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yandere-writer-momo · 28 days

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Yandere Head Canons:

Sacrificial Bride

Yandere Dragon Shifter x Princess Reader

TW: Yandere behavior, manipulation, Somniaphilia (suggested), delusional yandede, complacency, etc.

Feroc the Ferocious was the kind of dragon who would bring any silly knight to their knees. The kind of dragon that inspired legends and stories to be written in books. The kind of dragon that was larger than any castle human like could ever dream to build. The kind of dragon that could decimate a kingdom with a single breath of his fiery flames if he was angered… the dragon that your own people sacrificed you, the princess, to in order to save themselves from his wrath.

And so they bound you up and threw you before him. Your own father on his knees as he begged the great dragon for mercy in exchange for his own flesh and blood… the kingdom’s most prized beauty in exchange for peace. An offer Feroc quickly accepted before the king could utter another word!

Dragons collected beautiful treasures! Dragons hoarded their treasure in caves and abandoned castles fad from prying eyes… and unbeknownst to you, Feroc found you to be rhetorical most beautiful

For dragons, a sacrificial spouse was an ancient tradition and this was the first time he’d been offered such a perfect bride! How could he refuse you? Especially when your own people begged him so prettily? Would you beg for him just as beautifully one day?

And so you were scooped up in his ginormous talons and carried away in the sky to a lone tower deep in the mountains. Your new home… your home with Feroc.

You could recall how scared of him you used to be. You’d heard from many people of how this giant scaled beast before you was a man eater. Of how he swallowed many knights in his time… yet this dragon seemed so shy from your experience so far. Skittish even.

Feroc often brought you various jewelry and fine silks from his daily raids. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t bring you a gift of some kind. His molten eagerly studied your form despite his persistent silence. Feroc’s company disturbed you as much as it comforted you.

It took a month for him to speak to you. His accent was heavy from the olden tongue he spoke but he knew the same language you spoke. His voice was booming and low, it could easily strike terror in others… but for some reason, his voice calmed you. Perhaps loneliness has finally crept its fangs into your heart? You weren’t sure…

Feroc would bring you anything you wanted to eat. Within means, of course. He’d bring you delicacies he’d likely looted off some poor caravan if you said you wanted sweets. There was no extremes he wouldn’t go to for you, which was odd since he was a dragon who’s been around for hundred of years… why did Feroc have such an interest in a human princess?

One day, you had a nightmare of a man standing in the corner of your room. Your scream in the night quickly alerted your guardian who peaked his large eye in your room in worry.

“Princess? What’s wrong?”

“I just had a nightmare… I thought there was a man in my room.” You wiped the sweat from your forehead while Feroc clicked his tongue.

“No man could ever scale his tower. I’m the only one who can enter. I’d never let anyone harm you.” The red and black dragon grumbled, his molten eyes glanced you once over. “Why? Do you… want a human companion?”

“I do get lonely sometimes.” You admitted to Feroc . His eyes now filled with hurt. “I do enjoy your company but… I miss being able to touch another human.”

Feroc didn’t understand your sentiment. He was a might dragon! The strongest of his kind! Feroc has proven himself to be the best of mates to you and yet you were still displeased? Was it because he was a dragon? Would you be happier if he showed you his other form?

“I’ll figure something out then… get some sleep.”

Feroc now snuck in your bedroom when you slept. He ghosted his clawed fingers over your oblivious form in wonder. His clawed fingers were too sharp, he’d have to dull them more… he didn’t want to cut up his pretty princess!

Feroc’s gentle touches progressed when he noticed how heavy of a sleeper you were. His desire to see what made you human drove him to insatiable heights. No area was left unexplored with his eyes. He needed to be perfect. Feroc had to be compatible with you. You and him were going to have young one day, after all! Feroc didn’t want to harm you in the process!

Feroc was able to mold his body into a perfect man. Once that was the perfect size for you, yet still immense so you’d know it was him. Feroc now stood at a massive seven feet tall rather than the hundred feet of his dragon form.

Yet there was a constant fear within him that you’d die of old age or of natural causes… Feroc knew humans were fragile creatures so he did what he had to. Feroc shared half of his heart with you while you slept. It was a simple spell and a painless procedure for you. One that would benefit the both do you in the long run!

If one of you died, the other would! You’d never age! You now shared a lifespan with him. Feroc couldn’t wait to tell you once the two of you made everything official!

It took another month for him to reveal this perfect form to you. Feroc had to let the excitement die down from sharing his heart with you so you didn’t freak out! Humans were such finicky creatures, after all! And he’d be an awful mate if he frightened you with a subject you had no knowledge on…

All you needed was to see this devilishly beautiful form of his and you’d be bewitched.

“Look at us… we’re so beautiful together.” Feroc whispered into the skin of your shoulder as he admired your reflection beside him. “I think I’ll find you more gold to decorate you with, my treasure.”

“Feroc, I don’t understand.” You jump when Feroc dragged his forked tongue across your exposed shoulder.

“You accepted all of my gifts and you’re the only one who suits me.” Feroc hissed his obsidian eyes flashed a bright gold. “Wouldn’t you rather be by my side than in my stomach?”

You gulped and obediently rested your head on his chest which made him purr in contentment. His muscular arms wrapped around yours as his wavy black hair tickled your skin.

“I’m joking, I’d never eat you.” Feroc smiled before he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “You’re my bride, after all.”

You didn’t need to know about how many knights he’s killed over the last few months for you. Feroc would take care of you until the day the both of you died. Every heinous act he’s ever committed over these last few months we’re all for his beautiful, blushing bride.

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yandere-daydreams · 7 months

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tw - kidnapping, manipulation, mentions of physical abuse, and prolonged imprisonment.

You learn quickly that Nanami is significantly more bearable with he's playing house.

It should've been more obvious, in retrospect. If you hadn't been so terrified, so desperate not to fall into your captor's domestic delusions, you might've been more able to catch on more quickly, to realize how much softer he was when you treated him like a loving husband, rather than an obsessive stalker who had the nerve to roll his eyes when you asked if he had anything for you to wear that didn't involve bows and frills. You were slow on the uptake, but then again, he wasn't the kind of man who wore his heart on his sleeve.

His reactions weren't exactly more pronounced when your aggression started to fade, when you realized that he could barely take care of himself, let alone another person. You were skittish, eager to get in and out of the kitchen before he came home, and he was stoic, offering little more than a nod of his head and a muttered 'thank you' when he came home to find a bare-bones meal on the table or his constantly neglected apartment just a little cleaner. It took weeks for him to come to you directly; his suit jacket in one hand and spare button in the other. It should've only taken a minute to mend, but your hands shook so badly that it'd ended up taking ten. He watched over your shoulder all the while - smiling so softly, you'd been able to convince yourself that it was just your imagination.

You pretended that you didn't mind being with him, that the idea of being his stay-at-home hostage didn't make your skin crawl, and in exchange, he let you watch an hour of T.V. once a week, told you how your family and friends were dealing with your sudden disappearance. It wasn't a fair trade, but it was a trade - his domestic bliss for a handful of basic privileges, his happiness for the illusion of your freedom. When you can build up the courage, when you've recovered (or, recovered as much as you can, anyway) from the last time he bent you over his knee, you press for more. And sometimes, it works.

"I missed you," he mumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His strong arms are wrapped around your waist, his posture hunched to accommodate the disparity between your heights, and you can feel warm breath on your skin, his deep voice reverberating against your throat.

"Welcome home," you say, because he doesn't like it when you lie and 'I missed you too' might've been the most dishonest thing you could've said. "You should sit down. I just started on dinner, and--"

You pause, cursing under your breath. Nanami is tired enough or kind enough to take the bait. "Make me a list." He pulls you that much closer before straightening his back and kissing your cheek. "I'll run to the store. It's the least I could do, for the only person who manages to keep my head on my shoulders."

You let a second of silence lapse between you, then another. "You know," you manage, eventually, just as Nanami starts to detangle himself from you. "Most couples spend as much time together as they can."

You can practically hear his smile. "You want to go shopping with me?"

"...am I allowed to?"

"Of course." He says it like he hadn't kidnapped you. Like he hadn't kept you locked in his sterile apartment for the better part of a year. Like he hadn't taken you by the neck and promised he'd be the only man to ever touch you again every time you questioned his intentions.

There's another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. Just when you think your heart might beat out of your chest, he adds, "As soon as hell freezes over and curses go extinct, I'll take you wherever you want."

You might've cried, if you didn't know how much he loved wiping away your tears.

Sometimes, it works.

Most of the time, though, he chooses to remind you whose game you're playing.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #yandere nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #yandere nanami #yanderecore #yancore

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jyoongim · 3 months

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I have a brainrot to share and maybe it's a request idk but I feel like I have to preface this by saying I swear I have normal non-horny alastor thoughts he's just really taking up so much space in the brain rn.

Anywaaay, can you imagine Alastor with an extremely cautious darling? He wants her soul to keep her tied to him forever but no matter how good his offer is, reader turns him down and Alastor is just like sick of the rejections and the scheming so he's just gonna stoop to some other ungentlemanly methods.

And the night starts off as their normal fuckery in the sheets but Alastor starts denying them their climax and as reader gets more and more desperate Alastor proposes the deal again. Sell him your soul or he's just gonna pull out and go to sleep and he'll never let you finish ever again. and just

i swear i swear im normal i swear im not always like this 😭😭😭

Themes: rough sex, orgasm denial, alastor being a little shit, dealmaking, hair pulling, pet names, plot if you look hard enough, soul possessing

Title: Deal of a Lifetime

Alastor had always made it known that you were his.

It took you a while to figure it out from the subtle lingering touches to the way he acted. No matter how much time you had spent with the Radio Demon, you were still wary of him.

its not like you could help it through.

Does were naturally skittish anyway.

And when it came the smiling demon, you had every right to be cautious.

Tonight Alastor made plans for the two of you to go out on a date for dinner.

You finished preening your hair and rushed to the lobby to meet Alastor.

”O-okay I’m ready. Sorry if i took so long” you said nervously as you approached the tall red demon, a blush bleeding into your cheeks as Alastor let out a low whistle as he took your hand and spun you around.

”my my Darling, what a pretty Doe I have” he purred, kissing your hands.

Your nerves were going haywire, fighting your instinct to back away you smiled “so what do you have planned tonight?”

what do you have planned tonight? Alastor grin widened at the thought as he watched you happily look at the menu.

How pretty you were in your black dress. Gloved hands excitedly tapping the menu. A bright look in your eye as you honed in on what might be your dinner.

You even wore the necklace he had gifted you.

Alastor was content with the looks you got as you strolled around with him.

you were his and everyone knew.

But you weren’t his officially.

At least in his way.

For years, Alastor had offered you a deal; Be his. In body, mind, and soul.

He wanted you by his side forever and a deal would solidify that.

But each and every time, you rejected the notion.

”I dont need to make a deal to be yours Alastor” was always your answer.

And quite frankly, he was getting sick of it.

But he was nothing if not resourceful. After all, how else do you capture a Doe?

Make them drop their guard.

The two of you chatted and ate to your hearts content.

When the waiter suggested dessert, Alastor simply declined, stating he had other ideas sending you a wink.

Back at the hotel, Alastor whisked you away to his bedroom.

Once the door was closed, he pounced; lips on yours and claws tearing at your dress.

You were flustered and aroused. Your hands massaged at his undercut as he laid you on your back on the bed.

His lips trailed your neck, sharp teeth nipping at your flesh, causing you to gasp.

”Alastor”

He hummed as he kissed your torso, tweaking and sucking at your nipples.

His claws dipped to your pantie, finding them soaked.

He chuckled “such a needy Doe” he tore off your panties to toy with your puffy clit and circle your slit.

You tugged his hair to bring his lips back to yours and moaned in his mouth as a finger dipped into your cunt.

Satisfied with how you began grinding into his hand, he discarded his pants and his heavy cock slapped against your mound.

You panted breathlessly as he teased his cock along your slit. You hooked a leg around his waist and threw your head back as he sunk into you.

Soft thrusts opened you to allow him deeper into the warm canal.

You arched as he steadily picked up his pace.

Your nightly rendezvous with the demon always made you feel exhilarated.

Alastor was very attentive to you. Always knew what made you tick.

He knew your body better than anything, so when he saw those pretty eyes flutter and how you cried out in pleasure, he knew how to handle you.

Your cunt was clinging to him with each thrust he gave you.

The sound of him sinking into your warm depth was music to his ears.

”On your knees dear” he said, patting your thighs.

Happliy, you turned over and lowered yourself into a deep arch, presenting him with your adorable ass and wet cunt.

Alastor admired you.

how submissive you were.

He growled as he lowered his weight on you and guided his cock by to his haven.

You gasped, feeling a hand wrap your hair into a fist, pulling your face up out the pillows “You sound so lovely doe, i wanna hear those tunes of yours”

His thrusts were hard, jolting your body as he rutted into you.

Subconsciously, you tried to meet his thrusts, whining as he hit that spot that has you seeing hearts.

”A-Al-Alastor i-I’m gonna…” you moaned feeling your cunt be wrecked.

Your insides tingled with the telltale signs of your orgasm.

But your sweet release was ripped from you when Alastor slowed his pace.

You tried to wiggle your hips against him, to seek that explosive pleasure.

Alastor was having none of that.

”Not yet darling”

over and over he teased you right to that delicious edge, just to rip from you.

You were sobbing, ears flat to your skull as your cunt fluttered from your orgasm being denied.

You reached for him, whether for a anchor or a silent plea, you didn’t know.

You whimpered “Alastor please!”

His smile creased his cheeks, feigning a concerned tone “What ever the matter my dear Doe?”

He started thrusting into you, relishing in the soppy squish and how deep he was able to sink into you.

”Please please let me cum. I can’t..I-Ill do anything!”

A harsh thrust made you squeal

”Anything?”

You nodded, a moan ripping from your throat as he teased your throbbing clit.

”Then be mine. Submit your entire self to me my sweet doe. I already your sweet body and heart, but give me your soul. Let me own your very essence. Grant me that darling and ill grant you the sweet relief you so desperately crave”

your insides clenched as he kissed your shoulder, beginning to pound into your soft cunt.

”or i empty myself inside this sweet cunt of your myDoe and you’ll never be granted a taste of my cock every again”

His lips at your ear, “your choice so what do you say Mon Cher?”

his hips grinded his cock into.

”Do we have a deal?”

You cried out, feeling your orgasm teetering “yes! Yes!Yes! YES! Please Alastor! Alastor just let me cum please please”

You felt your ring finger burn as he chuckled deeply

”why of course sweet Doe, cum for me”

A high pitched scream racked the walls as your orgasm clashed into, sending you in a babbling mess.

Alastor rode out your orgasm as he thrusted into you, before emptying himself inside you.

You shook as he wrapped you in his arms, bringing your hand to his lips.

A shiny gold ring adorned your hand.

He pressed a kiss to it and then an affectionate kiss to your forehead.

”Sweet sweet doe, my sweet Doe, all mine”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor smut #jyoongim

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charliemwrites · 2 months

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Hybrid AU with Ragdoll!Reader and Siberian-mix!Konig

Reader is a rescued cat hybrid that Laswell's sister in law has been taking care of for the last 3 months. When she meets this little ragdoll kitty, so bright and friendly and curious, she immediately thinks of the 141. Hybrids have a lot uses in the government. Sometimes combative, sometimes therapeutic. The 141 could use a companion animal, given the close call Soap recently had and the general trauma the whole squad has.

With the kitty's permission and cooperation, they assess her as a possible therapy placement. She tests so well and so high that Laswell (again, with consent) immediately starts paperwork to place her with the 141 before even bringing it up to Price.

He's a bit skeptical at first. Even without being a combat hybrid, their jobs are high stress, very dangerous, and not very stable. But Laswell convinces him to at least meet Ragdoll.

They do introductions at the sister-in-law's house, where the kitty will be most comfortable. Ragdoll takes one sniff of him and starts purring like a little engine. He's visibly surprised, and Laswell can barely hold back her grin as the kitty climbs into his lap. They spend the rest of the afternoon discussing arrangements while his new hybrid naps because obviously he can't say no now.

Price becomes her primary handler. They move her to his barrack and give her a week to settle in, but she's not a skittish thing by any means. Wants to follow him everywhere, curls up in his bed, meows sadly at the door when he leaves her alone. It becomes clear very quickly that the usual introduction manuals are too slow for her.

Kitty meets Kyle next. Again, instant purrs. She presses her cheek into his palms, then wriggles her way closer to brush up against his cheek. Lets out a little "mrrp!" when he stutters out a pleasantly surprised, "hello there." She nibbles at the brim of his hat and grins when he gently redirects her, chirping at this fun new friend.

Two for two, Price and Kyle decide to introduce her to Simon and Johnny. They let her explore the common room first, get comfortable, and then call the other two in. Kitty watches from behind Price as Simon and Johnny enter.

Johnny is a dog hybrid with Simon as his primary handler. Price has faith that his sergeant will behave well with the new kitty, but he's not sure of what her reaction will be. Johnny's obviously, visibly excited, tail wagging, but Simon gets him to sit and wait while she makes the first move.

It takes absolutely no time at all for her to pad out from behind Price and approach. Simon goes first, offering a hand. But she barely even sniffs him before cuddling up to him, pawing curiously at his mask. He lets her, clicking his tongue when she dislodges it a bit, but then he gently nudges her towards Johnny.

His ears are perked forwards, tail still swishing. Kitty's ears are twitching, eyes big and curious. But her tail is up and curved curiously, not even a little fluffed. She gets in real close to his face, sniffs, then bumps her forehead against his chin. Which is when he loses patience and licks a big stripe up her cheek. She mews indignantly, ears going airplane mode, but thankfully doesn't swat at him.

It literally couldn't go better. She's a perfect fit.

Over the next few months she settles in with them happily, an absolute dream of a hybrid. Not very verbal, at least through human speech, but perfectly communicative and incredibly friendly.

She chirps whenever one of the 141 enters a room, has a different tone for each of them. Purrs if one of them so much as looks at her, all slow blinks and little smiles. Chitters when she sees them running outside through the windows.

Even grooming is relatively easy. She lets them brush out her floofy tail without much fuss, only trying to retreat if they catch a tangle. Readily gives up her hands to trim her claws. Even opens her mouth for them to brush off her fangs after raw meals.

She curls up with Simon on bad days, warm and purring, breathing little puffs of air against his collarbone. Lounges with Kyle after hard missions, nuzzling against him while he pets her soft ears. She spends hours upon hours in Price's office, curled up on his lap while he does paperwork or talks over the phone, kneading biscuits into his stomach.

Her friendship with Johnny is maybe the most surprising. They play wrestle just about every night, rolling around on the rough carpets in the common room and nipping at each others ears. She'll pounce on him, little teeth flashing, but almost always get bodied by his larger stature. The others will let them play until one of them - usually Johnny - gets too excited and makes the other yelp. At that point, Price or Simon will usually scoop one of the hybrids up and tsk at them for getting rough.

She's the 141's precious kitty, sweet and friendly and outgoing. The whole base knows her, though she's never far from one of her boys. And they know what it means if Ragdoll doesn't like someone.

It's rare, which is why it raises neon red flags. The first time is a new recruit that reaches to pet her without introducing himself first. She twists around on him, but usually even that would be recoverable. Except when he keeps trying to touch her, she gets a whiff of him and hisses, scrambling away.

The guy doesn't last long.

It happens again a few weeks later with a nurse meant to be giving her checkup. She gets low to the table, tail poofing up, and growls low in her throat. When the nurse rolls her eyes and tells Price to just hold his hybrid still so they can get things over with, he knows instantly that his little ragdoll was right to react that way.

With that in mind, it's no surprise that no one trusts Philip Graves when he visits their base and she takes an instant dislike to him. He introduces himself correctly, but she still hard reverses away from him, nose scrunched up. Ears back, tail fluffing up, she slips behind Price and glares from around his arm.

Problem is, Graves is used to dog hybrids. He's great with them. Kitties... not so much, even with a manual. Ends his week at the base with a couple of proper bite marks and an itchy scratch on his hand.

Given her reaction, Simon and Johnny aren't too shocked when he betrays them in Las Almas.

When a team from KorTac is scheduled for a joint assignment, the 141 is bracing for a similar reaction. Especially because they have their own cat hybrid - some big mixed breed.

Kyle even suggests keeping Ragdoll inside for initial introductions on the tarmac, but they all know that's not actually viable. Their kitty wouldn't talk to them for the rest of the day if they left her out like that.

So Price double checks that her little bell-collar is on and brings her out to meet the KorTac team.

Their cat hybrid is even bigger than expected - no wonder he's a combat placement despite being a domestic breed. He keeps his face hidden behind a big black hood with cutouts for his ears, fluffy tail slightly tangled-looking.

Price hasn't even finished introductions with the KorTac team when she makes a rolling little chur noise, bright and curious. The bigger hybrid zeros in on her instantly, ears flicking. She pads out from behind the captain and slips away before he can catch her. Any calls for her to come back are fully ignored.

She trots right up to the Austrian and mrrps again, pausing mid-step, waiting for a response. The other hybrid doesn't respond - at least he doesn't seem to.

"Sorry, kitten, but he doesn't really do the cat noises," Declan tries to tell her. But he's also ignored, and no sooner has he spoken than she's getting into the other cat's space, continuously making little "brr" noises.

And then to everyone's shock, he's bending down to greet her in return, nuzzling her cheek and forehead through the hood. She starts to purr, pressing up close, tail swishing lazily. A noise erupts from him, deep and rough, rattling in his chest. Johnny jumps and snatches at her shirt, dragging her back to the safety of their team.

She mewls sadly, arms extended to reach for him.

"He's growling, Doll," Johnny corrects, arms curling around her middle. For the first time ever she starts to wriggle. "He's too big for you to mess with."

"I... wasn't growling," the Austrian pipes up. "I apologizes if I caused alarm."

Johnny shoots him an incredulous look.

"Then what was that?" Kyle asks, confused.

"I don't... often purr."

Price takes one look at their still-wiggly kitty and the Austrian leaning towards her, as if wanting to follow, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Shit."

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #reader fic #fanfiction #hybrid au #ragdoll!reader #siberian-mix!Konig #konig #konig cod #konig x reader

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tetsuskei · 2 months

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notes: a repost of my fave fic for my fave freckled faced boy ♡

“stay still.”

you playfully pinch ace’s side before reaching back up to focus on what you are doing.

“ow,” he whines, feigning pain. he tilts his head back, looking up at you with a small pout and puppy eyes, “that hurt.”

you only laugh at his dramatics, grabbing his jaw before tilting his head back to level. “i said stay still. or you’ll end up with a ridiculous bob, dummy.”

the scissors in your hands carefully move through his black locks, snipping away dead ends and restoring health back into his hair.

“you wouldn’t dare.” he warns, glaring at you in the mirror.

a smirk crosses your face, “and maybe i would.”

this is routine for both of you, cutting ace’s hair. you try to keep up with it frequently (he has surprisingly fast growing hair). a lot of times he’d go however, not really caring about it and doing whatever (meaning nothing). but you’re always able to recognize when his locks are getting a little too shaggy.

it never really bothers you to do it. in a way, it’s small intimacy time for the both of you.

it’s a rare sight — ace without his hat on or necklace fresh after a bath as he sits—more so squirms—on a stool. his wavy locks are slightly damp from washing. you get to peak at his broad, tanned shoulders. they’re decorated with all kinds of freckles, like little jewels on his skin.

ace is thankful. never used to having someone care for him in this way. he feels pampered. his brown eyes are always large and filled with admiration when he watches you cut his hair, your face cute in concentration.

he’s never afraid or shy of any physical contact with you, but when you get close up to him, holding his face in your hand to trim his bangs just right, he feels a little skittish in his tummy. he’s already a naturally hot running person, so he feels he must be scalding when this happens.

this game you two play is cunning. you always pretend not to notice his staring, while he is vying for your attention, chasing after your glances when your eyes happen to meet a few times.

if there’s one thing about fire fist, he’s competitive. he won’t stop till he’s won.

“can i kiss you?” he blurts, gaze intense.

a shocked look appears on your face before you laugh, “what’s gotten into you?”

“you just…look so pretty when you’re concentrating…and i can’t help it. not any longer at least.” he admits sheepishly.

you feel heat in your cheeks but recover from his words, “tell you what, if you let me finish what i’m doing, i’ll let you kiss me.” you offer.

“i’m your boyfriend, why do i have to wait?” ace whines and complains, but you only poke his cheeks before smooshing them between your hand.

“listen you stubborn fool, i promise i’m almost done. i think you can manage till then.”

“fyne,” he grumbles, cheeks still puffed.

you resume your work, but it’s not long before his hands dance on your waist, fingers tracing your skin and marveling over the softness of it.

the snipping pauses, “ace, what are you doing?”

“you didn’t say i couldn’t touch you.” he argues, sniffing.

you don’t say anything and just shake your head. he’s lucky he’s really cute.

eventually you find yourself being near wrestled by the commander as he progressively pulls you into his grasp. you’re finishing up his bangs by this point. practically on his lap with a hand on his shoulder as you steady yourself.

ace is glad you don’t tease him for being a blushing mess. but at the same time he feels like he’s going to die. he’s going to implode if he doesn’t get your full attention in the next several seconds.

“…and done.” you say, snipping the last lock.

“finally.” he sighs, crushing you into his arms impossibly closer to him. you yelp when the scissors fall out of your hands.

“a-are you even going to look at my final work?” you huff, feeling him pepper kisses on your cheeks, chin, nose—anywhere he can reach. you can barely move.

“don’t need to. you did wonderful, babe.” he responds, chuckling.

admittedly you did do good. really good. he doesn’t look so boyish now. more grown up. mature. his hair is only a tad bit shorter but shows all his best features that were hidden away. the apples of his cheeks decorated by freckles, his sharp, defined jaw, and his brown eyes you love so much can all be seen with ease.

ace has always been pretty and you don’t know if he’s well aware of that. so you turn his face towards the bathroom mirror.

he protests once his lips miss your cheek, almost looking like a fish with the way they pucker. he doesn’t have a chance to ask anything when your next words stop him.

“look how beautiful you are, ace,” you say, beaming, “you look so handsome.”

the man turns from pink to absolutely beat red, not expecting your words so suddenly. he curses under his breath since he can’t hide behind his hat. “wha—why are you…?”

when his eyes meet yours in the mirror he sees the soft twinkle in your eyes that you give only him, no one else. like he’s put up the stars in the sky for you. like he’s built you an entire empire by hand.

he’s silent, knowing you’re not lying about your words.

“…thank you.” he finally says, burying his face in your neck. his voice is small with vulnerability that only you have seen and heard. there’s a thousand things he wants to say right now, but the words won’t come out.

“you don’t need to thank me for loving you.” you respond, bumping noses with him before finally kissing him on the lips.

and it’s times like these where he figures life is something he’s meant to be living.

#ace x reader #portgas d. ace x reader #portgas d ace x reader #one piece x reader #one piece fluff #ace fluff #portgas d ace #portgas d. ace drabble #ace drabble #portgas d. ace fluff #op fluff #one piece drabble

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justporo · 2 months

Text

Blood running amongst us

No one had ever spoken of the waves of tingling lust running through your body caused by your lifeblood rushing from your body to the vampire’s as he felt your pulse under his lips. A sensation almost as intimate as if he was buried deep inside of your body.

Either way he had a tendency to get lost in you.

That’s what you would be going for tonight - either way.

MASTERLIST | AO3 | PART 2

Author's Note: I wanted to write some smut again when I got that request asking for Astarion receiving some sweet sweet head. And he will. But you know I wouldn't be me if it didn't completely spiral out of hand. So this willl be a hopefully nutritious three-course meal (plus dessert maybe?) - this being merely the appetizer. Gif by @cheekylittlepupp (pls follow them!)

Pairing: Astarion/Fem!Tav (You)

Warnings: explicit sexual content, foreplay, blood kink, light predator/prey dynamic, dryhumping

Wordcount: 2,1k

The day had been strenuous for all of you. Your adventures had been tiring before you had entered the cursed Shadowlands but now it had taken on a wholly new quality of exhausting.

All of it weighed especially heavy on Astarion it seemed, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Not only was the fact that he was once more surrounded by darkness the cause of a perpetuous knot in his stomach but there was nearly nothing here to keep him fed. It was more than just an uneasy feeling that had become his continuous companion roaming these godsforsaken lands.

His usually glinting crimson eyes seemed to have lost their sparkle and the dark circles around them seemed deeper than you had ever seen them before. His behaviour had become a lot more skittish again too: eyes flitting around as if he feared his old master could await around every corner now.

It made your chest clench in agony to see him like that. Especially since he had opened up a little about his past and what pain it had meant to become and be a vampire.

Now he'd barely begun to enjoy a bit of sunlight and freedom again, only to be thrown back into the shadows. Like a flower that had just sprung up only to be wilting away so quickly again.

You wouldn't let that happen. You swore it silently to yourself as you kept watching the man that had managed to make your heart stir, despite everything.

Not that you had planned to fall for the pale elf that had grazed your neck with a blade the first time you'd met. It hadn't exactly been love at first sight. And now you didn’t quite know how you would ever tell him. But all gods above and below be damned, you would rip your own heart out and hand it to him on a silver platter if only it meant, Astarion would be safe and happy.

But thankfully this wasn’t yet needed - a bit of blood this far had sufficed to nurture him. And you had an idea how to make him at least temporarily forget some of the worries he so obviously was carrying around with himself.

Immediately when your party set up camp for the night you sauntered over to your vampire, dragging him into his tent telling him that he should feed on you. You would make sure to take some of the worry off him - make him feel happy.

“My, aren’t you a little too desperate to get my fangs sunk into your neck, darling?” Astarion teased, one eyebrow lifted. His tone sounded a little flat compared to his usual flamboyant manner. But he still obviously wouldn’t reject your generous offer. You laid down on his bedroll like you were used to from all the times before to let the vampire climb on top of you so he could easily access your graciously offered neck.

It had become a well practised ritual between the two of you. All steps meticulously planned out and followed through. You were laying on your back, trying to stay relaxed. But an exhilarating mix of anticipation and some kind of primal fear took hold of you like usual. Your hands became a little clammy and your fingers began to tap a nervous tune as you watched Astarion kneel down beside you. After all, you were about to hand yourself over to a mortal predator.

For now though, it was merely the anticipation nearly killing you - or was there something else to it?

If you were honest with yourself, it was more than instinctual fear that made the pace of your heart pick up. The whole process was - as you had quickly found out - incredibly intimate and titillating; despite - or rather because of - the pain.

You knew that as much, if not more, was true for the vampire as well. In fact, it was often quite evident - and not only because he enjoyed taking his time when he saw you already quivering beneath you.

Not uncommonly after Astarion had taken enough of your blood to keep up his strength did the tension in the air become overwhelming and lead to both your bodies entangling further and a night was quickly wasted away wrapped up fully in each other.

For now though he had you pinned to the ground beneath him with the way his knee slid between your legs, one hand next to your head and the other gently wandering over the delicate skin of your throat. Cool, smooth fingers wrapped around the back of your neck to steady you for him - one by one.

His grip was firm. You knew his fingers would soon dig into your soft flesh even harder - as soon as his instincts at least partially took the better of him. It was those moments that had your heart gallop near to collapse: knowing what he was while you were fully assured that Astarion was very well capable of keeping the reins on himself firmly.

The vampire hovered over you as you watched him close in on you, your heart beat tumbling. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

His angelic face above you could have been enough to forget everything else-

But you mustn’t lose track of your objective - he was the sole focus tonight. As hard as it was with Astarion’s crimson eyes already devouring you as he bared his fangs right above where your racing heart beat showed him where his lifeline laid.

You wrapped your arms gently around him when he leaned into you. Some of his bodyweight settled down comfortably on you, rendering you fully immovable. You didn’t mind in the slightest as he pressed you down to the ground.

And as soon as Astarion’s thigh pressed between your legs, brushing against your core as he pinned you down more, coherent thoughts evaporated.

People had always only taught you to run from the big bad monster. No one had ever told you what might happen if you ever got caught. No one had ever mentioned the thrilling sensation of being in the monster’s grasp, feeling its grip tighten around you. No one had ever spoken of the intense pleasure between the two heartbeats of fangs grazing your skin and them sinking in, the breath that was held and the muscles that tensed.

Either way he had a tendency to get lost in you.

That’s what you would be going for tonight - either way.

Right now you felt the familiar shot of pain echo through you that quickly turned into this icy, numbing sensation that felt weirdly pleasant. A soft mewl left your lips as Astarion began drinking your blood. He could always feel how your heartbeat quickened even more as he indulged in your exquisite and generous offering of blood. The taste was promisingly and uniquely you, nothing would ever compare to this.

For a few long moments the tent was filled with nothing but soft moans and whimpers. Something you hoped would linger when Astarion would’ve had his share of blood from you to keep up his strength.

So - time to set up a trap on your own.You let your hands softly wander over his back, pressing down gently so he would lower himself fully onto you. And when he quickly let himself be roped in by you and your tender offer, you made your hips roll into him, eliciting a groan from Astarion as he was still buried in your neck.

You were delighted by the friction it caused. Every tiny bit of traction made the coil in your lower body wind tighter - until this alone could have become your undoing.

And to your satisfaction you clearly felt the vampire’s desire already manifest too. Only hesitantly had Astarion admitted to you how arousing the whole act felt for him. How he hadn’t be prepared for the primitive lust it caused him to have you like this, to taste you. And how it had taken every last ounce of his self-control that first night he’d drunk your blood to not take you right then and there until you would have been nothing but an overstimulated, drained whimpering mess.

Now he embraced this sensation and latched onto it deliberately.

His hardening length was pressing against your stomach now with the way you worked on eliminating even the last bit of space in between you. Instinctively and subconsciously he began slowly grinding into you. You coaxed him on with breathless, almost obscene gasps and moans spilling from you and rolling your hips against him again and again. Effectively grinding on his thigh between your legs.

The two of you stayed like this in this unbelievably intimate embrace, lewdly writhing against each other as you offered Astarion the life force he needed.

He could have kept living off meagre critters. But getting to indulge in your exquisite, incomparable taste heightened the pleasure and sensation tenfold for the vampire - the difference between merely surviving and enjoying life and all the sinful pleasures it had to offer to the fullest.

A whole eternity passed as you felt Astarion’s fingertips dig harder and harder into your neck - just as you had wished for. Only part of the beast within the vampire was unleashed - the part that enjoyed playing and teasing and made it enjoyable for both of you. The delicious pain added onto the hazy, floaty numbness spreading through your body and made your eyes roll back. The moan that drifted off your lips was immediately answered by Astarion with another groan of his own. The faint metallic scent of your blood filled the air.

You felt his rock hard cock drag along you. You were already desperately longing for it.

But this was first and foremost about your vampire tonight.

He bucked his hips into you harder now, almost losing control. But Astarion always remained having the upper hand in the end.

When he finally withdrew from you, you saw how the pupils in his eyes were diluted. Giving him more animalistic than humanoid air. The creature within him was barely in check.

He licked a last trickle of blood off his lips as he sat up again, sitting back on his legs. And with the gesture you saw him regain some of his composure, the man getting a hold on his more primal side again.

Your heart hammered against your rib cage as you observed Astarion. You got up onto your elbows at first and then sat up while the vampire took deep breaths, trying to find the anchor within him again. A massive bulge was clearly outlining against his pants.

Astarion’s crimson eyes wandered slowly up your body. Surely your arousal must be visible too, you already felt your nipples press against your shirt and how sweat made it stick to your torso.

“You’re playing dangerous games, my sweet love,” Astarion murmured, sounding breathless despite his lack of needing respiration. One of his hands was clawing into his knee, the grip slowly loosening the more breaths he took. With his other he tried to capture an escaped drop of your blood before it would be lost. He surely couldn’t be accused of letting anything go to waste.

As you gazed upon him, you saw that some of the vigour he’d recently been missing had returned to him. Which was most prominently evident by his cock achingly straining against his pants.

Your eyes dropped to it and your tongue darted out to wet your lips subconsciously.

“Maybe I enjoy that,” you replied firmly, catching his gaze and holding it while you crawled over to him. He smirked softly at you as you prowled closer.

“Proceed at your own caution then, darling,” he replied, purring the last word. You hummed contentedly, smiled and pressed an almost chaste kiss to his soft lips. It felt almost innocent after what you had just engaged in. He kissed you back just as lightly.

And when you had lured him with your gentle caress, you pushed him back by his shoulders, making him fall backwards.

The vampire gasped curtly but was already smirking lasciviously at you as you roamed closer with a grin that bared your teeth - as if the roles were reversed now.

He’d fallen right into your trap.

You had brought him to an edge once already this night.

You would take him to another - and then beyond.

~~~

Part 2

Taglist (DM if you want to be added please): @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06 @marina-and-the-memes @somewhatclear

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x you #astarion x reader #bg3

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diejager · 8 months

Text

Sparrow

Pairing : Task Force 141 x Vampire!reader

Cw: blood, vampire, death.

Wc: 947

Price watched everyone board the helicopter in a steady shuffle, he counted the names when they passed him as if taking their attendance to assure that everyone followed him. Ghost, Roach, Soap, and Gaz- he gaped at the missing soldier, he was sure you'd been behind them this whole time, eyes scouring the darkness for you. He turned to the others for information, frowning when they all said that they hadn't seen you.

"Sparrow, what's your status?"

Thumb still pressed into his radio, he waited for your reply. When all he received was silence from you, he asked a second time: "Sparrow, how copy?"

There was only complete silence on your end. That worried them, but they knew you wouldn't go doing so easily; you'd told them once that you would bomb everything before dying - if you could, from regular bullets or knives.

"Sparrow," Ghost growled out, his deep, rumbling order echoed through the shared line.

It was quiet at first, but then the sound of muffled screams and slurping came through. Their tense shoulders slouched, finally knowing where you went: to quench your hunger.

You left the line open, letting the team listen to the pained moans of the soldier that crossed your path. A thud followed afterward when you stopped drinking, the bloodless body falling forward.

They waited at the end of the clearing, seated in the helicopter as they strained their ears to listen to your near-silent steps. They could see you before they heard you, piercing, red eyes glowing in the dark foliage as you approached them. The sight flooded them with relief, seeing you wipe your blood-soaked face and pull your mask over your nose to hide the gory view of your sharp fangs painted in red.

"Sorry," you bowed, voice raspy and quiet from the ecstasy of drinking blood - delicious or disgusting, blood worked the same way it did either way.

"'S fine, Sparrow," Price mumbled, motioning you to sit next to him, the last seat on the aircraft.

Silence lingered in the shared space as Nikolai pulled into the sky, the blades ripping through the air loudly. The team watched your half-lidded eyes, blinking owlishly in some sort of trance. You were always dazed after feasting on someone, calm and slurring words as if high on blood. Your body took time absorbing and cycling the blood through your undead body, extracting the nourishing substances within a few weeks.

A satiated cat, that's how Soap first described you when you first fed on one of them, a hissy and skittish cat until it ate its full, satisfied, and sleepy. Soap was the first, finding your fangs deep into a man's neck. He stopped dead in his track, gaping at your red eyes and pointed teeth. He offered himself to you a few weeks later and quickly became addicted to the thrill of sharing an intimate part of himself.

Ghost caught them months later, finding you suckling on Soap's shoulder with a dazed look. The brooding man froze, unable to understand whatever he just saw; the shock and the unnatural spark of pleasure at your teeth breaking Soap's skin and laving up stray drops of blood. The image stayed in his mind, haunting him day in and day out until he found himself offering the same as Soap did. The danger and fear of having someone touch him made him hard, the slight sting of your teeth and your warm mouth around his wrist, shoulder, and neck - he almost begged for you to drink from his neck.

Gaz and Price stumbled on your feed on a mission, and have spent almost two months on infiltration and information gathering job for Shepherd, you got too hungry and snapped at the first straggler. Price, being who he is, shook off the confusion and helped you, making you promise to explain everything afterward. Gaz, however, somewhat gushed, a mix between confusion and amazement at your case. He, unlike the former, was more entertained with the idea of letting you feed on him for the experience.

Sweet Roach was the last one, you told him upfront about your little problem when you returned from your deployment with Gaz and Price. You signed it to him in your room, hanging from your bunk to tell him. He took it easily, perhaps too easily and calmly for someone whose roommate for the past year was a vampire. If you're ever hungry, I wouldn't mind helping you, Sparrow, he confessed, eyes glimmering with adoration and lips pulled in a small smile.

"How was it?" Soap pipped up, peering at you from the opposite side of the bird.

"Like shit," you grumbled, adjusting your rifle to sit more comfortably. "Fear and anger makes it taste bloody sour."

"You should've told us you were hungry, Sparrow, " Ghost growled lowly, he never liked letting you drink from other men or women other than their team. "Wouldn't have minded it." The last part was whispered, almost as if he was too shy to admit it.

"Don't be an arse about it, L.T., she was just hungry."

Ghost only grumbled lowly about how Soap wasn't any better. Gaz nudged your arm, telling you that he's free later if you're still hungry, knowing full well that you had your full. The little wink he gave told you everything, he just wanted to have you around him.

You sighed and turned to Price and Roach, tired from the night's event and the horrid taste that lingered on your tongue. I agree, Sparrow, his shoulders shook, head tilted towards the two bantering - more so of Soap annoying Ghost - men. None of us mind.

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carolmunson · 4 months

Text

“Wow, she just comes right to you,” he smiles, a soft laugh on his breath. A low chirp comes from your little tortoise cat as she hurries from the far end of the room after you click your tongue a few times to get the attention of another.

“Oh yeah,” you giggle to yourself, scratching her behind the ears from your spot on the couch, “Now that she’s more comfortable around you being here, she’s not as afraid to show off how sweet she is.”

“Yeah?” Eddie flushes, watching as your cat — who you affectionally call ‘Mama’ even though that’s not her real name — brushes against his shin. He reaches down slow, letting her sniff his hand before bumping her head against his knuckles.

“She likes you,” you nod, “Look at her little tail going.”

The other two cats, asleep on your coat on the floor, already made their opinion known on Eddie the moment they met him. If he offered to take them home, they’d go in a heartbeat. Drawn to him, his softness, his gentle touch — gentle demeanor.

Mama hurries away when you shift on the couch, still skittish in her own way. He wishes he didn’t understand where she was coming from — he wants to skitter away all the time. Too afraid of how much he likes you, how comfortable he feels in your house, how much the cats like him.

But later on, wrapped up in each other on the couch while the tv lights up the apartment, you scratch the nape of his neck under his curls. Soothing, sweet, repetitive — and he understands why your scared tortoise cat runs to you every time you click your tongue.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff

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lithiumfae · 1 year

Text

sexy habits they have.

you can read my new remus fic here and my snape fic here.

sirius black:

nods his head while looking down at your lips when you’re explaining something to him.

when you’re laying down with him he hums while listening to you talk, one of his fingers stroking your thigh.

if you’re sitting in front of him but you’re not close enough to his liking he will hook his foot around one of the legs of the chair and drag you towards him.

he always calls you by your full name, of course he sometimes uses nicknames or pet names but he prefers saying your name properly.

if he’s trying to show you something but you’re not paying attention he will grab the back of your head and make you look at him. gently of course.

says “oh?” when you tell him about something that’s upsetting you. it’s hot because he crouches down a little to look at you in the eyes, he then repeats “oh?”

he likes to stare at you while you’re doing your hair, head resting on his hand and a smirk on his face. you don’t know what’s going through his head.

if you braid your hair he will grab one of the braids and hold it between his fingers and look at it while you talk.

“so smart, my girl.”

remus lupin:

(sorry for the spicy gift i just HAD to add it, remus is my weakness)

he always notices when you add something new to your hair. it could be a new headband, new hair clips or anything like that.

when he is really interested in what you’re saying he will rest his arm behind your head on the sofa, his brows furrowed.

he is the type to brace himself against the doorframe.

he blinks a little slower when he is trying to show you he cares about what you’re telling him.

acts of service. acts of service. acts of service!!!!!!!!!

he never lets you cook.

always offers to help brush your hair and he will sometimes pretends your brush got stuck in your hair just so he can pull it a little, you know he’s doing it on purpose because you hear him giggle every time.

when you’re sitting in the common room he likes to sneak behind you and sit on the back rest of the couch so you’re left in between his open legs.

“you smell just as pretty as you look.”.

peter pettigrew:

although he hates PDA he always makes sure to be touching some part of your body if you’re sitting next to each other, it can be your shoulder, your pinky, etc.

without thinking he rolls his sleeves and sighs when something is on his mind.

sometimes he lets you talk and talk for what feels like hours until he shuts you up by planting a fat kiss on your lips, he is too polite to tell you to shut up.

being around the other three can be quite overwhelming for anyone even peter so at the end of the day when he sneaks into your room he sits down on your bed and once again lets a sigh escape his mouth while stretching his neck side to side, his eyes closed.

sometimes he just stares at you without saying anything, if it was anyone else looking at you like that you’d think he was angry but he couldn’t be angry or annoyed because soon enough he whispers “come give me a kiss, yeah?”

contrary to his reputation as the skittish more weak willed member of the marauders he tends to be quite assertive when talking to you. he seems to always know what he wants.

staring is a peter thing. in the middle of making out he will pull back and grab your face not letting you move just to… stare at you?

“you’re not going anywhere right? stay with me always yeah?”

James Potter:

oh the antics. he waits for you right outside the great hall to spin you around and drop you (just to catch you before you fall) and kiss you in front of everyone. don’t deny it, it gives you an ego boost.

it is james potter after all.

he likes to show off his strength even if you claim it gives you second hand embarrassment.

he puts your hands on his face because he can’t seem to get enough of your touch. he would live under your skin if he could.

jealousy. he gets jealous very easily. you were polite to snape? he refuses to look at you all throughout dinner. you touched hands with the nice hufflepuff boy? he doesn’t want to hold your hand for at least the next two days. oh and when he is jealous he pouts.

he thinks of himself as a human chair. in the confines of his room the only place he’ll let you sit on is his lap.

he tends to gasp a lot when you’re both making out. HE IS NOISY!!!!!!

“i would marry you right now if child marriage wasn’t against the law, i swear.”

#harry potter #marauders x reader #marauders #marauders headcanon #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #peter pettigrew x reader #james potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction

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yutaleks · 2 months

Text

let me out, I'm starving

yuuta x female reader, length: 4.0K CWs: yandere // reader and Nobara are eating food // explicit sex // allusions to rough sex/roleplay A/N: This is a repost but I have combined it with another post and edited it so this is much longer than the original post I made on my old blog. banner by @/cafekitsune.

Part of Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing series

“He what?”

You wince as you’re met with Nobara’s screech right beside you, and choose to ignore her outcry coupled with the clattering of dropped chopsticks. You punctuate your willful silence with another mouthful of noodles, and Nobara continues to gape at you with an accusatory stare.

It’s “girls night” as she so eloquently (forcefully) declared naught but a few minutes ago, showing up to your shared apartment with takeout and a mission.

Said mission?

Getting you to quit seeing that situationship of yours, Yuuta Okkotsu.

It’s not that he is a bad guy per se; he’s incredibly polite, with a voice and countenance so sweet and timid anyone would find him charming. But he gives Nobara the creeps. She swears if you ever turned up missing, his basement would be the first place to check.

(The second time she said that to you, your first thought was to wonder if his basement wasn’t so bad a place to be).

You don’t have it in you to confront the fact that she’s right: Yuuta is weird.

Outwardly, there wasn't actually anything weird about him when you first met. He's handsome—not 'People Magazine's Top 100 Sexiest Men' handsome, but handsome enough to get your attention. He dressed inconspicuously, stuck to the back of classrooms, and kept mostly to himself. But he had friends, that much you knew from the times you'd seen him around. And he was always kind: opening doors for you, offering you a smile, and later sticking around and chatting with you as acquaintances would, once you got more friendly. He wasn't exactly serial killer material; not to the exaggerated level that Nobara had placed him in the very first time you ever mentioned an interest in him. Sure he was a bit of a loner, but that wasn't a crime.

It took a few more intimate encounters for you to find that Nobara's intuition wasn't far off. Despite her disinterest in them, she's never wrong about men, it seems.

It’s the eyes.

He has this stare that roots you in place, that makes the bones beneath your skin feel like the layers around them aren’t thick enough to hide away from him. You wonder if he can see the reds and yellows of your bone marrow beneath the layers of compacted calcium.

Just that deep, endless blue looking down at you makes your knees too weak to stand. As confident a person as you are, you're reduced to a newborn fawn, struck down to the earth with no strength in its feet. Those first few moments where you're bare beneath him it's like you've never taken a step and are too afraid to. But the fear has never pushed you away—in fact, it’s only drawn you nearer to him, your body a willing addict as it asks for more, more, more.

It's like a person who's afraid of heights becoming addicted to skydiving. The fear is there, it's heavy on your chest when you look down and out of the plane. But you come back and make the jump—over and over, the adrenaline and fear a nitrous; an incredible blood rush.

Perhaps any other prey animal would feel skittish in the presence of a predator such as him, even if he's tamed. But it doesn’t work on you, not entirely. He makes your skin crawl but your heart race, like watching a horror movie from the comforts of the sticky, dirty seats of a cheap movie theater. The seats aren’t remotely comfortable but the movie’s too good to tear your eyes away.

Besides, you wouldn't get up and dash out of a movie theater for being scared. The threat is contained. The movie isn't real, no matter how much adrenaline rushes through your veins—at least, your mind is convinced that it can't hurt you. Because the serial killer or the scary zombie in the screen can't jump out at you, can't actually harm you... can it?

Anyway, that’s what it feels like to be with Okkotsu Yuuta.

Everything he does seems to be both gentle and intense, purposeful and impertinent, yet mindful and considerate. Like he's apologetic for taking up space, for existing, but not so for feeling. He's unapologetically a bleeding heart, and he offers it to you. It makes for a dangerous combination—a man with no self-preservation, but the most intense hunger imaginable. More than once had he compared his desire for you to starving. And you believe him, having felt the intensity of his feelings in the strength of his grip and the bite of his teeth.

He’s never done anything to truly make you fear for your life—but you don’t doubt that he could.

“He asked me to marry him,” you repeat the words after you swallow your noodles. The phrase feels like a foreign language on your tongue, sounds like your speaking through the bottom of a glass bottle. It doesn’t feel real when you say it aloud, not like it felt when he whispered them to you this morning over your shoulder.

“He’s fucking insane,” Nobara guffaws, incredulous. Like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “You’re not even dating him.”

“I don’t think he cares,” you reply. There’s this weird grin on your face, to Nobara’s horror. Are you even entertaining something so—

“He should. He should ask you to date him—”

“Well we—”

“—do normal shit like going out to dinner or something—”

“But he does take me out—”

“—get down on one knee—no, both his knees—”

“Nobara.”

“—first he needs to beg you for forgiveness for all those fucking bruises—”

“But I—”

“—Then, he needs to promise to stay a hundred feet away from you for at least a year—”

“Nobara, that’s ridiculous. I—”

She holds up a finger. “I’m not done.”

Your shoulders sag as she continues:

“You need at least a year of dating normal guys to remember what normal, not potential serial killer men are like. And then maybe I’ll allow him to breathe the same air as you again. Maybe.”

"He's harmless."

She quirks a brow in silence.

"Okay maybe not harmless, but he never did anything I didn't agree to."

That’s a bit of a lie, but Nobara doesn’t need to know that.

"You know," she starts, as she picks up her chopsticks and starts picking up another pinch of noodles, "You were so innocent before you ever let crazy stick itself between your legs. Normal."

"I resent that."

"It's true!" She stuffs the noodles into her mouth, but continues talking. You've seen each other at rock bottom, so she's way past something as small as talking with her mouth full. "Before Okkotsu you hadn't even shown a guy your tits before. You were a virgin when you met him! Now he's got your wrists tied to his bed and got you calling him nii-san—"

You flush, "That was one time!"

"He's fucking weird! The hickeys you come home with are nasty, dude. What if he's a fucking vampire?"

"That'd be kind of hot."

"You're beyond saving," she sighs into her noodle carton. "No man's dick is that good." When you're silent for more than a beat, she groans. "Okay, even if it is, he's, like, two steps away from chaining you to a radiator or something. Some Ted Bundy shit,"

"That would never happen," you shrug, digging into your noodles once more, "Why would he wanna date me so bad if he just wanted to do some shit like that?"

"He'll Stockholm syndrome you into it. Don't call me when he's got you tied to a toilet."

You chuckle. "You don't know him, okay? He can be a little intense but he's harmless. Devoted, even."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, spare me the story about him eating you out the entire night on the first date, okay. I refuse to be jealous of you and him."

"It was amazing though," you grin like a fool. "I think he's more into eating pussy than sex."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Okkotsu supposedly being the world's number one munch aside—" she ignores your chuckling, "—what did you tell him when he said that?"

"What, the marriage thing?" She nods, and there's a snap and fizzing sound as she opens a can of beer. "He was literally balls deep in me, what was I supposed to say?"

"Uh, push him off and run the fuck home, maybe? Anyone with sense would," she retorts as she takes a sip of her beer.

"But I like him."

That has her spitting out her beer dramatically. She is one for theatrics sometimes. "I thought you said you'd never date him."

"I've always liked him! He's just... intense, you know? It put me off before but..."

"But?"

Your thoughts fall back to the early hours of this morning, right before the whole 'marry me' sex thing, when you'd woken up first and got a glimpse of his sleeping face. His lips parted just a little, locks of black strewn across his forehead, an innocence about him that made all those intense, scary moments feel trivial. An unconscious arm around your waist as you cuddled up to his chest, prey safe in the arms of its captor. He'd never hurt you, he'd keep you safe—a feeling as soothing as it is addicting.

You find yourself just as wanting of moments like those as you are of the thrill. Is there ever a moment that you haven't wanted to be in Yuuta's grasp?

As soon as his body began to twitch awake, eyes slowly blinking the sleep away, you had turned over and faced away from him, embarrassed at the way your stomach felt like worms when he stirred to life. The arm around your waist tightened, pulling you closer.

"You stayed."

His voice was thick with sleep, his warm breath fanning against the nape of your neck. Judging by the still dark sky beyond the windows, you'd maybe only fallen asleep for an hour or two. Your eyes widened at the realization that, despite sleeping together for several months, this was indeed the first time you'd slept in his bed after sex. It was what later prompted Nobara's 'intervention' of sorts: her fears that whatever you were doing with Yuuta had reached a point of no return.

"Is that," you paused to clear the sleep from your throat, "Is it okay that I stayed?"

"I always ask you to," he rubbed his palm up the curve of your side. "You can stay in my bed forever," he muttered as he kissed the bruise on your neck, a bite he'd left just a little while ago turning dark as the blood under the skin pooled. "You know I wouldn't mind."

"Yuuta." you angled your head as he continued to mouth at your neck. The way you said his name felt like a warning. Perhaps 'Down dog' would've had the same effect.

"I know," he leaned closer to your back, shameless as his length, hardened, pressed against the back of your thighs. "I'm a little stubborn though... and patient. For you, at least. I'll wait until you say yes."

He always said it like it was inevitable. The question of you agreeing to be with him, for more than just sex, was never a matter of if, but when.

And when he soon after pushed you down gently, propped your hips on one of his pillows, and fucked you lazily from behind as you hid your flustered face into your arms, he wondered if he'd finally had you. Because if he was stubborn you were downright impossible, always immediately rebuking his advances with an 'I'm not ready for a relationship right now' or some similar excuse. To which he'd tuck his tail between his legs and brush off the rejection, man up, and fuck you like he owed you the best night of your life—every fucking time.

But today no such rejection came. He said he'd wait until you'd say yes and you didn't say no. When he soon after had caged in your body with his, his body entirely surrounding yours as he pressed you into his bed, he'd gotten carried away, spurred on by your first lack of rejection in months.

"I wanna marry you," he'd told you as he grinded his hips into your backside. The angle in this position was incredible, you had to bite down on your arm to stop from moaning awfully loud. Yuuta wished you would. "I can't stand the thought of anyone else doing this with you. I think I'd kill them."

"Yuuta," you moan his name into his mouth, and it always sets him off to hear you say it. "D-don't joke around like-like that."

Despite your words, you didn't think he was kidding.

And, you realized, you didn’t think you minded if he wasn’t.

A sound, something like a laugh, or maybe a breath of relief, tumbled out of his throat when you squeezed down on him in response. He'd angled your head to the side, to kiss you roughly, full of bite. You returned his kiss as his words made you a combination of afraid and excited. Would you ever get tired of the feeling?

Yuuta was like a rabid dog collared, restrained only by your previous rejections, and for a moment you wanted to know what all of him felt like. What would a Yuuta Okkotsu be like if he were set free, if he were given the ability to satiate this hunger? Would he finally consume you whole, or would he stop baring his raw, beating heart so desperately and relent?

"I'm not joking," he pulled back a little, just to rest his head against your nape. Every word felt hot as his breath warmed the skin between your shoulder blades. "Wanna be with you—marry you and everything. Whatever you want, I'll do. I don't care how it sounds, I just—"

"It sounds crazy," you replied, not a hint of malice in your words.

"I know, I—"

“I like you, Yuuta.” You interrupted what was sure to be another round of ramblings from him about how badly he wants to be with you. You’d heard it so many times, and slowly but surely each attempt had helped his feelings worm themselves deeper and deeper into your guarded heart.

He, who had you pinned down to the bed under him as he fucked you from behind, tensed up at your confession.

"Just... slow down a little, okay? Dating comes first. Do it properly, yeah?”

“What?” He completely stopped everything, pulling out and sitting on his knees absolutely star-struck.

You turned around underneath him and matched his posture, finding yourself breaking out into a smile at his look of surprise. Of all the things, this was what broke him?

"I like you… I think about you doing this with someone else and get jealous too… you scare me a little, but I like you. But we should date first, I think."

His lips started to turn up into an incredulous smile. "Can I... be your boyfriend, then?”

In a voice that’s a little too playful to be considered scolding, you replied, ”Will you stop talking about killing people if I say yes?”

Among all the things he’s said to you, about how badly he wants to marry you or how many kids he’d give you, what stood out in your mind was the way he said he’ll kill anyone who stood in his way. But could someone who blushes as hard as he was blushing at that moment, possibly take a life with his bare hands?

He nodded, suddenly feeling sheepish. You’d turned him into a whole different person, practically.

“Then yes… I want you to be my boyfriend. And you can’t be my boyfriend from prison if you kill people.”

He laughed—god, of all things, he couldn’t stop laughing. His arms reached out to you and he cradled your jaw in his big palms. He leaned into you, and even when he kissed you he was laughing, giggling like a fool. Disbelief surrounded the love that made his heart ram against his ribs, and the feeling left him so incredulous he could only laugh.

“I can, as long” kiss “as I” kiss “don’t get caught.” kiss

He could barely keep his lips off of yours, and as his kisses became deeper, you found yourself being pushed back down into his bed, facing him this time. You wrapped your arms around his neck and let him slot himself between your legs. He held himself up by the forearms, and as his nose brushed against yours, the ends of his hair falling across your cheeks, his eyes found yours again. They were still as captivating as ever.

“Do you really mean it? You have feelings for me?”

His stare was intense, like he was searching for any sign of deception in yours. He found none.

“Yes, I mean it, Yuuta… I really do.”

It’s impossible to explain, even to yourself. How his obsessive feelings somehow had fueled your own—how you spent the days leading up to this seeping in jealousy at the mere thought of anyone else being in the position that you were in now. It made no sense, falling for someone like Yuuta—who’d stalked you, hurt others around you—but somehow it made all the sense in the world.

He slotted his lips against yours again, in a kiss that was absolutely smoldering. He was intense, as always, but it felt different too. An arm hooked around your thigh, hiking it up to his waist, and without even breaking the kiss he quite easily slid his cock back into you, picking up where you’d left off moments before your confession. You moaned against his lips as you lifted your other leg, hooking it around his other side, and felt yourself being pushed up as he carved himself into you once again. Could anyone else mold themselves into you so perfectly the way he does? Would anyone else even be given the chance to try?

“I love you,” he said, forehead pressed against your own. It was not the first time he had said it, nor will it be the last, but certainly it was the first time you’d ever accepted it wholly into your heart. “Please—tell me you love me,” he begged against the throbbing pulse of your throat. He sounded like he would fall apart if you didn’t say it, his soul so weakly held together by his feelings for you.

You’ve come to accept it as a part of him: that as long as Yuuta Okkotsu loves you, you are his entire world.

And right at that moment caged under his arms and pinned down by his gaze, it felt like he was your entire world, too.

“I love y—oh,” you were cut off by your own gasp as every ounce of his strength was suddenly hooked under your knees, pushing your thighs flat to your chest, weighing you down and robbing you of your breath. A whine, like a dying animal, escaped your lips as your body was kneaded and contorted in his heavy palms, pliable like dough. The way he touched you, fucked you—it was so different from before. He’d always done it with a desperation to please you, to convince you that he’s worthy of your love. But now that he had it, he wanted every last drop, and planned to pry it out of you himself.

“Again,” you crossed your ankles at his nape, toes curling as his pelvis made contact with your body. “Say it again—pleaseplease—“

“I love you,” you told him—though it’s less spoken word and more an exhale, your lungs were barely able to take in a breath with the weight that lay on your chest. “S-so don’t—don’t hurt anyone,” you gasped. “I’m right here, Y-Yuuta,” you implored him, eyes wet with unshed tears.

“Thank you,” he breathed into your mouth—for what you were doing was less kissing, and more trading breaths. Your nails dug into the meat of his shoulders, nails like grappling hooks as you hung on for your life. You squeezed down on him, enamored with the beautiful, pitiful strain in his voice, and he smiled. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You’d never felt closer to God in your life.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” he started to mumble, the words barely perceptible to you. His thrusts onto your body didn’t stop, in fact, they only got messier, needier. “So many times I thought you’d let someone else in—someone who wasn’t me—“ he pried your fingers off his shoulders, the bloodied crescents marking his skin. He pinned your hands down to the bed, his fingers slotting perfectly in-between, and squeezed hard enough to tempt your digits to bursting, leaving nothing but bone. “But it had to be me—who else can love you like I do?”

He paused long enough for you to open your eyes, to look into his, so glazed over with lust and devotion that there was no other answer to give. “N-No one—ah—No—“

“I know,” he pressed his forehead to yours as your legs fell to his sides, his eyes closing in rapture. “No one else.”

Was that the side of him that you always refused to see? The rabid animal that keeps itself trained, claws at bay; the raw, unfiltered strength that lies in every inch of his body masked by the tenderness he holds for you. You love it, despite how much you shouldn’t; you love every single fucking moment that this man is turned into an absolute lunatic over you. Perhaps you are just as bad as he is, for reveling in it and allowing him his moments of heresy.

Your brows drew together as you reeled in what could only be described as a whole-body experience: an orgasm that felt like every organ beneath your skin had been squeezed of its juices, pulp rendered and offered to him as you wailed into his mouth. He accepted it with an offering of his own, spilling himself into you when you kissed him. He kept his body as close to you as he could while he trembled, throbbed. His chest heaved against your own; and he kissed you so many times across your face you lost count, the waves and aftershocks of orgasm claiming you both until there was nothing but soft panting and the slightly awkward stare from his blushing, sweaty face.

Your stomach lurched at the sight. If only you could tell the you from a few months ago, the one who was so afraid of being with him, that the only thing to be afraid of is the thought of doing without such devoutness.

To those who’d ask why you’d kept crawling back to Yuuta’s bedsheets, even after you’d learned the depth of his devotion: once you’ve had a taste of such fervent piety, it’s impossible to imagine a moment without it.

Color pools over your cheeks as you sift through that memory, much later now, over noodles in front of your best friend Nobara.

"Yeah he's intense but I think it makes my boyfriend even cuter," you smile bashfully. “I don’t want him to feel like that for anyone else… I like that he’s crazy about me… is that weird?”

"Did you just say boyfriend?"

When you nod she shakes her head and groans.

"Fuck, you're just as insane as he is."

#jjk x reader #yuuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #cw.yandere #every time I think about him and prone bone I just. claw at the walls yk #I’ll be reposting them as I edit them so just give me a bit for each one 🙏🏽#yan!yuuta #writing tag

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huramuna · 4 months

Text

foxfaced, dragonhearted - oneshot.

dark, mean prince regent aemond x wife reader

for my 200 followers poll, i've actually had this one cooking for a while so i'm happy this option won! this is absolutely filthy, i'm sorry in advance.

word count: 2.4k

i don't do taglists any more unfortunately, its mostly because i never remember and then feel bad about it so i've made a second blog just for reblogging my fics! @huramuna-fics -- follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings!

content: slight dub-con, smut (specifics below cut), angst, mean aemond, toxic relationship, like in no way is this healthy, good god, smut with little plot, reader is described being from riverlands w/ auburn hair and brown eyes, no use of y/n, not beta read, i literally went into a haze writing this there are probably mistakes

tonight you belong to me - patience & prudence • vampire - olivia rodrigo

warnings: p in v, choking, breath play, dom/sub, degradation, creampie, cockwarming, orgasm denial, breeding, aemond is so mean here thats its own damn warning

Aemond knew what he wanted and the sacrifices that needed to be made to get such things. He wanted a dragon, it took an eye to get it. He wanted the Conqueror’s crown, it took his brother being burnt to get it. He wanted a legacy that would surpass his lifetime, etched into the very being of Westeros itself. The sacrifice needed for this would be to chain himself to a woman he likely wouldn’t be interested in.

That is where you came in.

You were sweet, he supposed. Sweet in a way that made his teeth ache. Sweet in a way akin to a mouse and how it looked up at the cat just before his jaws snapped around the mouse’s head.

He didn’t need to like you. Many marriages were forged in dislike or just plain indifference, set to a mutual goal. He supposed your mutual goal was children. All he needed was to use you as a vessel, a womb for his seed to take hold.

You poor thing, you didn’t really understand that he didn’t truly care for you. You were nice enough looking, of course– hair that reminded him of autumn leaves, always styled in some intricate style with half a hundred braids, dozens of pins and decorative pearls. You reminded Aemond of a fox, dark eyes against muted auburn fur, lips always pursed, sniffing the air in search for hounds on your tail. You certainly were a skittish, jittery little thing.

The marriage was a quick affair, done at the Sept two days after Aemond wore the Conqueror’s crown for the first time. You weren't a part of some major house, all of the major houses were too close, too greedy, their breaths hot against his neck as they shoved their wedable daughters at him. The last thing he wished for was to be indebted to some trivial lord who thought his name elevated him to the same stratosphere as Aemond– a paltry lady of some low house bred in the Riverlands would do just fine, he expected his Valyrian seed to dominate any of their week genes anyhow.

He had met you once before, many years ago before he lost his eye. When he was forced to tag along on some meager diplomacy meeting with his grandsire– he remembers it as being forced, but in reality, he wished to attend. What else was a second son with no dragon to do? – and you had been there, hiding behind your father’s trousers. You had been wearing a blue dress, he remembered this distinctly, as it stood out against the ruby red of the apple you had offered him.

Aemond had tried to speak with you, but you only communicated in nods and soft noises– something you only partially grew out of. He never understood why he remembered this girl, as you were insignificant in the seas of faces he’s met over his life. Mayhaps it was your quiet nature that he remembered, something that, now at his age and state of mind, struck him as malleable, easy to mold into what he needed you to be.

And so it shall be.

–

It was about two and a half moons after your marriage, he returned from a late council meeting. Rubbing his eye, feeling the familiar thrum of pain right behind the socket, he was already in a particularly sour mood. The council meeting had gone south, ending in most of the lords bickering over one another like children.

It irritated Aemond to no end, the strain of an oncoming headache ever looming. He still struggled with intense pain from his eye, or rather, his socket and severed nerves. The pain was debilitating at times and if anyone dared to test his patience when it was particularly bad, he would snap at them like a cornered animal, no matter who it was.

Raising his head, he noticed the hearth was still going strong, multiple candles still lit in the solar, despite it being late at night. The now familiar crop of auburn hair was peeking from behind the couch— his wife was usually never up this late.

“Why are you still awake, wife?” he asked as he took off his gloves, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“… reading. I was waiting for you.” you murmured in your usual hushed tone, the sound of your book closing was louder than your voice.

“I told you not to do that. It’s unnecessary.” he grunted in response, undoing the latches of his leather doublet.

“I-I don’t mind it… I just sleep a bit easier…” you continued, no doubt twiddling the end of your braid between your fingers— an anxious habit.

“You need proper rest. I won’t have my wife looking like a sleepless, sloven mess,” Aemond chastised, discarding his shirt. “Now, what are you reading?” he was becoming increasingly irritated with you, feeling as if he had to force you to take care of yourself and unlatch you like a leech from him. When you looked upon him with your wide eyes filled with uncertainty and fear, he felt the overwhelming urge to wrap his fingers around your throat and squeeze until you passed out or mayhaps went limp, like a doll.

“Oh,” you slid the book towards him on the side table, it was a book on the history of Old Valyria and its language, usually used for children to begin speaking it. “Nyke j-jaelagon… naejot ēdrugon… va ao.” I wish to sleep next to you.

Aemond’s brow furrowed. “What use do you have to learn High Valyrian, wife? Issa dōna ābrazȳrys mijegon nykeā notion isse zȳhon bartos, wanting naejot gūrēñagon mirros ziry daor.” My sweet wife without a thought in her head, wanting to learn something she cannot.

You reached for the book, your comprehension not skilled enough yet to pull what Aemond was saying to you. Before you could grab it, he slammed his hand down on the book, effectively snatching it from your grasp. You pouted her bottom lip. “I want to learn… mayhaps it might bring us closer together.”

Aemond scoffed, the sound sending a sting of pain right into the core of your chest. “We are as close as we need to be, little one. We are married in the eyes of Gods and men and we fulfill our marital duty by trying to produce heirs, hm?” He placed the book back on the shelf. “This nonsense of wanting to be closer is moot. I won’t hear of it anymore.”

A glaze of sorrow flashed through your eyes before you got up from the couch, tightening the housecoat around your shoulders.

“Come to bed,” he said, moreso as a command than a suggestion. “I know you are cold, ābrazȳrys.” Wife.

You made a small noise of discernment, crawling into bed after him.

He looped his arms around you, pressing you to his bare chest. He radiated heat like a furnace and was quick to warm you up– you were always so cold, he noted. He surely hoped that your children together would inherit his fiery blood and not the weak-willed, uninsulated Andal blood you possessed.

Aemond bounced from being indifferent to you, paying you no more mind than a maid or a whore, to needing you, every part of you. He didn’t see you as a person, moreso an extension of himself, latched onto his body until he consumed you entirely, your bones fusing together as one. To him, you were a doll or plaything to entertain him, testing the mettle of your will, to see if you were of poor craftsmanship and would break. He had always broken his toys as a child.

You could tell by the rhythm of his breathing, he wasn’t going to sleep just yet– you’d become very attuned to his moods, his small intakes of air against your neck causing your skin to prickle into goosebumps. His lips ghosted over your throat, one of his arms coming up to wrap near the base of your windpipe, not yet applying pressure, but the threat was there.

No, it wasn’t so much as a threat than it was a promise– he quite liked applying pressure to your airways when you coupled, his lone violet eye centered intently on yours as they went from wide to half-lidded, soft whimpers of pleading to stop, sometimes for more, more. He relished in holding your very life in his hands and you let him.

“Mayhaps I should get you a collar, wife,” he hummed, his voice husky and deep, reverberating deep within your chest as your heart pounded. “But I think you like my hands much better, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you breathed, the small swallowing bob of your throat felt against the palm of his hand, causing him to grin. “... I fancy them– on my tender neck… between my legs…” you responded, feeling slightly bold at the notion you put forth. The heat of his body permeated your skin, warming your core into an ever familiar feeling.

Aemond all but growled at your comment, positioning the both of you to where you were laying with your back upon him, as if you were lazing upon him like a chair. “Feeling courageous tonight, are we? No matter, my dear, you will break all the same,” his mouth pressed to the shell of your ear, teeth nipping at your lobe. “Like every night before, and every night to come– your life is in my hands,” he enunciated this with a squeeze to your neck, eliciting a small mewl from you. “Is it not? Say it.”

“M-my life– belongs to you, husband,” you managed to squeak out.

“Not husband, not now. You know the rules.”

“M-my king, your grace,” you rephrased quickly.

He clicked his tongue in slight admonishment. “A bit slow on the take tonight, little one,” Aemond muttered, slotting his leg between yours and kicking your thighs apart. “Keep them open.” his voice was dripping with something between venom and sticky sweet honey. He felt akin to a God every time he was in the sky, every time he sat the throne with the crown on his head, and every time he rested his hand on your pretty little throat as he sheathed himself to the hilt inside of you so easily, so free of resistance. “So slick for me, just from the smallest of chokes– fucking whore.” he hissed, starting a slow, deliberate pace as his hips met against your bottom. The pair of you were like two threads, intertwined with his legs pretzeling around yours, keeping you spread open.

Your breath hitched in your throat as he continued to bully that sensitive, spongy spot within you– but you craved so much more, feeling waves of heat emanate from your sensitive bud as it screamed at your brain, begging to be touched. You made the critical error, thinking your husband was too focused on his own pleasure to notice you going for your own, as your hand slowly descended between your legs, rubbing small circles upon your pearl.

How wrong you were.

His arm came up further, his bicep pressing to the bottom of your chin, his free palm slapping your hand away from yourself. “Are you truly fucking stupid tonight, wife?” he spat, stilling his thrusts. “When did I say you could touch yourself? Have I fucked you stupid already?” Aemond huffed in frustration. “My poor, dumb wife– you cannot do anything right, can you?” he slid you off of him, then flipped over to loom atop you, taking both of your hands within one of his, his large hand encapsulating your wrists with ease, trapping them above your head.

You sniffed, tears welling at your lash line, threatening to spill– not just from his downright mean admonishments, but from your stolen gluttony, your pleasure stolen so close to the precipice. “‘M sorry, your grace,” you cried, “Forgive me.”

“You’re lucky you have such a sweet cunt,” Aemond mused, his immodest and downright sinful language going straight to your core as he nestled inside of you once more, menacing atop you like a darkening cloud. “I forgive you– and will even pleasure you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To come?”

You nodded fervently, your lamenting tears spilling over and running down your cheeks.

“I’m feeling quite generous, then– I’ll let you. If you beg me.”

“P-please–” you blubbered, “Please let me come, my king.”

A sickly smirk came over his face once more as he pushed forward again, not bothering with the slow and meticulous pace he had before. His hips slammed into yours as he surged into you, as if you were nothing more than a cocksleeve for his pleasure. And yet, and yet– his hand didn’t move to the apex of your legs, chasing his own high before he would give into yours.

“Aemond, please, please– please touch me, f-fuck, your grace– my k-king, please!” you were all but wailing now, half in ecstasy and half in pure beseechment, pleading for just some semblance of the lecherous, stimulating and lewd sensation that only he could give you.

He took mercy on you, the pad of his thumb zeroing in on your leaking folds, giving your clit a cheeky pinch. It was a delightful pain– that was what being with Aemond was, what it came down to. Every waking moment with him was thrilling, sublime, agonizing, unending torture– and you fucking loved it.

Your mouth hung open, you were sobbing freely now, your lips quirked into a euphoric and maddened smile. “Thank you, tha-nk you, t-thank you, I love you, I love you,” you gasped, your lungs ballooning with air as you begged him further, “P-please, around my neck–”

Something animalistic came out of Aemond at your request, his hand draping around your throat like a necklace. “My sweet, dumb wife– you don’t know what to do unless I tell you, unless I let you, unless I guide you to your release, hm?” he prostrated each word with a deep thrust. The combination of his ministrations on your bundle of nerves, the head of his cock callously beating into your sweet spot, and the squeeze of his hand around your neck– it was enough.

With a garbled string of words, prayers, denotes of love, pronouncements of his prowess, his titles, his name– the coil inside of you snapped, lighting every nerve you had in your body on fire. You saw stars as your climax wracked through you like a tempest, the absolute vice grip of your core sending Aemond into his own completion, his seed painting your walls and then some.

In your fucked-out delirium, you thought you might’ve heard him say something– you didn’t decipher it until later when you were half asleep, his softened member still lodged inside of you somehow as he curled you into his chest.

“My love, my wife– I love you.”

#aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fic #aemond fanfic #aemond smut #dark aemond smut #dark aemond angst #my writing

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i-drop-level-one-loot · 8 months

Note

hi i love your work a lot i've been reading it a lot during this difficult blood moon time. i have a request if you don't mind tackling it!! this is gonna be very specific, but yandere! stalker x reader, BUT the yandere is not stalking reader -- the yandere is stalking a popular girl the reader knows in passing, and reader figures "well, i could use some extra cash", so reader approaches stalker and offers to sell phone numbers of popular girl, hangs out with stalker, and unintentionally ends up becoming the new target of stalker. surprised pikachu face on reader's end that her plan has backfired. bonus points if popular girl that same morning is like "i think stalker guy has finally stopped following me" before the reveal. thank you for reading :)

Based on your post, Imma assume she/her pronouns for our darling (you know what, I relate, gimme the money lmaoooo)

(Reader) slammed her hand down onto the cafe's table, startling the nervous looking man hiding behind his long, shaggy hair. He had been so focused on staring at Jenny (❤️), the angel of campus, and his unrequited love (of three months). Axle fumbled with his camera, nearly dropping it on the floor as he scurried to hide it in his lap.

"Um.. hi?" His exhausted eyes darted around the coffee shop, too nervous to look directly at the woman standing above him. "May I help you?"

"So you're Jenny's stalker." (Reader) smiled coyly, pulling a chair closer towards Axle so she could sit uncomfortably close to him.

His pasty skin flushed deep maroon, sweating under the harsh accusation . "No, you're wrong, I-I'm not-"

The poor hooded man was cut off by (Reader) grabbing his camera, too horrified by the situation to make a scene in the packed area. (Reader) flipped through the pictures, her smile fading as her eyebrows knit into a disappointed scowl.

"Damn, these pictures... suuuuck."

Axle was shocked, not expecting that response. "What?" His face went slack like a fish, unable to compute the young woman's critique.

"They're all... blurry. And, off center? Out of focus..." She handed back his camera, now with a look of mild pity. "Dude.."

With shaky hands, Axle yanked the camera back, not knowing if he should still be scared that he was caught, or offended.

"When Jenny was talking about how nervous she felt, having a stalker, I thought.. I thought you would be different." (Reader) cupped her chin in her hands, leaning in further, forcing Axle to lean awkwardly to the side, away from the strange woman. She seemed to be debating something, carefully contemplating her next steps. "Are you going to kill her?"

Axle gasped, mortified. "No! No, I would never!" He denied, a little louder than he had meant to. Axle sat stiff, fiddling with his camera. "I just.. really like her." A cute little blush dusted his cheeks, making (Reader) pray she wasn't being a fool.

She slipped a hand into her jacket pocket, and pulled out a picture of Jenny, one not from her social media. Axle grabbed it, admiring how the sunlight looked like a halo illuminating Jenny's hair. "Where did you get this?" Axle asked, full of awe as he stroked the image.

"I took it." (Reader) replied smugly. "Do you want it?"

Axle nodded, unable to pry his eyes away from the image. (Reader) pulled the picture back out of his hands, watching him whimper with a cold, unamused expression on her face.

"Twenty bucks."

"Huh?"

"Twenty bucks, and this is yours." (Reader) sat back in her seat like a mob boss, legs spread wide and head cocked to the side.

Axle yanked his wallet out, and fished out a twenty, absolutely giddy over receiving such a wonderful picture of his beloved.

"Pleasure making business." (Reader) smiled, pleased with how easy it was to trap Axle in her web. "Of course, with how awful you are at stalking, will you be okay with just that little picture?"

The young man froze. Of course, she was right. He was clumsy and skittish, often getting noticed while following Jenny, getting chased by campus police. Even the pictures he took of her were rubbish. "What do you mean?" Axle asked only to be sure he wasn't misunderstanding the situation.

"I'll help you out. I'll continue taking pictures for you, get you private information on Jenny, whatever you want. And you pay me."

He smiled oddly. "Pay? What you're doing is a crime, and you're fine with that?"

(Reader) grinned back childishly. "As long as you pay me."

Despite how uncomfortable Axle was with the strange young woman who hadn't even introduced herself, he couldn't pass up this opportunity.

~ 1 week later ~

Axle waited behind a dumpster, not quite sure how X had gotten his phone number. He still hadn't learned the mystery woman's name, only that she was eccentric, and possibly watched too many crime thrillers. (Reader) had told him to call her X, thinking it best that he didn't know her true identity.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when (Reader) popped up behind him. "You got the cash?" Axle squeaked, grabbing his heart.

"You scared me!" Axle stuttered out, looking better than he had the first time they met. His hair was no longer greasy, and the bags under his eyes had lightened up.

'Looks like he's had more time to take care of himself, now that I'm doing the dirty work for him.' (Reader) thought, staring daggers at Axle. He became flustered under her gaze, shifting anxiously.

"What are you looking at?"

"Just wondering why you're stalking Jenny in the first place." Axle pouted, thinking that maybe this was just a set up to bully him. "You're actually pretty handsome when you've showered."

"Huh?"

"Like, conventionally speaking, by societal standards, you are attractive. Maybe stop slouching and find a better jacket? But yeah, pretty sure if you took care of yourself and just approached Jenny like a normal human being she would have liked you."

His ears became warm at (Reader's) words, trying not to smile at the image of Jenny calling him handsome.

"But, better for me that you're a weirdo." (Reader) smiled playfully, holding out a manila envelope full of pictures she had printed out. "Money!" She said it like a question, empty hand opened expectantly.

Axle grumbled, plopping a wad of cash into her hand as he grabbed the envelope, heart palpitating as he saw more exquisite pictures of Jenny. Each one was amazing, with a sense of professionalism in their quality.

"These are incredible."

"Yeah, yeah. She's, like, super hot, I know." (Reader) absentmindedly responded while counting her earnings.

"I meant the pictures, dick."

(Reader) then did something unexpectedly, she stopped counting, and it looked like a little blush bloomed ever so faintly, genuinely surprised by the compliment. "Oh. Uh, thanks."

Axle noticed the way her back went rigid and the way she averted her eyes. It was.. kinda cute. His brain short circuited. Did I just think she's cute?

~ 2 weeks later ~

Axle's door knocked insistently, rousing him from his slumber. No one ever visited his apartment, not even his parents, so Axle was suspicious of who it could be. "I'm coming!"

He unlocked the door to find X, standing their with a shit eating grin on her face. "I never want to hear you say that again."

(Reader) brushed past the blushing mess, barging into his dark and creepy apartment. "How - why - how??" Axle was almost on the verge of tears, zipping around his apartment faster than the Flash to try and clean up, scooping up arms full of dirty underpants and pizza boxes, and just throwing them into a closet.

"Because I'm actually good at my job, that's how." She smiled triumphantly, flopping onto his bed while taking off her bag. "You know, it was really easy making friends with Jenny. She's so sweet.. it makes me feel a little guilty." (Reader) faked a sniffle, pretending to be torn up. "Maybe we should end this.."

"What? No!" Axle panicked, immediately regretting acting like a fool, as "X" removed her hands from her face, revealing dry eyes and a sarcastic smirk.

"Maybe I'll stay.. if you give me a raise."

Axle looked shocked, like he had actually believed (Reader). It was cute. "Fine.. whatever." He groaned, still standing with his arms cross.

"Aren't you going to sit down? I've got some things to show ya." (Reader) patted the bed.

"No!" Axle replied way too quickly, embarrassed about sitting with a girl in his bed. "I mean.. I'm fine standing." He rubbed his neck, avoiding eye contact as usual.

"You know, I know I'm not Jenny levels of hot, but it hurts that you never even look at me." (Reader) deadpanned, pulling out a pad of paper from her backpack, along with another envelope of pictures. "In this little notebook I have Jenny's phone number, her mom's phone number, her dad's phone number, I have her dorm address, I have her family's home address, I have the contact info for her past three exes, and I also wrote down some stuff I learned from talking to her, like the kind of guy she likes, her favorite food, her allergies, a bunch of stuff."

Axle was shocked, and kind of startled, by how thorough (Reader) was. He enjoyed following Jenny between classes, making sure she got where she needed to go, and yeah he liked climbing up the side of the dormitory to try and watch her sleeping, but this was beyond anything he ever could have hoped for.

"Wow. Maybe you do deserve that raise." He opened the envelope, ignoring (Reader) as she bragged about how she got all that information, overwhelmed yet again by (Reader's) photography skills. "Have you ever thought about becoming a photographer?"

(Reader) paused her rambling, nervously shifting her gaze away. Axle was beginning to suspect that she didn't receive compliments all that often, which was a shame, because she certainly was talented. Axle felt his heart thump heavily again.

"I, uh, never thought about it.." (Reader) lied. "Why, you think I should?"

Why did she look so cute right now, nervously asking a creep who was paying her to stalk someone if he approved of her talents?

As he was about to answer, he found a selfie of Jenny and (Reader) together. "What's this?"

"Oh, sorry that wasn't supposed to be in there. Jenny saw my camera and asked if we could take a pic together." (Reader) made a move to grab it, but Axle held it up out of her reach. Strangely, he realized that he had never seen the two side by side, and for some reason in the picture of the two of them together Ms. X was way cuter.

"I'll keep this one too."

"Huh? Why?"

"I like it."

~ 1 month later ~

Axle stared into the bright blue light of his laptop, looking at (Reader's) face. It was difficult to find her, as she didn't have much of a social media presence, and Axle didn't know her name, but he finally found her. He kept telling himself that he was just curious in what kind of lunatic agreed to work as a professional stalker, and why the hell was she so good at it? But as he lost track of time staring at the terrible family photos her mother posted online, he started to question why he never seemed to notice her before.

It felt even worse, since she noticed him.

The pictures she took were all neatly packed in a drawer except for the selfie she took with Jenny. Axle kept arguing with himself, insisting that that was simply the best picture of Jenny by far. But he knew deep down it wasn't the truth.

He had started to lose sleep again, trying to dig up information on his partner on crime. Partners in crime. Axle smacked himself in the head, pulling his hoodie down over his mop of hair. Unfortunately, he was a college student, and had classes to attend.

Out in the corridor, he heard the most wonderful sound in the world. (Reader's) maniacal laughter. Even when out with normal people, (Reader) didn't mask who she was. She was walking with a group of popular students, all cracking up over something one of them had said, and Axle was jealous.

(Reader) looked so natural with that crowd, hanging out like she wasn't a loser like him, glowing so brightly that Axle didn't see Jenny right away. He knew (Reader) said that she had "infiltrated their ranks" in order to learn more about Jenny for him, but it was still incredible to see. Axle wondered if he would look just as natural by their side, after all, (Reader) had said that Axle was "handsome". He suddenly became self conscious, regretting not showering before he left his apartment. When was the last time he washed this coat? Why hadn't he bought a new one when (Reader) suggested it?

It was almost like he had to remind himself to look at Jenny. She didn't look as angelic as he remembered.

~ 2 months later ~

"What made you like Jenny?" (Reader) asked, scrolling on her phone while lounging on Axle's bed. Axle was watching (Reader) while pretending to look at the pictures she had taken. She was so exposed, lying there as though this was just a friend's place, not a man's bed. Axle tried not to feel excitement seeing (Reader) so comfortable in his presence.

"I'm, um, not sure." And that was the truth. Why did he like Jenny? The way she smiled? Was it simply how beautiful she was?

The more he grew to know (Reader) as a person, the more beautiful he found her to be. Jenny paled in comparison to (Reader).

It was too embarrassing to tell (Reader) the truth, that the woman he loved so much that he couldn't stop thinking about her 24/7, now simply didn't interest him. Not like (Reader) did. If I take a picture of her, would she hate me?

"You should take more selfies." Axle stated, out of the blue.

"Why?" (Reader) snorted.

"Because you're pretty.." He blushed softly, smiling at the picture of (Reader) he kept on his desk.

~ 4 months later ~

(Reader) smiled wide eyed, almost unable to contain her surprise. "What?"

"Yeah, he's just, disappeared." Jenny took a sip from her coffee, confused but not complaining. "I haven't noticed that creepy fuck following me around, like, at all lately."

Many thoughts passed through (Reader's) mind like rapid fire. Was everything okay with Axle? Did he lose interest in his beloved? And if he did, was she no longer going to get paid?!

(Reader) ran to Axle's apartment as soon as the coast was clear. Partially worried for his well being, mostly worried for her pay check.

She didn't bother knocking, instead throwing open the door like she owned the place. Axle stood in the middle of his room, confused, and pink in the face. He had a fresh hair cut, showing off his dark eyes, and he had a new outfit on, one that fit him better than his oversized stained hoodie. "(Reader)? What are you doing here?"

"I was just-" she stuttered, blushing violently. He was incredibly attractive, towering over her now that he was standing with better posture. "Wait, how did you know my name?!"

An ominous feeling crept over her, as she thought about how many times she laid in his bed, not knowing that he was falling out of love with his target. He smiled sweetly at (Reader), behind him was a new camera he had bought for her, as a gift. Axle had meant to propose a new deal with (Reader), requesting pictures of her instead, but she had caught him dressing up in the clothes he bought to impress her. He pulled her into his room.

(Reader) only noticed the pictures of her scattered across the floor as Axle locked the door.

#yandere #yandere stalker #yandere stalker x reader #fem reader #college aged reader #tw stalking #thanks for the ask!#writing requests #i hope you like it #not proofread #bad writing

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grimesgirll · 1 month

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Do you take requests? If so I’d love to see a Rick x reader where he watches reader in the shower and maybe jerks off to it. One day she notices him and asks him to join her

it’s a filthy thing he’s doing.

steam fogging up the glass and bursting around you, you’re oblivious to the onlooker to your nightly shower.

watching you like this has to go down on the list of the grimiest things he’s ever done.

despite being a shining example of a redemption story and someone he could trust, rick wants nothing more than to spend an evening with you face down beneath him. your hands on him, his on you; rick craves you in so many ways.

observing from the doorway already has him palming his hard on. through the mist, your erection stirring figure is obvious and rick has underestimated how painfully hard he is. it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fantasized with you around.

on the road once, you were on your knees tending to his cuts and all he could think about was how beautiful you were. with the prettiest face he’d ever seen and lips too soft too pillowy and tempting for the harsh season you were in.

one of the woodbury survivors, you’d come to the group as nothing more than a shaken young grad student. the governor returning to storm your new home changed that. terminus had changed that. the road had changed that. with every experience you grew closer to the group and closer to rick, although you were both too skittish to address the ways you looked at each other with your basic survivor being such a priority.

you were welcome in his house however, once your group started assimilating amongst the alexandrians. opting to take a second floor bedroom next to judith’s, you fell into a steady routine of playing house with the grimes family. the newfound responsibilities of alexandria didn’t allow you to be judith’s full time caretaker but you still spent most days with the little girl and carl.

alone time with rick was hard to come by; “new constable duties and all,” he’d gruffed when you asked why you’d seen so little of him.

it wasn’t a satisfying answer but rick was wrapped up in alexandria and his new role. and jessie, you add mentally as you trudge up the stairs and to your en-suite to shower.

you hadn’t heard him when he shut the bedroom door - that you hadn’t bothered to close - and linger in the open bathroom doorway.

the hiss that comes out of him when you squirt a handful of body wash onto your palm and cup your breasts is hard to miss though.

at first you think it’s just the shower. the thought doesn’t cross your mind again as you begin scrubbing your torso with your loofah until another fervent breath echoes louder than the shower.

once you realize what’s going on, you refrain from stilling; not wanting to scare rick off.

the loofah runs lower, legs and knees being grazed by the tactile clump of textiles. you take your time bending over and really getting your calves, ankles, and the bottoms of your feet throughly cleaned.

your vantage point doesn’t extend behind you but you can see it all the same: rick, hot and bothered from your glistening body just feet away from him - a hand suddenly freeing his cock and taking the time to allow himself some manual relief.

rick is not the type to snoop on you in the shower but you roll your neck, easing out the cracks and thrusting your soapy bust forward all the same. you would’ve said something by now if you took any serious issue with rick sharing the room with you. your greatest issue is the wanton need bubbling between your pillowy thighs.

how to communicate with him? you mull, warm droplets falling onto your smooth skin from above. maybe being direct is the most honest thing you can do.

“rick, there’s room in here for two, you know.”

the sound of the shower head grows louder in rick’s silence.

you frown. having complex feelings is one thing, ignoring you is another.

thighs clenching at the thought of the tense election in his hand, you offer, “i can help you with that.”

another hiss hints to you that your words are landing. with a coy smile, you’re trying to coax him in another. whispers and wants of languidly bathing together amongst other things slip from your mouth in your ploy to get the man behind this glass door with you.

“come in with me, rick.”

rick’s eyes widen when you slide the shower door open and you think he’s considering heading for the hills until his eyes meet yours. his pupils are way to dilated to have the self control to run out of your bedroom.

he has even less of a capacity to fight when you begin tugging down the rest of his pants and underwear.

with a scolding of your name, he attempts to keep you from unbuttoning his shirt but with the way you’re pawing at him, he struggles to stay strong.

“honey, you don’t have to. i don’t know if that’s-,”

“-it’s fine, don’t worry. just get in here.” you emphasize your point with a wide smile and a pull of rick’s arm and before he knows it, he’s standing under the steam with you.

soft skin against his taut muscles, rick is the one melting into your embrace despite the slick between your thighs. he grounds himself with a hand against your tit.

“i’m really glad you came in here.” you remark into his doused chest. your embrace deepens until you feel rick between your legs and can’t help but grind down onto his rock hardness.

“let me wash your back, rick.”

it’s not what he expected to hear after you crushed his cock against your soft exterior but he’ll take it.

turning around, rick hears you pop the cap off of one of your cucumber smelling body washes and starts with his shoulders. the man grunts from the delicate massage up and down his back.

“i’m really happy you’re with me right now, rick.” you iterate again, hoping to drive the point home.

the constable’s head lifts slightly. “you like me?”

“i do, rick.” you answer without a breath. your hands trail lower as you lather the skin just above his ass. “i like you a lot. i like living here with you.”

his muscles tighten and relax beneath you, responding to your words and the motion of your nimble fingers. his stress filled backside needed nothing more than for you to continue this massage with him on his stomach on the bed. months on months of responsibility, peril, and his role as a leader had manifested the knots in his back.

another hour of this treatment would probably have rick feeling better than he had in a long time but he starts to get an idea of something he wants even more.

rick rotates to face you, catching your wrists in his palms and your gaze all in the same pivot.

“do you want me to fuck you, darlin’?”

you could swoon right then and there. you always ached when he called you darlin’. now he can take care of the throbbing he always caused when he addressed you like that.

“of course,” you exhale and nod eagerly.

the kiss that rick is stamping on your wet lips has you hooking a leg around the back of his thigh and falling into his embrace.

this is the moment when you appreciate having the handicap accessible bathroom.

because after a few minutes of sucking marks that you know are going to incur questions, rick takes a break from attacking your lips, tits, and collarbone to bend you over the white, rubbery soft waterproof bench installed in your en-suite. you brace yourself against the surface as you feel rick behind you, gathering up your slick. the tip of his much larger than you’d expected cock teases your already sloppy wet hole.

“mhm,” you’re crying when he brushes against you again.

“damn, you’re wet, darlin’,.”

“why do you think, rick?”

you don’t mean to be snappy but you want him inside of you. waiting at the door is only working you up even more.

he chuckles lightly. a finger touches your sensitive folds from behind; the gasp he elicits from you has him pressing his cock right along your tight little hole.

the whine that you let ring through the shower is the last straw before rick plunges into you.

every inch is a battle - a battle you’re pleased to lose. it’s like waterloo, or whatever reason abba loved it so much. rick felt like too much to take at first. in all reality, your thick arousal ushers him in flawlessly. each thrust coats him in your cunt’s permission to keep going - keep pushing through each layer of fleshy, heavenly, spongy muscle. the road to bottoming out inside of you has never been more clear.

with the confidence to drive balls deep comes your needy cunt contracting against rick. a temporary finger against your clit only exacerbates the death grip you’ve established.

“good fucking girl, so tight,” rick relays to you through gritted teeth. “you take me so well, baby.”

bent over the bench, you’re thanking god that you’re in the shower and not somewhere where anyone can you hear or rick. no one needs to hear the way you’re murmuring like an overjoyed, sex-hazed idiot and getting fucked so dumb up and down on him.

the dim lighting provided from the bathroom adds to the sensational pleasures you’re being treated to right now. now adjusted to his cock, the girth of rick is something that has you stupid and out of breath. the risk you took calling out rick was well worth it. getting fucked like this in your shower is exactly what you’d hoped for - and maybe rick ending up in your bed when this is all over.

“c’mon, i know we’re both close. come all over me nice and tight like i know you want to, baby.” the man encourages.

“wanna feel you come too, rick,” you’re rasping between twisting your hips to meet his from behind with the pliable plush of your ass.

“anything you want, darlin,” he promises with a kiss against your neck.

hot and searing like sparklers, waves of pulsing pleasure threaten to spill over. your core flutters around rick and he chokes back a hoarse moan. the indentation of his fingers in your hips only sinks deeper. that dull pain guides you with the bludgeoning pace of rick in your already revved up and desperate cunt.

splashing over you like the hot water above you, your orgasm has you jerking your hips even worse than rick when he comes inside of you not thirty seconds later.

when you feel up to it, you’re on your feet and drawing rick in by the back of the head for a kiss from you on your tippy toes. the tongue in your mouth and the firm hand on your waist is enough for you to get a little lost in it all.

you’re pulled from the steamy haze when you realize you two have shifted. the stickiness dissipating with the hot water is your indication and your head lowers to see rick’s come cascading down the duct. the mixture of your fluids is washed down your thighs and down the drain.

rick tilts your head up to interrupt your view of the floor beneath you two, cueing you into another lengthy kiss. he takes the opportunity to run his hands up as down the length of your body, not neglecting to cup your ass.

an arch is reprising in you when the body wash makes another appearance. rick’s rubbing around your thighs, being thorough enough that you drag him out of the shower with you. opting for the two of you to share a towel, it’s not long before you’re heading for your bedroom.

with wet hair and soapy feet you two are crashing onto your bed.

the bedspread is damp already but you could care less. your bodies meeting skin to skin is dinging your pleasure receptors enough. all of rick flush against you while he marks your neck with even more hot, plum colored blemishes and juts his hips into you.

“mhmm,” you moan, rotating your hips back. “rick,” you’re whimpering for him at this point.

“wanna taste this freshly washed pussy,” rick utters against your chest, kissing his way down the valley of your breasts and just above your belly button.

he licks a pattern from there down to your slicked back mound. the tongue that parts your folds for you, gallantly dips inside of you. you’re worried that your reactive bottom will be crushing rick rudely in no time but his dexterous hands brace themselves against your thighs without fault. the accompanying circles and rhythmic patterns he’s etching with the pads of his fingers into your skin have you writing beneath his thick tongue.

roving across your slit as if on a mission, rick takes advantage of your sensitivity that had been see-sawing since the shower. you welcome the crescent shaped marks he’s littering on the paper sensitive skin of your inner thighs. why would you be upset? he’s setting you up to come your way into a state of bliss and sleep like a baby.

“rick, you’re so good at this,” you bellow softly, bleary eyed from the pressure he’s managing with just his tongue.

he doesn’t respond; the tongue toying with your relaxed hole just juts against the muscle. you almost leap up the bed when the tip of his pink tongue trespasses the first inch of your velvety insides.

“rick!” you exclaim.

pupil blown eyes rolling back, you’re clutching at the bedspread to stay on this planet. nerve endings flicker and burst into flame with the weight of rick’s tongue lapping them with no end in sight.

“fuck, i’m gonna come in your mouth, rick.” you confess breathily.

hands find his chestnut waves and they help you cope with the vortex licking and laving every single sweet moan and whimper from you.

you’re worried you’ll come right then and there again when you feel a deft finger that’s opening you up even more. it’s like the room is spinning. this new addition has you scrunching your eyes shut from the double overwhelm of this clearly skilled man’s finger and tongue.

“oh, rick!”

your lust-filled outbursts pair appropriately with the seriousness rick is committing to your cunt. a finger inside of you, a tongue bullying you, and another finger tormenting your clit has you begging and bucking your hips.

“mhmm, rick, shit.” you curse. “god!”

beneath you, the tongue and the two fingers intent on ruining you enter over time in an attempt to overload you. the pace and the pressure bundled up together are enough to have tears rolling down your cheeks.

a crack breaks inside of you when a particularly excruciatingly twist of rick’s fingers tantalizes the spot with the invisible “x.”

“rick!”

heat is rushing to your face when he curls his fingers inside of you. the full lips on your clit only have your knees floundering. that heat isn’t just in your face but brimming in your core. rick does nothing to assuage it - just builds on the heightening ardor around his fingers. fumbling through your words, you flex around his fingers and his tongue is the first to taste the flood as your head clearing, thought averting release grants you a blissful blank slate of a state.

looking down at you, the man savors the glow your climax had brought to your already ethereal face. parted lips and still twitching thighs told him that he’d thoroughly made inviting you in the shower with him worth your while.

fucked out and grinning, rick can’t help but match your disposition when you roll onto your elbows and utter;

“so, are you sleeping over?”

#the walking dead #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes #twd #twd smut #twd imagine #rick grimes imagine #twd rick #not beta read #hope y’all like the new layout lol #the people speak #voyerurism #grimesgirll

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spoilers-ahead · 9 months

Text

okay!! now that it’s not 2am for me, i’m going to post my selkie!jason todd hc’s straight up au apparently!

(uh. this was supposed to just be a list of hc’s but i got slightly,,,, carried away)

his selkie skin looks like an oversized red hoodie in his human form, and is just warm enough to help him survive new england winters.

when the summer heat becomes unbearable, he slings the hoodie around his waist

alternatively, he just coasts it out underwater. perks of living in a coastal city!

willis todd was a selkie. he used to tell jason stories of what it was like to swim through the big, wide ocean. of how freeing it felt. how different it is, from the smoggy, heavy air of gotham --- different, but both theirs, in their own right.

but to be honest, jason doesn’t remember much about the stories he was told, or really, anything about willis --- he had been in and out of blackgate for most of jason’s life, working for two-face to try and make ends meet, before dying.

what jason mostly remembers, are the warnings. don’t let anybody know you’re a selkie. don’t let anybody find your skin. they will find it, and they will use it to control you. even decades later, jason would still remember those warnings.

catherine is the one who teaches him how to swim, who helps him trial-and-error his way into putting his skin on, and learn how to make the transition seamless.

after she dies, jason spends three months as a seal, to just... exist. forget.

although jason technically lives on the streets, whenever he can;t find food, whenever he can’t find somewhere warm to sleep, whenever just being human becomes too unbearable, he spends the night as a seal. he ends up spending more time in the ocean, than on land.

that’s not to say he’s very good at being a seal --- he barely knows how to swim, has to learn how to fish the hard way.

when bruce finds jason stealing his car tires, he marvels over how nice jason’s hoodie is, soft and fluffy even after all of jason’s time on the streets, especially given the condition jason is in, ribs showing from malnutrition, and the worn and raggedy shape of the rest of his stuff.

jason is skittish when he goes to live in the manor, even after a few weeks. he always adopts an expression particularly similar to a cornered wild animal around alfred in particular, alfred, who keeps on trying to take his hoodie away, purportedly to wash it.

alfred eventually gives up on trying to force jason to wash it --- he figures that as jason becomes more comfortable living at the manor, he’ll wind up telling them why he’s so protective over that hoodie, and they can work something out then.

whenever wayne manor overwhelms jason with how big and how decadently expensive all the decor is, jason runs away, run to the ocean.

jason doesn’t actually end up telling alfred and bruce that he’s a selkie --- bruce just has a ridiculous amount of motion alarms, which are triggered every time jason ran off. he had followed jason the third night, and saw him transform.

bruce doesn’t tell jason that he knows, assuming that jason kept this a secret because he didn’t fully trust either of them. he would later learn that he was right in this assumption (a rare win for bruce in terms of emotional awareness)

except jason doesn’t fully trust either of them, even after a few months. bruce impulsively decides to do a few things --- a) tell jason about batman and robin and his crime-fighting secret identity, and b) tell jason he already knows about him being a selkie.

jason is absolutely bamboozled by the fact that bruce knows, and yet hasn’t tried to take his hoodie to control him, or to stop him from playing in the ocean for a few hours.

in fact, (under alfred’s encouragement) bruce offers to take him to the ocean during the day, so he can get “a proper night’s rest that a growing young boy such as himself would need”

jason remembers what his father told him, to never trust anyone, never let his guard down. but bruce has known about jason being a selkie for so long, and he didn’t take his hoodie or try anything. of course he can trust bruce.

and when he tries on the robin costume for the first time, it fits perfectly. just like his hoodie, his second skin. it fits just like magic.

oh, it’s a little loose in some places, the legacy of dick fucking grayson a little heavy sometimes, but he’ll grow into it. he’ll make himself, if he has to.

also, jason finds the fact that even though he’s a friggin’ selkie, his callsign is a bird (a robin, no less) incredibly ironic and funny

being a selkie is actually so useful for vigilantehood. the amount of people who talk freely, openly, and loudly about their drug smuggling plans near the ports is quite frankly, ridiculous.

honestly, towards the end of his robin years, jason remains genuinely surprised nobody catches on to him or his tactics yet. bruce is very proud.

even though jason is safe, has been safe for three years, and trusts bruce with his life, his skin, and everything, old habits are hard to break. so he has his hoodie on when he goes to find sheila.

and anyways, he wants to see if sheila is a selkie too. he’s taking biology right now, and they’re learning about punnett squares. jason’s never met another selkie before, other than willis who he barely remembers. there’s a possibility that sheila knows something, anything, so he has to try.

sheila gets a glint in her eyes when jason mentions that he’s a selkie, tells him that while she’s not one herself, she’s familiar with the myth. she has long suspected that willis was a selkie, she tells him, and she’s glad to have confirmation.

jason positively vibrates with excitement, can’t wait to ask, to pester his mother (mother!) with questions upon questions until.

until.

sheila doesn’t do anything after she gives him to the joker. she just smokes and smokes. and she doesn’t tell the joker about his hoodie, despite how it would have been much easier for the joker to destroy him that way. much more painful too.

small mercies, he supposes, in between hacking coughs that brings blood bubbling up his lips.

after he dies, his hoodie is ripped and in tatters from the crowbar, with burns along the edges from the bomb. bruce has to carefully peel it off his body.

when jason was alive, his magic kept the hoodie in perfect condition, always. even when the rest of him was covered head-to-toe in mud, or dripping sludge from the nasty gotham sewers.

bruce stares at the same hoodie, blood-soaked and mangled, so incredibly dissonant from how he remembered it on jason, when he was bright, whole, and alive.

he can’t stand it. the hoodie that was so precious to jason, that was jason, at the core of him, in this state. dirty and ripped and devoid of the magic jason had exuded.

in a moment of desperation, late at night, bruce asks alfred to teach him how to sew. he doesn’t dare to practice on jason’s beloved hoodie --- instead, he starts with the suits in his closet, grabbing the first one he sees, regardless of price. rips a hole and sews it back together over and over until he perfects his technique.

and then he washes the fabric gently, using baby fabric cleanser and scrubbing for hours upon hours until the last traces of the deep-set brown stain from jason’s blood washes down the drain.

he painstakingly sews the scraps of fabric back together with a red thread, carefully sourced to match the hoodie to try and make it flow seamlessly like it used to.

it doesn’t work, not exactly. despite his best efforts, the creases bruce had carefully sewn together are prominent and thick like scars, littering the soft fabric.

so he gives up. he hangs it over the grandfather clock entrance to the cave in his study. brings it with him every time he visits jason’s grave, because he doesn’t ever want to keep jason’s hoodie away from him, but he also can’t bear for it to get ruined.

dick visits him. a rare occurrence, these days.

dick yells at him, as he is wont to do.

these days, it feels like they spend more time angry at each other than not. dick says that this isn’t right. isn’t fair to anybody, not to alfred, not to himself, definitely not to jason. he rants, jason deserves to be remembered as he was in life, not frozen in death.

perhaps he is right. bruce is not unaware of the state of violent, cutting stasis he is in, this putrefaction of his life. and he is certainly not unaware of how it is affecting the people around him. dick. alfred. the neighbor’s kid, the one who wants to be robin.

bruce tries. not for himself, but for tim. for alfred, for dick. even for stephanie brown, who sometimes, when she smirks just right, or says something with just the right twang, he swears he can see jason in her.

he still can’t bear to put the hoodie away, because jason deserved better than to be forgotten, so he folds it gently and places it in his closet instead.

he also can’t bear to look at it for very long, so he forces himself to every single day.

it’s different from the glass case that houses robin’s tattered suit in the cave --- that, is a reminder of how he failed robin. this, this is salt in a constant, stabbing, festering would, reminding him of how he failed his son.

it was stephanie, that eventually helped him figure out what to do with the hoodie. when she was young, young enough to cry at ripped pants and skinned knees, young enough that her mother hadn’t touched the drugs yet, her mother would dry up her tears, give her a hug and a kiss on the forehead, before patching her pants up.

what not many people know, is that before crystal brown set her mind on becoming a nurse, she wanted to be an artist, first. and so she grabs her old set of embroidery needles, and stitched little designs. dogs and cats. stars and planets. tools and gadgets.

bruce doesn’t react, doesn’t even move, even as stephanie finishes her story. she hangs there awkwardly for a second, stares up at jason’s suit, waiting for him to respond, before shuffling towards the exit of the cave.

thank you, spoiler, bruce manages to croak out.

ah, yeah, she says, shrugging lightly while slouching in on herself, any time, boss. she walks out, and bruce watches her go from the reflection on the darkened computer.

that night, he takes out jason’s hoodie, smooths it out, grabs his threads, and stitches.

he stitches on constellations, argo navis, for jason’s namesake in the greek myths he had loved so much. a tiny seal, playing with beach balls. little books, with quotes on the sides. a robin, big and bold.

he tries to make it as true to jason as possible, not just in death and in bruce’s memories, but as he was in life.

jason wakes up abruptly.

he wakes up in a coffin, cold, alone, and with a gaping hole in his chest. getting dipped in the lazarus pit only made it worse, only made him all the more aware of what he was missing, all the more conscious of it.

he doesn’t bother trying to learn how to swim with two arms and two legs, instead of two fins and a tail. it doesn’t feel the same. it only reminds him of what he’s lost.

sometimes, on sleepless nights that happen more often than not, he wonders what would have happened if he still had a hoodie, still could swim.

if he still was robin.

and he doesn’t have access to the cave anymore, or to the titan’s tower, or the watchtower, and his memory of the past is still patchy and shitty in some places.

so in a burst of impulsivity fueled by the person he no longer is, he prints out photos of robin’s costume from the internet and recreates it on his own.

if his skin is gone, then fine. fine! he’s perfectly perfunctorily aware that nothing about this resurrection of his is natural. if he doesn’t think too much about it, he’ll be alright. his hoodie, his skin, that was something he was born with, a birthright that died with him.

but robin, robin was something that he helped shape. robin was something that he worked for, changed himself for.

and the makeshift robin suit --- it doesn’t fit him, not anymore. no, it feels wrong, like a child playing with their parent’s suit. or --- he realizes, perhaps more accurately, like an adult realizing they no longer fit in their favorite clothes.

and --- and --- what was the point of it all? what was the point, of trying to make bruce proud of him, of getting dick’s approval, of trying to futilely save people over and over again from the same gallery of supervillains who keep on escaping from prison?!

and what was the point of carving out a space for himself if the joker was just going to beat him out of it, and if tim drake was going to insert himself in the hole he left behind?

and then the next thing he knows he’s in titan’s tower hitting tim drake over and over again because who let him? who let him take jason’s role as a son, as a brother, as a hero? how dare he?

but when he’s slit tim’s throat and torn the ‘R’ off his chest, jason doesn’t feel any better. the robin suit still doesn’t fit. his hoodie’s still gone.

he’s starting to think it never will, not again.

sometimes, when he gets tired enough to let his mind wander, he wonders what happened to his suit.

he’s pretty sure he died with it, so either the hoodie is with the joker, batman, or... gone entirely. (it’s not like they found willis’ skin after he died. maybe selkie skins just disappear in a cloud of sea foam once they die, or some little mermaid shit like that)

it’s a cold comfort, that nobody can manipulate him now. nobody can control him --- not even batman.

(bruce had thought about it. when he first had his suspicious regarding who the red hood was, before he knew there was any trace of the son he once had left. he thought about using the hoodie, using jason’s selkie skin to coerce him, at least to stop murdering people, to stop hurting their family.)

(he would never go that far, in retrospect, or at least, he doesn’t think he could ever. to do that to jason, betray his trust so thoroughly and completely... but it would be a lie to say that he didn’t consider it.)

bruce reflects on this as jason reveals himself, the joker tied up at his feet with a gun pressed to his head, and venom spitting from his son’s mouth.

but when he lifts the batarang to hit jason’s gun, or wrist, or anything that’ll force him to drop the gun, he realizes that his hands are shaking.

and when he throws the batarang, he knows a millisecond after he’s let go, that he’s miscalculated the ricochet.

so when jason escapes that night, bruce knows he’s fucked up.

jason goes off the maps, completely. bruce doesn’t know where he is, if he’s safe, if he even made it out of the explosion that night.

it takes weeks. weeks for bruce to track jason down, from meticulously documenting the dropped threads of where the red hood was pulling strings in the gotham underworld behind the scenes, to tracking security cameras with facial recognition.

once bruce manages find where he’s staying, make sure he’s safe, he knows what he wants to do. and, he knows what he needs to do.

jason gets a package in the mail, five weeks after his disasterous meeting with batman and the joker. unmarked, unsigned, no return address.

when jason opens the box gingerly and carefully, he holds on to his skin for the first time in years. and then, and then, and then --- something right slots into place. his fingers brushed gently over the tiny spotted seal he knows he used to look like, the books he remembered ranting to bruce about for hours on end.

the robin, on the top left, over his heart, big enough to have changed him, yet small enough to not define him.

it’s not perfect. it doesn’t even fix anything, not entirely. he still fights with bruce most times he sees him, tries to punch dick in the face, steadfastly ignores tim and steph the entire time.

but it’s something. it’s something, and the next time nightwing, batman, spoiler, and robin fight a gang on the docks, the red hood gives them a helping hand before jumping back into the ocean and swimming away.

fin!

wow this got long

#jason todd #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batfam #selkie!jason #dick grayson #stephanie brown #tim drake #catherine todd #willis todd #that one selkie!jason au #i swear i will turn this into an actual fic one day #anyways about the using embroidery to fix ripped clothes thing all i can say is WATCH HI MOM #it's SUCH a good movie and i guarantee it will DEVASTATE you in ALL your little mommy issues glory #like you think the batfamily comics/fanfics have an amazing nuanced complicated take on the parent-child dynamic?#this movie will BLOW your fucking SOCKS off. and best part of all: you can watch it WITH said parent #and it won't be as horrible of an experience as showing them encanto/turning red/eeaao!#in fact your parent will probably like the movie too and be reminded of THEIR own mommy issues :D #admittedly it's slightly different from the examples i listed above bc it's more abt what it's like to never reach ur parent's expectation #rather than an exploration of complicated parenting but it's still very relatable and very very good #the best part is you can find it all for free on youtube. also note that i mean the recent chinese movie not the old 70s movie #asteria's fics #i'm never writing a fucking flash fic on TUMBLR of all text editors again #shouldve written this out on a google doc first but i genuinely did not think this would get so long T.T #you can probably tell from the first three (3) bullet points that this was supposed to be a hc list before... it stopped being a hc list #guys i started writing this at 12 PM #IT'S NOW 9 AWOGEJAWOIG #my writing

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sarahowritesostucky · 4 months

Text

📖"Jilted" - part 2

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Tags: boyfriend's dad au, left at the altar, father-in-law, hurt/comfort, forbidden attraction, silver fox Steve, age gap, size kink, strength kink, Dom/sub elements, daddy kink, fingering, oral sex, grinding, sex, dirty talk, cheating

Summary: You may be a jilted bride, but you don't feel like one for long when Steve soothes the hurt in unexpected ways.

Part 2 - "Taken to Bed by a Man" (Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

Only hours ago, you were walking to the altar to marry a boy, and now you’re being taken to bed by a man—that very boy’s father. The reality of it becomes very clear as Steve walks into his bedroom with you in his arms and sets you down. Your toes dig into the room’s soft carpet.

“Turn around,” he whispers.

You obey, shivering as he steps in close behind. You can hear his breathing, can practically feel his desire for you. Somehow, he seems more tangible than he ever has before. More real, more solid, and you’re painfully aware of how close he is. “S-steve,” you breathe. “I—”

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, cutting you off. “I’m sorry I never told you. A woman like you should hear it every day.”

You want to say something, tell him that this is wrong, you can’t do this. He’s … he’s Pat’s father, decades older than you. He’s Captain America, for Christssakes. You shouldn’t want him the way you do. And now he’s got you doubting everything, every interaction you’ve ever had with him, every lingering glance, every brief touch, every polite word. From that very first time Pat brought you home to meet his father, the famed “man out of time.”

Steve doesn’t age normally, that much is obvious. You know about the serum, know that he was in his late twenties when they defrosted him back in the ‘nineties. And thirty years later, he doesn’t look as old as he should. His body and face are still those of a forty year old, betrayed only by the edges of his eyes, by the grey creeping into his hair and beard. He’s a total daddy, a thought that you’ve been shamefully repressing for the past two years. You’ve been so embarrassed by it, thought you were being such a creep, thinking about Pat’s father that way. Has Steve really been looking at you too all this time? You open your mouth to say something, offer some protest or reason why you can’t—

“Ask me to take your dress off.”

Your whole body clenches at how deep his voice is, how close he’s speaking to your ear. You tremble, able to feel the heat of his body behind you. “Steve, I …”

“Ask me,” he whispers, fingers skimming over your neck and shoulders. “Come on, Honey. Ask me. I promise I’ll only make you do it once.”

God. You manage to choke out an overwhelmed, “Please,” and thankfully it seems to be enough for him. His fingers find the laces of your dress and begin to delicately undo them. He goes slowly, almost like he’s relishing the act of removing your wedding gown. He peels off the dress that his son was meant to remove from your body that night, the fabric falling to the floor in a quiet ‘whoosh’, and his hands landing on your waist.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, sounding amazed. You whimper and try to move away, skittish, but he stops you, pulling you back firmly against his body with a tut. “You’re okay,” he soothes, arms wrapping around you to hold you close and calm you down. “Shhh. I got you.”

“S-steve,” you breathe, overwhelmed by how wrong this is, how turned on you are when he touches you. “We can’t, I shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t you?” his hot breath fans out against your ear, then he starts kissing your neck and his hands slide covetously over your body. “Wanted you for so long, Sweetheart. Wanted to give you what you were aching for.” You whimper and try to pull away, but his hand slides over your tummy and pulls you back. “It’s okay. I’ve known. You think I didn’t know? Think I didn’t see you looking at me?”

“I – I didn’t …”

“Shh. There’s a girl. Let me touch you.” He’s so effortlessly strong and it feels so good to be held still by him. He rubs your belly and his other hand slides up your ribcage. “So beautiful.” He cups your breast, fingers dipping under the cup of your bra. “God, Honey. Look at you.”

You look down and exhale shakily, your cunt pulsing at the sight of his huge hand against your skin and the delicate lace of your bridal underwear. “Steve,” you breathe, shaking from nerves and arousal. “I want …”

“What do you want?” he whispers, lips trailing over your neck. He places a kiss on your pulse point, feels how fast your heart is beating. “Want me to take control?” he offers softly, almost kindly, like he can sense how overwhelmed you are. “I can do that, Sweetheart. Make it easy for you, make all the decisions. Is that what you want, hm? Want me to lay you out on this bed and do all the work?”

It’s pathetic, how fast you whine and nod, wanting that so badly. “Yes,” you say, grabbing at his hands where they’re feeling you up. “Please, Steve. Yes.”

He chuckles, low and with just a touch of condescension, the sound going straight to your core. You squeeze your thighs together to try and get some relief, but it doesn’t do any good. “Come on, then,” Steve says, moving you with capable hands. He guides you over and pushes on your shoulders until he’s got you sitting on the edge of the bed. You’re left staring at him, standing there in front of you in his tux, looking obscenely handsome, confident, and—oh …

His cock isn’t even fully hard yet, and it’s still a healthy bulge at the front of his slacks. You feel your cheeks heat as you can’t help but stare at it. It is right there, after all. You flush all the harder when he notices you looking and chuckles at you. One of those enormous hands brushes up against the front of his pants, and you nearly moan at the sight of him touching himself.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” he purrs. “You’ll get it. But first …” he sinks down to kneel in front of you, reaching for the straps of your bra. You tense when he starts to pull them off your shoulders, moving to reach behind yourself and unhook the bra, but he hushes you and stills your hands. “Shh, no. Let me do it, Honey. I want to do it.” He gets your bra off and tosses it aside, groaning as he kneels in front of you and looks his fill. “God, you got no idea,” he murmurs, sounding distracted by what he’s seeing. “No idea how long I’ve been wanting this.” His hands make an abortive move, as if he doesn’t know where or how to touch you first. “Shit, lookit you.”

“How long?” you ask on impulse, surprising even yourself. His eyes shoot up to your face, and you swallow heavily under his stare. “H-how long, have you wanted to?” you breathe.

He smiles, then his eyes trail back down and he sighs happily. He reaches out and just sort of … pets the tips of your breasts, brow pinching with want as he watches your nipples harden into firm peaks. “Jesus.” He shakes his head, like he can’t believe he’s getting to touch you. “Oh, Doll ... Since I met you.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he says distractedly, big hands cupping your tits, making them look small and delicate against his rough palms. You’ve never noticed how masculine his hands are …

“S-since—”

“Since the first time you came in my house looking like you do, yes,” he growls, giving your breasts a squeeze. “Shit.”

His soft cursing makes you flush, feeling warm and exposed and needy and seen. “Steve,” you say, voice warbling with audible worry. You wait until his blue eyes come up to meet yours—God, are his eyes ever blue. You swallow heavily.

“What is it, Sweetheart?”

You chew your lip. “If we do this …” you fret, thinking about the wedding, about Patrick, about how fucked up this is going to make your life.

Steve’s hands smooth over your thighs. “Do you really want him back?” he asks you—knowingly. He meets your gaze without doubt, shaking his head the barest bit. “No going back,” he murmurs. You whimper, and he hushes you. “I know, Honey, I know it’s scary. But you can trust me.”

Delicately, he reaches for the clips of your garters and begins undoing them, one at a time. You’re stuck watching, helpless, as he looks you in the eye and gently eases your stockings down your legs. They’re the real deal: silk, seamed, non-elastic, and a strange feeling rolls through you as you watch Steve’s fingers move over them deftly and you realize that he likely knows what he’s doing because these were the sort that girls wore back in his day.

“Don’t worry, Angel.” He kisses the inside of a knee. “This isn’t just for tonight. I have every intention of keeping you.” His eyes flash upwards again, and you feel heat course through you at his face being right there between your legs … And at his words. He sees your face pinch with doubt and he nods. “Yeah. I told you you’re mine, now. I don’t say things like that unless I mean ‘em.”

“But …” you falter, not sure what you’re even planning to say. But I’m supposed to be engaged to your son. But I’m supposed to be married to him. But people will know, people will—

He slides his hands over your hips and starts edging your panties down, maintaining that all-consuming eye contact as he does it. “But what?” he purrs. “You worried about what people will say?”

You shake your head in denial, but the truth is that you are. Buzzfeed and CNN had been at that cathedral, goddamnit, and there’ll be articles tomorrow about what happened. What on earth will the headlines say when word gets out that you’ve traded in Captain America’s son for the Captain himself?

“You worry too much,” Steve says, easing your panties down your legs and guiding you to let them slip from your feet. He lifts your calf and kisses the inside of your ankle, smirking. “I’m Captain America, Everybody loves me. And I’m allowed to have nice things.” His gaze slides down to the vee of your legs, and you watch as his eyes rapidly darken to something greedy and ravenous. He makes a gruff sound in his throat, utterly possessive, and the next thing you know he’s shoving your knees further apart and forcing his way in, arms hooking underneath your thighs and wrapping around to hold onto you.

You squeak as his broad shoulders push your legs apart and you tip backwards. You catch yourself on your hands and prop yourself back up in time to watch the inaugural press of his mouth against your sex. And oh, it feels almost as good as it looks. You inhale sharply and your hips jump up of their own volition. He’s only pressed a chaste kiss against you, right up high on your mound, but the sight of Steve Rogers’ face between your legs, his head of silver-blond hair and his dark lashes resting against his cheeks as he noses against your most intimate place … it’s enough to have you clenching hard on nothing, slicking up so much that you can feel it getting messy and wet.

You whimper in arousal and impulsively reach with one of your hands to try and hold his head. “Jesus, Steve,” you whisper, turned on beyond belief. It only gets worse when he looks up at you again. You exhale shakily, belly heaving at the way his eyes scald you in their intensity.

“Tell me,” he rasps. “Tell me what you want me to do with my mouth.”

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s not fair. You whine and pant down at him. “Nnn, Steve …” You can’t. You can’t.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” he coaxes, voice like sin. “I know what I promised. And I meant it. I’ll take control. I’ll make it easy for you, and so goddamn good you won’t remember your name.” He turns his face and kisses the crease of your thigh, so close to where you want it. “But I want to hear you say it, first. Please. Just do that for me, Babydoll, and then I’ll make you feel so good.”

You swallow thickly, turned on beyond belief and knowing that if you want him, you’re going to have to put your big girl panties on and do this one thing for him. So, despite the fact that most of your brain cells have liquified and run out through your ears at this point—and despite the fact that you are not one for dirty talking in the bedroom—you look him right in the eyes and croak out a breathless, “Kiss my pussy, Steve. Put your mouth on me and lick it, suck—ogn …” You cut off in a moan when he seals his mouth right over your clit and sucks hard. “Oh my god.”

“Mmhm,” he groans. He sucks your folds into his mouth and flattens his tongue, rubbing it firmly against your clit and working methodically at it until it’s puffy and swollen. “Mmm. Mmph.” His sounds of enjoyment only make it filthier, and you can’t hold back your own choked off little moans and gasps at the eager way his arms grab onto you and haul you in for more, the way he purposefully grinds his face against you and uses his nose to give you more pressure from above your clit.

You wind up sobbing and tossing your head back as you feel yourself gush, and for a long moment you don’t even realize how much you're humping his face, rubbing yourself off against him, trying to get more of that sucking mouth and that lashing, sinful tongue. “Oh, shit. Holy shit …”

You should be mortified by your own desperation, by the sounds you’re making. Maybe you would be, but for the way that Steve responds to it. He growls and jerks you in harder against him, grinding his face into your cunt, sucking and slurping and then hurriedly freeing up one hand to push his fingers into you.

You cry out sharply as he tries to start with two but quickly halts when he can tell that it’s too much. He softens and slows down, kissing your clit in gentle apology, slipping one finger inside your drenched pussy instead. “There we go,” he hums in response to the pleasured sigh you give and looks up at you while he works his finger gently. “That feel good, Sugar?”

You’re gonna die from the fucking pet names, and that is perfectly okay. You nod dumbly down at him, eyes glued to his gaze once again as he fingers you. “Y-yeah,” you say shakily. “Steve …”

He kisses the hood of your clit and drags his lips over it. “Has it been awhile?” he asks, with all the tender concern of a lover who wants to please.

It makes your belly swirl just as hard as his mouth on you had, and you whimper and nod, working your hips down a little against his finger. “I h-haven’t,” you stutter, “Nn … not, oh, not in a while.” You don’t elaborate, and you sure as shit aren't going to admit it now, but the truth is you’ve been avoiding sex with Patrick the closer the big day got; telling yourself that it was to make the wedding night more special, when in reality you suspect it was something else entirely. You whimper and shake your head shyly, and Steve seems to understand that you don’t want to talk about it.

“Shh,” he soothes, kissing your thigh again as he keeps working his hand against you so gently. “That’s okay. We’ll take it slow. We’re not in any rush, ain’t that right?”

You can only whimper and nod, and he coos and smiles at you and how you’ve gone nonverbal already. “Yeah,” he purrs, smiling. “Don’t even worry about it, Babygirl. Daddy’s gonna treat this pussy right. Gonna make you feel so nice, get you real good and relaxed, teach you things you didn’t even know you could do.”

You cry out at how excruciatingly intimate those words are, at the way he kisses your hyper-sensitized clit and changes the angle of his hand, finger dragging up against your walls slower and more purposefully and firm. Your eyes clamp shut and you toss your head back with a pitiful keen. “St-eve, oh, please, please …”

“Mmhm.” He keeps going, still gentle but picking up on what you like, figuring out what makes you get louder and squirm harder. He fucks you on his hand and nurses at your clit in a constant, pulsing rhythm—steady, steady—reading your body’s cues and committing himself to the task, breaking away every once and awhile just to murmur little things against your cunt:

“That’s it, Sweetheart, just like that. Such a good girl. Keep going baby, yes. Let it come, let it happen for me.”

When you get close he stops talking, sealing his mouth to your pleasure and humming his praise straight into your skin instead. And it’s so good, building and building, and he’s doing it just right, holy fuck …

You fall to your back on the bed, Steve following right after you as it makes your pelvis tilt up, never breaking contact, never faltering as your hands scrabble and claw at his hair and your cries get louder and sharper. He holds you down as you start to thrash, desperate for the edge you can feel so close, so close …

Your legs wind up around his head and your heels dig wildly into his back, and still he doesn’t falter, grunting and slurping against you, giving you what you need so good that you sob.

“Oh please, please, Steve! I’m gonna cum, I’m–I’m gonna … ohhh …”

He groans right along with you as it happens, keeping that same exquisite pressure and pace in such an ungodly competent way that you just about scream from how grateful you are. He’s perfect. You sob as the pleasure crests and wanes so sharply, leaving you trembling and gasping breathless little “thank you’s” at him over and over again as he eases off and climbs up your body.

“Shh, sh sh. There we go. Aww, I know, Angel, I know. It’s okay. Did that just feel so good?”

He coos a rhetorical litany of gentle praise at you as he climbs up and rearranges your body fully on the bed, telling you how beautiful you are, how good, how much he wants you. His hands are everywhere, attentive and comforting, petting your legs and smoothing over your belly and chest as he gazes down at you adoringly. It’s romantic, intimate, and like nothing you ever had with Patrick.

You sigh happily and whisper Steve’s name instead, which only seems to please him more. He sidles up alongside you and slots one thick thigh between your legs. That’s when you realize that he’s still completely clothed and you make a tiny noise of protest. Though there is something deliciously dirty about him clothed and you bare, the fabric of his tux over the firm muscle of his thigh pressing up against your soaked core, you still want to feel him. “Steve,” you breathe, pulling at his shirt impatiently. “You too, please.”

He chuckles and nods, hushing your protests as he continues to luxuriate in smoothing his hands over your body. “Hang on, Sweetheart. I will, I will. Let me do this. I’ve always wanted to. Always. Don’t make me rush.”

“Steve,” you sigh.

“Shhh. Good girl. Just let me have this first.” He continues on, heedless of his own body and fully intent on yours, keeping you on that cloud of hazy, post-orgasmic pleasure.

It’s as he’s hovering over you like that, pressing you into the sheets and kissing tender affection all over your face—worshiping you, for lack of a better word—that you realize:

He’s treating you like a groom treats his bride.

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