see her tears first, my Queen?”

Dread dropped in your stomach because you knew exactly what he meant by that. Rhaenyra fucking loved to watch Daemon edge you until you were crying and begging for release. It was one of the darker games they liked to play with you. If at any time you wanted the game to stop–everyone knew–all you had to do was ask. Yet, never once had you brought the edging to an early end. As much as you hated it, you also fucking loved it. And so did Daemon.

Rhaenyra shook her head, still basking in the afterglow of climax. “She did extremely well today. Let her come as she pleases.”

That’s all Daemon needed to hear. He indeed pressed a third into you and gave you exactly what he knew you liked. The tension in your belly sunk deeper, and wound tighter, and had you blabbering near gibberish until it snapped. Liquid warmth filled all of your limbs. Storm static clung to each of your nerves. Your pulse pounded in your fingertips. The force of your peak had you collapse forward until your cheek lay flat on the rug-covered stone floor. You panted, dizzy.

Daemon gave your backside an approving smack. “A very good girl.”

You smiled softly at both of them relishing in the adoration they had for you, and you had for them. Leaning back up, you gently laid in Rhaenyra’s lap and allowed your eyes to close for a few moments. It wasn’t until Daemon called you that you woke. How long had you dozed off?

“Hm?” You asked.

“Crawl to me,” he said from where he sat in a chair, nude from the waist down with his doublet open. He was already hard.

You didn’t have to be asked twice.

You crawled to him and knelt between his thighs, looking up at him sweetly, obediently.

“Now it’s your Queen’s turn to watch. You know how much she likes watching. I don’t have to edge you to make tears fall from those pretty lashes, hm?”

Shaking your head with a tiny smirk, you knew exactly what he meant. With the sweetness of Rhaenyra’s climax still on your tongue, you took the Rogue Prince deep into your throat. You let him fuck your mouth how he wanted to until tears and saliva smeared your face, and and his seed overwhelmed the taste of your Queen.

It was in the sweet afterglow of these pleasures, where you all laughed, drank wine, and shared meals, that you truly felt like their lover.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

I am redoing my taglist! If you wish to be tagged in any of the fics I write and share (main, aemond, daemon, rhaenyra, harwin, daemyra) PLEASE let me know! Thank you! ♥

Masterlist

#house of the dragon #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #daemon x rhaenyra x reader #daemyra #daemon smut #rhaenyra smut #daemyra smut #daemon fic #rhaenyra fic

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