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tarjapearce · 29 days

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El Diablo Wears Prada (Pt.3)

Mafia boss! Miguel O'Hara x Reader.

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Smut, Fingering, non-con oral (M! receiving), masturbation, power play, sexual tension, mild angst, Dom! Miguel.

Summary: Another toll is put on your shoulders.

A/N: Centuries later, here's part 3! Hope you like <3. Feedback much appreciated. Cooper Coen belongs to Marvel ✨

As much as you wanted to remain in Morpheus' arms and let your body rest until it reached a hundred percent, the constant buzzing of the tracking device against your ankle kept alerting you.

The last vibration had bolted you awake with a startle. Body whined in protest at the sudden movement that took such a strong hold on your hips, the juncture of your arms and thighs.

It took you a couple of seconds to get your bearings and see the little and borderline fancy tracking device on your ankle. It was as if a digital watch had been locked up around your smooth skin.

A little jolt of electricity ran through your nerves in a clear sign to not mess with the device, since you had tried to remove it. If you looked closer, it had a little password lock behind, a four-digit code.

You gotta be kidding me

How dared he putting such a thing on you? When did he put this thing on you?, but more important, was he still around? Cause if he was, he'd have a piece of your mind.

His sweater on your skin felt a too stuffy, and you needed a bath. A couple of bruises begun appearing in your ankles and the fatty part of your thighs cause obviously he needed to make sure you understood the magnitude of your current situation and how Massimo had willingly put a target ring on your back.

The buzz however snapped you out of the spiralling trance of thoughts that assaulted your mind. Brows puckered as you made your way towards his room but as soon as you entered, anger sapped away for a moment from your head.

The curtains were drawn shut, their dark colors provided enough darkness to isolate the brightest sunshines that tried with all their might to seep past them and take a hold of whatever thing they could reach.

With careful steps and a petty heart you sauntered over the windows and one by one removed the curtains, letting all the sun's ablaze glory to illuminate the darkened room in a go, even if it meant for you to be blindsided for a second before you turned your back on the light and saw the results of your anger display before you.

El Diablo, laid sprawled in his ever big and cozy bed, his right and sharp cheek smooshed against the soft and silky burgundy sheets that wrapped like a second skin on his torso and legs. One of his feet poked out from underneath, letting itself to hang outside the smooth prison.

His gorgeous mouth laid slightly ajar, letting a little drool streak to escape him and get long dry over the sheets. The smooth locks with the little silver strands in it were also sprawled all over his forehead and the mattress. Your eyes shamelessly raked his back. Big, well worked, perfect for leaving scratches and marks. He had none of those, but a different one.

A red lips silhouette located a few inches from his ear, half of it smeared, as if wrongly or quickly wiped, trying to cover up a trail.

The fact he had someone before giving you a rough fuck, not only put a little familiar yet painful stab in your heart, but returned the angry thoughts that initially gave you enough courage to foray into the devil's personal hellhole.

The pain felt like an old friend now that you had seen and heard the type of man Massimo really was. You didn't want to admit that there were times you could still feel a woman's perfume on his clothes while busying yourself in the confinement of your manor, trying to distract yourself from the emerging distraught of knowing your husband was possibly cheating.

Men

With a scowl, you took one of the many pillows and threw it at his beautiful sleeping face.

"Wake up!"

That quickly contorted into several emotions upon suddenly awakening. Surprise cause you had dared startle him, anger because you had the guts to interrupt his slumber and throw a pillow and finally, annoyance at your yapping.

Your arms crossed against your chest as he placed the pillow you threw his direction on t of his head with a bored grunt.

The smell of his perfume wafted through the air, hand in hand with a light natural musk and a dash of air freshener coming from the bathroom.

"What the fuck is this on my ankle and why did you put that thing on me?"

"Can you shut up?" His slouching form only turned enough to take a proper look your way once his irises had adjusted at the room's brightness.

Wearing his oversized sweater that covered those perfect mounds of yours he didn't have enough time to squeeze properly. Face twisted in a scowl, that although he rather your scared and demure look, he had to admit this angry you made his lips smirk and a spark of excitement to run through his body.

Your hair spooked and tussled even if you were now trying to contain it in a messy bun while ignoring the rebellious baby hairs, revealing more of your upset features.

Beautiful and angry.

Was this the sight you gifted Massimo every day?

"I'm talking to you!"

"¡Ya pues! Cállate... fucking heard you already." He grumbled while laying down on his back.

But in truth he hadn't heard a single word it came from your mouth. Too deep in suddenly remembering last night's events and what had transpired back in the club.

"Take this thing off me."

"No."

Miguel stretched his spine with feline grace and a satisfied smirk, letting some joints pop back into place. His spine wasn't aching anymore, he didn't feel like dragging the past few weeks' tiring load, his shoulders felt rather light, he was even in good spirits. You had spent him real good last night.

"What is this anyway?"

You remained on the window, letting the sun warm you up a bit. The whole floor was cold anyway. Your hands grope on either side of your waist and your frown deepened upon him turning his back on you.

"Fucking men."

He smirked as you went to his closet. He noted you only wore the thick sweaters. You didn't rummage through his clothes and personal items like he initially thought.

"I need to get some things back from home."

With a groan he finally rose, and sat against the bed's oak frame, his hands reached for his phone, and scrolled through his messages as his other hand slicked the messy strands that partially obscured his sight.

"Are you even listening?!"

"I'd rather not to."

He grumbled while his eyes remained on the screen.

"I need to get myself some clothes. I don't wanna keep using yours for you to have me naked later."

"You're thinking way too high of yourself, Ratoncita." He removed the silky sheets and tossed his phone somewhere in the bed, revealing his bare physique to you as he prowled your way.

Eyes boring on your tense form. Undoubtedly he was the cat and you his ever lovely and amusing little mouse. One of his hands landed a few inches on one side of your face, but as soon as you tried to remove yourself from the equation, his other hand and a step forward of his frame closed the space, sandwiching you loosely between him and the wall.

Even if limp, his cock felt above the sweater's fabric, right above your lower belly, ever warm and hefty. He had to lean down enough to face you, then took a half firm half gentle hold in your chin.

"If you have the energies to be mewling this early in the morning, you can take your pretty ass to the shower, clean yourself and get changed. We'll leave soon. ¿Entendido?

"I'm not coming-"

He squeezed your chin, igniting that spark of fury within you as he growled between teeth, "Understood?"

His tone left no space for replies. But you slapped his hand away and retreated away from his confinement, but the petty in him needed to have the final saying. Even though words were done, he took your actions as a defiance. So he returned it, on your butt as a firm slap that smacked deliciously in the air.

You didn't even turned to face him. Anger was too much in your mind to let it have the whole control over your emotional panel, and part of you assumed that he'd settle the score to his favor with another rough fuck.

Men.

Your hands clenched into tight fists to finally disappear into the bathroom with a loud slam on the door.

As much as he wanted to yell for the poor treatment on his property, he couldn't help but smirk, satisfied at your reaction.

Part of his brain was amused to no end to see this new emotion in you. Anger made his senses tingle. But the ever rational part of his gray mass, wondered what had taken over you to be this pissed.

Hadn't he fucked you silly last night? Cause he refused to believe he had done a poor job.

The sudden thought of him underperforming in bed made his bushy brows to pucker in annoying concern. He'd take many insults, name calling, but someone, a woman specially saying he was bad at in bed? No. He couldn't allow it.

He heard the shower run, and it was his cue to get his clothes ready.

He'd go for a pair of black pants, a burgundy Prada button shirt, socks, dress shoes, no tie neither a suit, Day was too humid to be overdressed.

The shower stopped a couple of minutes later, and he put all the things on the bed.

You had finished a hot shower, rinsing all trace of him, wrapped your hair in a towel and pat dried your body to then wear one of his many black sweaters and slippers, the only thing you truly possessed.

Upon seeing nothing but his toothbrush and grooming devices, you rummaged through the marbled drawers to look for a new toothbrush. You'd eventually find them next to a neatly arranged box of condoms and some gun chargers. But to your surprise the box was intact, sealed even, waiting to be used.

With a roll if your eyes and a huff, you got to brush your teeth, a little harder than intended.

Miguel simply entered the bathroom and slowly squeezed his way into the same space as you before the mirror, pushing you softly as you brushed your hair with your fingers.

He looked in the mirror, the grayish hue on his cheeks increased, but he kept it. Not really feeling like grooming himself. His happy trail was on full display to you.

If honest, it was the first time you actually paid attention to the secrets of his skin.

A couple of scars littered his cinnamon tan and muscled skin, bullet marks? perhaps. The muscles rippled at every movement, enhancing the sight of his lower back's dimples, waist narrow and sharp, adorned with well-worked abs and sculpted thighs. There were no tattoos on his skin as he rather keep himself clean from them.

His mere existence spoke loud and clear, he didn't need ink to prove his prowess. Plus, he considered himself too old for them.

Gabriel on the other hand was like a walking board underneath his clothes. Or a bathroom stall's wall like he once called him.

Your stomach grumbled loudly, and he chuckled.

"Instead of staring, why don't you get some food? You'll need it."

He grabbed his toothbrush and put a dollop of paste on it. Voice smooth like butter, that barely did a good job at hiding the rising mirth. But his lid twitched, vexed on your mimicking words

"You're thinking too highly of yourself."

You pointed at his neck.

"And make sure to properly clean yourself from others before even considering touching me."

His smirk widened and held your wrist with enough force to make you whimper. Miguel finished washing and rinsing his mouth to then pull you by your nape and crashing his mouth on yours.

You froze as he made you taste the fresh and cool flavor of mint in his mouth. When he pulled away, a sardonic smile plastered all over his infuriating yet beautiful face. He didn't give you time to reply as you were being pushed out the bathroom and before you could even give him again a peace of mind; he slammed the door in your face.

"Asshole!"

He chuckled as you yelled behind the door and finally got to shower.

----

After a hearty breakfast and some more calls from Miguel, you and the rest got into the cars and left.

Ben, the blond man drove the SUV again. Jessica was tailing after in her own car as another car with a lanky and pierced man lead the way.

Buildings and skyscrapers of all sizes and colors passed you by, streets were averagely full, but Ben drove through shortcuts that approached faster towards your secret destination.

Miguel had refused to speak after you recoiled away from his sudden urge of teasing you. He deliberately ignored you through the road, focusing occasionally on his phone screen.

"We're here, boss." Ben mumbled after what it felt like forever.

The little caravan had stopped before a bright red three floored building. Dark windows prevented the sunlight to seep in. The name, Casa Cisneros displayed in a Dior alike typography over the red walls.

Your eyes widened when you saw the gorgeous, elegant and colorful clothing designs neatly arranged in the window's showcase.

Miguel guided your surprised self deeper into the boutique. A man around his forties, white hair, shorter than Miguel, dressed up in an orange suit and a shit-eating grin came to greet Miguel.

"Por Dios, te juro que si vienes con esa mierda de zapatos de Prada ni me molestaré en atenderte." (I swear that if you've come with those shitty Prada shoes I won't even bother in help you out.)

Miguel chuckled while shaking his head. Then hugged the man briefly yet sincerely.

"How have you been Mateo?"

"¿Cómo que 'How you've been?'" His disgust couldn't hide, "Ugh. Never mind, where is Dana? Can't wait to dress her up in my new collection!."

Your brow quirked upon the woman's name but Miguel just dismissed him with a disdainful wave of his hands and a blasé scowl.

"Ah... Ya veo. En fín, whose the new seasonal fling?"

Mateo, the owner, or so you supposed, fixed his eyes your way and smirked approvingly as he watched you from head to toes.

"Nothing better and exciting than a blank canvas." he then turned to Miguel, "The same as usual?"

The same as... what?

You looked at Miguel and the mob lord shook his head while focusing once more in his phone

He dialed some numbers to place the trinket in his ear, "Up to her."

He mumbled before disappearing into another room. Mateo however grinned upon you being given a carte blanche from his best client. Cause that meant money.

"So... What do you want?"

"Uh... The basics I believe?"

This earned him a giggle.

"Preciosa. Hermosa, muñeca. Listen to me. And listen well.", He waved a warning finger at you, "Basic is not in this fashion's house vocabulary. Secondly, if Miguel brings you here is cause, he wants you to look good and not embarrass him. I know it sounds awful, but if you're with him-"

"I'm not." Your frown deepened and Mateo just rolled his eyes.

"Of course you aren't. Anyway, I'll give you a wardrobe. Let's go. Cooper!"

He called and soon a tall, young and redhead man approached. His green eyes lit up upon the task ahead.

"This is Cooper Coen, my assistant. He'll be helping us today."

The young man greeted, and soon they began working.

Mostly of the pieces the both picked suited perfectly on your body, every curve lavished and worshipped with utter care. But you also noticed that as beautiful as it all was, the crafts were easy to remove. As if Mateo knew the purpose behind everything he donned you with.

Cooper kept packing and bringing clothes that not only enhanced your body shape, but made you look like a spoiled rich man's wife. Elegant, beyond gorgeous, expensive and oh so tempting and fuckable.

Mateo seemed delighted in having you as his personal doll, trying outfit after outfit. Miguel had left to business but Jessica remained behind to look after you.

Hours kept passing, and you moved to the undergarments. You were too focused in getting the underwear you had missed for so long that didn't hear Miguel returning.

You wouldn't ruin him financially, sadly, but as Cooper had told you, it wasn't going to go be cheap either. And if your intuition wasn't failing, you knew something didn't add up. Not that you weren't grateful to finally have your own clothes to wear, but deep in your brain, the ever rational and alert part of it kept telling you to be wary. To not trust Miguel.

What is he hiding?

----

Miguel had to leave for a couple of minutes to have an impromptu meeting with Peter back at the club for more Intel gathering. Apparently a clue on Massimo's whereabouts came up and he left you with Jessica.

But upon returning and seeing the amount of packages and the count ascending past the fifty grand, he called you.

Money wasn't an issue for him, but the amount of unnecessary shoes that you or rather Mateo had made him wonder how many pair of shoes a woman truly needed.

Never enough apparently.

He called you once, but Cooper showed up instead.

"She'll be here soon, Mr. O'Hara."

The young man nodded as Miguel huffed.

It reminded him the too many times he took women for shopping and always ended up like this. Bored out of his mind, sometimes pissed at the constant questions they asked him.

Do I look fat? Does this color matches my skin?

He sighed, irked but somehow ready to ignore the flood of questions you'd annoy him with.

Much to his dismay, minutes kept stretching impossibly longer and he had things to do and places to be at. He called you again.

No response.

His jaw tensed as his teeth ground together. He immediately took his phone and searched on the tracking device location.

Signal Lost

"Pinche mujer" He growled as he bolted gun in hand towards where you had been, Heart pounding with such an intense anger it felt like molten lava flowing through him. 1Jessica was helping Mateo, unaware of what was to unfold.

Heavy and livid steps guided him towards the dressing rooms. He swung the curtain, ready to look for clues as to where you had left, only to find you, struggling with adjusting the back straps of the lingerie Cooper had handed over to you.

"¿¡Qué no oyes cuando te hablo?! ¿'Tas pinche sorda o qué?" (Didn't you hear me when I'm talking to you?! You fucking deaf or what?!)

His sudden outburst startled you while your frightened gaze settled on him and it quickly turned angered.

"What the fuck?! I'm changing!" You were about to keep up with his yelling when his gun stood high and proud in the air. Silencing your babbling with an unintelligible grumble.

"What was that?" With a scowl he glowered your way. Your tongue clicked, ignoring him.

His eyes couldn't help but rake your body for some brief seconds to finally settling on the tracking device. The thing was off.

"What did you do to it?!" He growled while pushing you against the mirror and kneeled to grab your ankle and see with his own eyes why the device wasn't working.

Updating 40%

Of course the damned thing would be updating. His nostrils flared angrily as you yanked your limb away from his grasp.

"Hurry the fuck up, I don't have all day."

He let you go and headed towards the entrance.

"Che palle! Lasciami in pace un attimo, stronzo!" (How annoying! Leave me alone for a second, you asshole!)

And oh his head turned in many dangerous and dark thoughts. It wasn't the words you used, he couldn't care less about them, but the fact alone you still had bits of Massimo still clinging to you.

If honest, you only had learned some phrases in the attempt to rekindle things with your husband, it somehow worked, but this was a completely different outcome you truly weren't expecting.

In a blink of an eye he was already before you, red eyes glowering your way, a steely grip on his gun.

"The fuck did you say?"

You had to recoil away, but where? He had trapped you again against the mirrors, your fear etched in every face the multiple surfaces provided and it fuelled him.

A thick gulp rolled down your throat as his gun's tip placed underneath your chin to drag down between your breast to stop right above your heart, tapping a tad rough with it.

"If you wanna act like a spoiled brat, fine." he seethed as he pushed you on your knees in a swift move, the sudden movement had you stumbling down, startled "I'll teach you a fucking lesson."

His other hand immediately went to your front strands, tangling his long fingers in them, your hands immediately flew to his wrist, grunting uncomfortably at the tight grip on your skull, trying to pry yourself away from him. You could feel his anger through the little tremors his body did as he tossed the gun to the seat inside the little cubicle.

"Let me go!" he pulled your head back, parting your lips open in the way.

"Since you fucking love opening your pretty mouth to disrespect me," His hold tightened on your hair as his hands fumbled with the belt of his pants, sliding his free hand past the layers of clothing and pulled out his engorging cock. A few pumps of his hand around it had it twitching to life.

"I think it's time to find a proper use for it, hmm?" Before you could even protest, his flushed tip was already invading your mouth. A hiccup escaped you while he pushed in inch by inch, earning a brief gag and gurgle from you.

A satisfied growl escaped his smirking mouth.

"What's wrong? Cat's fucking your tongue?"

He stepped in closer, your nose nuzzled his happy trail as he was now holding your hair in a fistful. A sharp tinge of tears blurred your eyes for a moment as he slid down your throat. Your hands slapped his thighs while trying to push him back, earning him a breathless moan. You had tested his patience long enough for him to snap and remind you of your position.

If he had known how easy and quick you'd learn how to get under his skin, he would've left you back with your rotten husband.

Upon sensing you gag again, he chuckled while sliding some of his fingers underneath your chin, guiding you slowly to take him properly.

"Fucking relax." He heaved when your mouth flattened around him to have air flowing back to your lungs.

Fucking gorgeous. That's how you looked, staring with your pretty and angry eyes while you choked on him, set a long forgotten thrill alive that he rather keep buried for good.

You coughed as soon as he slid out, completely hard, glistening in your saliva and beads of pre cum that connected to the corners of your flushed mouth.

"Uh-uh. Open up, I'm not done yet."

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and coughed a couple of bits; the glare returned to your eyes.

"Fuck you."

Miguel huffed, crouched and took your chin to kiss you, tasting himself. You bit his lip, hard trying to get him to free you, but the growl grumbling through his chest only made your skin crawl as his tongue slid in your mouth, also invading you.

The sheer size of his frame and the little space between sandwiched you, deliciously against him. One hand cradled your head, not giving you a truce while devouring your lips as the other one slid down between your legs.

The sudden contact sent jolts up your spine, as he changed the cradling on your nape to a light squeeze on your neck as he pressed you against the floor, and spread your legs with his teasing hand when you trapped his hand in between your thighs, preventing him from reaching deeper.

The motions had slowly made his cock to be trapped again in the fabric confinement.

He earned a feeble mewl as he slid two of his fingers inside. The vibrations of your purring reverberated underneath his skin made his eager tip to twitch again

His phone buzzed and he let your throat go for a second, but his fingers remained inside, massaging and wriggling softly within your flesh.

"Not a peep from you, ok? This is an important call."

Your hands immediately clenched and your thighs trembled when he moved his hand, back and forth, delving into your drenching walls.

Heat licking at every pore of your skin. You didn't know if it was in anger or your hormones betraying you once again. The lack of sex with Massimo was costing your dignity big time.

He's just toying with you cause he knows he can.

Your mind reasoned, despite the rationality's grip loosening at his ministrations.

"Ya le dije a Gabriel que procediera sin contratiempos." (I already told Gabriel to proceed without problems)

He talked and moved his hand like the most natural thing to do while in a call.

Shame washed over your cheeks at the raunchy and sloppy wet noises your cunt made the more he probed your insides.

"No, no-"

You hissed and his eyes went immediately on you, as if with his glare alone he'd be defying you to make a noise again.

Your lips pursed shut as your chest heaved with ragged yet quiet breaths

"I've got it under control."

More than a reply to whoever he was talking to, his words were a fact. An undisputed truth that clawed at your brain the deeper he stimulated with his fingers.

He was on control. Of you, your body and every bit that formed it, of every contraction that sucked and trapped his fingers, of every breath he made you exhale.

His pace increased, and you choked while your body trembled at the beat of his thrusting fingers. A satisfied smirk crept up to his face, determined to break your forceful silent vow.

He's worse than Massimo. Don't forget that.

The hardened nub of your breast peeked underneath the flimsy fabric, swaying, demanding to be tasted.

His initial resolution of not making a physical approach, had been long broken, ever since you insulted him in that foreign language that certainly sparked things within his mind he rarely liked to indulge thinking.

You amused him, that was much true. But God you also made him so fucking angry. Running your mouth like you were his equal, facing him despite being scared to the core and spending his energies in such a delicious way he only sought whenever stress was eating him alive and none so far had properly known how to sate. Not even Dana.

The only serious relationship prospect he had so far until she cheated on him and he had to get rid of her.

But you, He didn't know if to kill you himself or fuck you 'til you were in tears.

Your mouth parted in a pornographic 'o', gasping quietly, eyes shut, face covered in a deep shade of red, hands clenched into fists on the floor as your body swayed underneath.

"Let me see what I can do." He crooned as his golden chain around his neck dangled with his motions.

His eyes kept glued onto your face as he slowly rubbed the rough pad of his thumb against your neglected clit in a tortuous and flickering motion.

You bit your lip, and he smirked darkly. Slowly, he pushed in a third finger as he applied a bit more of pressure on your already sensitive and engorged nub

Think about the condom box!

Your toes curled in, body contorted in between gentle twitches and jerks when he grazed ever softly and teasingly at your sweet spot. A soft and barely audible gasp escaped your mouth. And his breath hitched as soon as you locked eyes with him in a glare.

How dare he?

He moved in and out, alternating between fucking his fingers inside and caress your bundle of nerves for enough time to edge you.

"I know. Hmm." He nodded at whatever words Peter gave him, "You're more than capable of handling it."

It felt like he was encouraging you through the whole process.

He's not in control.

One of his fingers grazed into a spot that got your hips stuttering and shaking your head as your teeth sunk deeper into the plump of your bottom lip, jaw tense but unable to trap in a garbled moan. You felt like a hypocrite.

"Yeah, don't worry. Everything's fine."

The way your walls increased their drenching with every contraction on his digits, had him tittering silently in twisted delight.

At this point it was a matter of seconds to have you coming undone. He was set into making you break the rules. Your toes curled and trembled as he fastened the pace enough to have a soft squishing slap echoing just for him.

El Diablo tilted his head as you clawed your nails on his ankle, it barely tickled him.

"All he has to do is to agree. Offer him more money if that's the case."

With clinical precision he stopped a few seconds before you got to come undone and trap him inside. A frustrated and shallow whine flew out your mouth. His thumb pad was now tracing the outline of your lips, to then slid two of his drenched fingers into your mouth.

"All he has to say is yes." He moved his hand, making your head bob in a nod as he spoke. Your taste exploding into your mouth.

With little he just retreated outside the cubicle to return a few minutes later with a plain pair of pants and a shirt. He hung the call up and sighed.

" Now that you've learnt how to shut the fuck up, get changed. We need to go."

With trembling legs you stood, trying to catch your breath, the lingerie soiled, your thighs sticky. Heart and pussy played like a fancy tailed piano and he was the main musician.

He fixed his clothes, despite the raging boner pulsating between his clothes. He looked at you for a moment, nose reddening, lips flushed and glossy eyes that turned aqueous the more he remained in there.

His brows pinched softly in an imperceptible frown before leaving you alone. Not really wanting to witness your sudden discomfit.

What had came over you?

----

Ever since he woke up that day there were so many changes he had barely had time to adjust. But this quiet and distant you was unsettling and uncomfortable for him.

First the need to cry after he almost gave you an orgasm, then, the silent ride back at home.

You barely glanced his way when explaining the dress you needed to wear for the party he was also changing into. But what frustrated him the most was when he asked you to remove the ring out of your finger. The urge to cry returned on your face.

He truly didn't understand why you still clung so blindly to Massimo. At this point he thought it was love.

He huffed, disgusted.

You wouldn't drag him to your emotional rollercoaster cause he already had his own. And there was an enough mess as it was to keep adding to his plate.

He was proud of his detachment skills, soon you'd return to that asshole you called a husband and he wouldn't have to worry about you anymore, cause again, he was growing tired of facing other emotions that weren't the ones he could master.

No matter how gorgeous and fuckable you looked in that backless and sequin golden dress that undoubtedly did a better job at treating your body than him.

You had to apply some makeup to the most visible bruises around your body. Neck included. He loved squeezing it apparently.

Miguel had removed the tracking device of your ankle to disguise it as a clock on your wrist. He looked handsome as usual.

In truth, you looked like a celebrity. It made you wonder what kind of party you headed to, but you refused to speak to him and he was more than happy to not be bothered.

Each sat in opposite corners in the car. Not saying a word during the ride. The only instruction he gave you was to stay close as he hugged your waist, although weakly, with his hand.

Nostalgia was rampant on you today, and it didn't help the not so clandestine reunion harbored within a familiar milieu for you.

A fancy club, L'Enfer, you once had the chance of visiting. Your engagement night, and returning after so many years in extremely different circumstances, tightened the knot around your throat and the need to run away to increase tenfold.

Golden floors matched the velvet curtains that protected the black windowsills from prying eyes. The tables pristinely arranged to the left and right, ready to witness its attendee's darkest and deepest secrets.

Servers were dressed in jet black suits and red gloves, offering the myriad of delicacies prepared for the night.

Some men stared at Miguel, apprehension and wariness in their eyes. Others smirked and raised their champagne cups as he made his way deeper into the place. Peter walked ahead, Miguel and you followed, and Jessica tailed behind, yet his agents scattered all over the place, either as servers or valets, even bartenders.

Miguel wore his usual frown, occasionally changing into a deadpan whenever a fan of his work approached.

Miguel entered to a further room, more private and secluded. The smell of tobacco and expensive perfumes polluted the air, assaulting your nose at once.

You downed the discomfort with a cup of champagne.

"Try to not drink too much. Need you sober for the meeting."

A meeting?

You quirked a brow at his mumbles but nodded and remained seated near the indoor font, the least tobacco smelling place from the rest and the same place Massimo proposed. Now, you were eating the different entrees, balancing the alcohol ingest in a mob lord party, you realized too late.

Jessica remained on your side, also eating whenever a snack she liked passed by. Peter accompanied Miguel as he greeted and exchanged a few words with the other people.

Orborn, Kravinoff or Kraven for short, Olivia Octavius, and other men didn't ring a bell on you.

"Let Miguel do the whole talking. In fact, act as the listener. And if Kraven calls you beautiful, don't say thanks. He'd think he can hit on you and the least Miguel needs-"

"Is worrying for stupid shit. I know."

The sweetness of the mini desserts and other assorted flavors didn't help to conceal the tart tasting in your mouth. Jessica quirked a brow and nodded.

"You're adapting quick. That's good. But despite having a ten grand dress on you with matching shoes and gold in your ears, you look like you're about to cry. What the hell is wrong now?"

Tough love was all you got from her, but it also surprised you how perceptive and unsuspecting she could be.

"Everything."

Jessica rolled her eyes and sighed, adding another lemon curd mini tart in your plate. One you hadn't had before.

"What in specific? Is it... That guy, your husband?"

Jessica smacked her lips with her gaze fixed on you, scrutinizing within your eyes upon your sudden silence.

"You're really hung up on that asshole, aren't you?"

"It's not that. And I'm not even sure about my feelings on Massimo. I want to punch him in the face for lying to me, but I also I want to know he's alright, so I can... pass page."

Your shoulders slumped as you heaved, defeated, "And Miguel is no better. It feels like they'd be secretly competing against eachother whose worse."

Jessica grunted with a silent titter and shook her head.

"He's blunt and an asshole, undoubtedly. Despite that, I'd stick in Miguel's side, he'll make sure you're safe in his own way."

"Just wished he'd be less cryptic whenever I ask for answers."

"Again, he's protecting you."

"From what? From himself?"

"No. From the troubles your man dragged you to, honey."

"Ugh" You rolled your eyes, the last thing you needed right now was to be reminded how awful Massimo was, "Just forget it. I feel anxious enough as it is."

"What do you mean?"

"I... I have a bad feeling."

-----

You sat next to Miguel and carefully listened. The mobster's voice occasionally drowned the cutlery's tinkling out.

Topics had varied through the night, from luxury cars and ways to armor them, weapon hiding and smuggling, to your current predicament. Massimo.

"Kingpin is looking for him, his wife has gone MIA, which is convenient. Bitch's smart. The guy could learn a thing or two from her."

"He ratted out Delgado with the FBI. His associate! Wouldn't surprise me if he'd sell out his family to save his skin." The man called Harry Osborn spoke as he downed his whiskey.

"Da. My associates have gathered Intel, he hasn't left the country still."

You gulped thickly the more the men spoke. If seeing with your own hands what your husband had created wasn't enough, hearing it straight from the horse's mouth only crushed your heart even further.

"What about you, Diablo?"

"Max owes me money."

Many just hissed while contorting their faces disapprovingly.

"How much?"

"Four Million."

"Poor bastard sold his soul to you, didn't he?" Olivia Octavius mumbled between sardonic and titters.

Miguel downed his whiskey as your hands clawed on the golden sequins of the dress.

"What kind of fucked up woman marries a guy like that? She's desperate or corrupt as he is."

Olivia spat and a few nodded.

"Heard he was fooling her this whole time."

"Ahh, C'mon, Miguel. Didn't know you fell for such things."

Miguel just shrugged, then he lit up a vanilla and cherry cigarette to blow the smoke away from you.

"I'm giving people the benefit of doubt still. But I'll find him."

"You'll kill him?"

"Gotta collect my reaps first."

The men and Olivia grinned, everyone seemed pleased but you. It had been a good deal of information to swot on, so many to digest your stomach had turned queasy.

You were about to stand up, feeling the bile and nausea rising, that registered too late the acute ring piercing through your eardrums so badly after a powerful loud bang. Unable to move, frozen in the spot.

Everything felt in muted slow motion, some droplets of something warm and wet fell on your face, spraying you. You saw the group pulling out their guns one by one as Harry Osborn fell with a seemingly loud thud on the table.

Why isn't he moving?

Your heart pounded in your ears, throat constricted, and when you tried to scream nothing but a mute yell came out. A strong tanned hand pulled you down, as more loud bangs kept echoing, like distant fireworks underneath water.

Guns were sparkling with every shot they fired, people fell on the floor, staining the golden surface with crimson as the walls around received an ugly hole-themed makeover.

You could see Miguel grabbing your shoulders, shaking you while his mouth moved angrily as he pulled his gun away and kept you secured tightly underneath his frame.

Chaos had broke loose. And you weren't sure you'd live up to tell.

-----

Taglist:

@bunnibitez @gabrielarose29 @night-spectrum @katitakenway @reverieblondie @choppednerdtriumph @amelialysm @tatatida @daddysfavoritesexkitten @huniedeux @blissdoubtyattuma @rositabluemoon @freehentai @solesurvivorjen @ewan-tef @miranexx @madastrid @sukioyakio @whos-writting-stuff @spiderbunny00 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @ginger23 @bammzyboomy @mmyyhhhh @escape-your-nightmare @m4dyy @mxtokko @lauritajn @pearlescenthearts @bookshied @stevespixie @crimin4llyins4ne @6thhokageswife @arrozyfrijoles23 @mangoslushcrush @beingdeluluisthesolulu @aroyalbirb @brelikestoread @ilovereid21 @orangemango7 @luv-rei7 @4crew

@nanamiscunt @rabiebarbie @sailorlilipa @theywannabem3

@36namey @spiderpapi2099 @palesatan @homewreckingwreck

@arrozyfrijoles23 @instanttimetravelpizza @migueloharacumslut

@n3v1 @zelolinator @ewan-tef @alyeskathewave @mightyknight501

@alitaar @miranexx @the-pan-liquid @coffeeandtealol @haveclayeveryday @aizawasprimarybabymama @elliaze @tian-monique @deathlypickles @straw-berry-ghoul @rl800 @what-the-jams @6thhokageswife @thejaymaker @itsjstz @reader-1290 @kaikanther @vicravluv @anotherdisapointment @lemonpies2

#t writes✨#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #el diablo wears prada #miguel o'hara smut

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 4 months

Text

Tell Me You Like It

20/12: Sharing a Drink & Toys - modern!Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.7k~ | Warnings: use of toys, p in v sex, overstim, choking, pussy slapping

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Hands clasped with elbows rested on the table, she fiddles with the clasp of her watch on her left hand, her body tight with nerves.

The restaurant has a warm aura, with amber lighting decorating each table and windows that stretch across the width of the area. Being winter, it’s dark outside already, but with the amount of bodies and the remnants of steam that come into the space when the kitchen door opens, it’s pleasantly warm where she sits.

Mumbling, quiet chatter surrounds her as she sits alone at her table, waiting for Aemond to return from the bathroom before the starters arrive.

She raises her head as Aemond slides back into his seat, an involuntary smile making its way to her face as her eyes rake over him, wearing a black button down with a few at the top undone and the way the sleeves cling to his biceps never fails to make her smile. As usual, his hair is up and out of his face, looking shockingly casual compared to the way he’s dressed for their date.

She blushes when he gives her that signature smirk, one hand stuffed into his pocket.

“Aemond”, she warns teasingly before she jolts so hard in her seat she nearly loses grip on her champagne glass. She presses her lips together to keep quiet, briefly looking around to see if anyone is watching as the vibrating egg inside her begins on its lowest setting.

She opens her eyes to see Aemond’s smug expression that doesn’t waver with the pointed one she gives him.

“What’s wrong, baby? You look…flustered”, he grins, switching it back off, concealing the remote inside the pocket his hand is currently shoved into.

Fucking bastard.

He’d suggested this as well, having bought the item to spice things up in public.

But now she realises it was just another way for him, 1. To entertain himself and 2. To watch her fall apart in a different, forbidden way.

But before she can reprimand him, the waiter drops by with their starters. She puts on a polite smile, side-eyeing Aemond across the table as he continues to smirk. Hell, even the waiter, as he refills their champagne, seems to feel the tension between them both. And therefore leaves shortly afterwards.

He doesn't activate the vibrator throughout the next course, mercifully. The silence filled with idle chatter between the two of them.

“Got a new client this week”, he mentions idly as she wraps some pasta around her fork.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she’s got unrealistic expectations of course, and wants us to go on a business trip-.”

She raises her head, swallowing whatever was in her mouth, “She?”

Aemond all but smirks, as if he’d got the reaction he’d wanted.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head as she tuts, “If you’re trying to make me jealous, it won’t work.”

“Hm,” he chuckles lowly, stabbing at his food, “why would I be trying to make you jealous?”

“Because you’re a di-ah! Aemond!” she whisper-shouts, not realising he’s reached into his pocket again, the vibrating sensation between her legs has a warmth descending there from her gut, and she can feel herself moistening after hours and hours of teasing the device on and off.

She pressed her mouth closed when she realised she perhaps moaned a little too loudly, some of the other patrons sitting around them even turned their heads.

Once the vibrating stopped, she threw yet another glare at Aemond, “Because, you’re a dick.”

“A dick you love.”

She cocks her head, “Hm.”

It was pure divine intervention when the waiter finally came to clear away their plates.

“Dessert?” Aemond asked with a honey-like tone, one eyebrow raised mischievously as he ramped up the vibrator yet again, enjoying the way you moved your hips to alleviate the sensation.

Seven fucking Hells, I am going to kill this man.

Every moment was sweet torture.

The taxi home. The short walk up to his house. And he hadn’t stopped fucking smirking the entire way.

The front door closed, and within a millisecond, a loud thud has her back pressed against the door, Aemond’s lips and tongue prying hers open with his large hands running up and down her body, gripping tightly where he wants to devour her the most.

“I wonder…how wet you are…after teasing you all night, hm?”

She gasps against his lips as his hand dips beneath her dress, near-ripping the lacy underwear she’d worn that evening aside to swipe two digits over her sopping folds, revelling in the tiny, soft whimper she lets out at finally being touched.

“Fuck - baby. Just begging for it, aren’t you?”

“Aemond, please-” she begs, hand clenching around the fabric gathered at his chest, grinding her hips down against his fingers, “-need you.”

“Need what? Say it.”

The way he says that makes her want to jump on him then and there.

“Need you to fuck me-” she huffs out almost annoyed, trying to hook her leg around his hip.

He’s tempted to reach into his pocket, tease her more, and see how pathetic he can get her. But she’s so fucking wet, he doesn’t think he can even wait for that, proven by how hard he’s been ever since they both sat down for dinner. She whines pleasantly as his lips ghost over her neck, the tender, sensitive skin in open-mouthed kisses.

“Well, when you say it like that.” he muses hotly.

She squeals in surprise when he lifts her, using his knee to push the bedroom door open and dropping her onto his bed, her body bouncing briefly before she looks up to find him crawling on top of her, with that look in his eye.

The look when she knew she was in trouble.

He pulls off her underwear with ease, tossing them aside before diving between her thighs again, “Relax, baby…”

She shudders as he gently pulls the vibrating egg free, embarrassment creeping up her neck when she feels just how wet she really is after his incessant teasing.

“Fucking hell - such a slut-” he punctuates the word with a harsh, wet slap to her core, smirking at the way she visibly jolts, a moan slipping past her lips.

His other hand naturally hugs her throat, tugging her hedonistic gaze up to him while he massages her bud slowly with the aid of her slick, “look at you - such a greedy girl-”

She hears the clinking of metal as Aemond pulls his belt through the loops of his smart trousers, the whipping sound for some reason making excitement run hot through her veins. Aemond doesn't take any clothes off, other than pushing whatever is in the way past his hips to pull his hard and weeping length from his boxers, stroking himself slowly.

Nor is he particularly bothered about undressing her either. It appears she's not the only one that's been pent up.

She smiles a bit at that, his hand still snug around her neck.

“Don't know what you're smiling for-”

His expression goes all cold. And she's about to reply when her lips part in a breathy moan as Aemond sheathes himself inside her, slowly splitting her on his length until he reaches the fleshy end of her, tipping his head back at the feeling of her warmth squeezing him so tightly.

It feels utterly erotic to fuck like this with all your clothes still on, but that's the furthest thing from either of their minds right now as Aemond starts, at first, a slow and gently pace. He looks down between them, jaw slack, enamoured with the way his cock is glazed with her essence every time he pulls out of her to push back in, her fleshy insides moulding around him.

“fuck - baby, you're making such a mess on me-”

With the intensity of his thrusts, the pressure his hand applies around her neck is somewhat tighter in a way that has her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

So much so she almost doesn't notice as he reaches into the bedside table.

“You're much too quiet.”

Her eyes practically fly open as Aemond uses his body to widen her legs slightly, smirking as he presses his body into her, and yet another vibration is heard. But louder and more rapid.

That's nothing compared to the sensation when he presses the wand to her clit, the two sensations making it all borderline unbearable.

“Ah - fuck, Aemond-”

She realises now that she's a mess, clutching the sheets, her face and neck all hot and a soft sheen of sweat over her body. Aemond's hips smack against her bare thighs, increasing in vigour, his cock effortlessly finding that sensitive spot inside her with her legs slightly elevated.

That combined with the way he holds the wand to her, makes her stomach clench, an orgasm creeping up on her frighteningly fast.

“Aemond - oh gods-”

He chuckles darkly, “fuck, love it when you're all desperate for me. You gonna cum for me, hm?”

All she can do is nod quickly, not trusting her words with Aemond fucking her so relentlessly into the mattress, forming the shape of him inside her.

He doesn't stop as she wets his cock with her release, her thighs shaking around him and fingers cramping as she fists the sheets. And with every blow to her sweet spot as her peak rolls through her, it's agonising in the sweetest way possible.

“That's it…”

A tight, hot feeling grips her when she cracks her tired eyes open, the force of her orgasm after hours of torture just being all too much, and sees that Aemond has lost no momentum.

He looks so good like this, head tipped back, lips parted, fucking her into oblivion.

And yet, the overwhelming buzz to her oversensitive clit and the moist smack of his cock being buried into her, brings her back to earth, with wanton, exhausted moans.

“Aemond-”

She can tell he's out of breath as he raises his gaze to her, smiling with his cheeks pink.

“Give me another one.”

“But-”

“I said, give me another one.”

With a harsh press of the vibrator to her clit, she sobs in pleasure, feeling weightless, knowing that she will give him as many as he wants, until he's done with her.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

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st6rrrs · 2 months

Note

Could you please maybe do a Theodore Nott fic where he’s ghost face?

DONT MAKE A NOISE || GHOST FACE THEODORE X FEM READER

summary: there has been murders around Hogwarts recently, People say they have seen a person in a ghost mask, you would have never expected the person behind it al.

warnings: smut 18+, unprotected sex, dubcon?, blood, murder, violence, hair yanking, cursing, oral sex(m receiving), etc..

a/n: this is my first time writing something like this, im sorry if this is bad. short! rushed

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ' -

"Theo what if this ghostface person comes after you or me?" you sigh "im scared."

people have reported seeing a person in all black wearing a ghost mask. This person has already killed 4 people and you were scared that you and your best friend theo would be next.

"Dont worry i wont let anyone hurt you, ever."

you asked theo if he could sleep in your dorm room tonight because your roommate was with her boyfriend and you didn't want to sleep alone. You and theo were cuddling on your bed but you fell asleep..

you awaken due to the loud thunder storms and rain outside you look over to check on theo but hes gone?

"theo?" you immediately get up to see if he's still here but it was to dark. You get up to turn on the lights but they wouldn't turn on, maybe the power was out due to the storm.

you go to grab your phone on the nightstand and check the time 2:58am.

you were about to text theo but you see his phone on the nightstand also so decide your gonna go look for him because this isn't like him.

you go to the flash on your phone and turn it on

˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ —— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ' -

"theo! are you out here?"

you been out here for a while looking for him, you were just about to turn back around and go back to your dorm but thats when u heard something, you get goosebumps.

you turn the corner and you immediately go pale. You see a dead boy on the floor with blood all over him and stab wounds, above him was that ghostface mask staring at you. the boy on the ground didn't look like theo thank god

you drop your phone and run as fast as you can to your dorm. right when your at your door you get pushed inside and hit your head on the wall. you groan out in pain and you feel something dripping down your head you go to touch it and its red.

you hear the door lock and suddenly you feel the ghostface grab you by your hair forcing you too your knees.

"please dont hurt me" you sobbed

he didn't respond all he did was unbuckle his pants that had blood all over them and pulled them down. You could see his hard on thru his boxers, you sobbed even more knowing what was bound to happen.

he released himself from his boxers his cock hitting your cheek. he then put a knife to your throat pushing it into your skin making you whine.

he opened your mouth with his fingers and forced his cock into your mouth moving your head back and forth stretching your mouth out.

you repeatedly gag on his cock, tears running down your cheeks. You drooled in the corner of your lips. His fingers raked through your hair Pulling at it as he thrusted into your mouth hitting the back of your throat. you feel him twitch in your mouth knowing he's close.

he releases in your mouth with a loud groan. He takes his cock out your mouth and covers your mouth with your hand and squeezes your nose shut so he can make sure you swallow.

you ended up swallowing because you couldn't breath. he grabbed your wrist and pushed you onto the bed and he gets on top of you the mask staring you in the face.

you feel weak from the amount of blood you lost when u hit that wall

your barely awake when u feel him take your shorts off and then pulls yours panties to the side. He then rubs his cock through your folds and pushes himself into you and all you could do was lay there and take it

"no stop" you moaned out trying to push him off but he just grabs your wrist together and pins then above your head slowly thrusting into you, he groans while speeding up.

hes thrusting in and out of you at a fast pace now, Your eyes were shut tight

"dont close your eyes on me now" he whispers in your ear pounding into you, you realize that's the first thing he said to you all night.

"your taking my cock so well" he groans in your ear "so fucking tight"

you feel that pit in your stomach that you shouldn't be having but your body betrays you.

your body tensing and toes curling as you come undone around him

he pulls himself back once more slamming himself inside of you while his dick twitches inside of you. you feel his cum shooting inside of you.

before he had a chance to stop you, you grab a hold of his mask and you pull it off...

this was rushed.

taglist

@bbsxsaa @xxbutdaddyilovehimxx @drewstarkeyslut @stvrkey @blondbrat @sevenwivesofrafecameron @tracymbcm

#smut #slytherin boys #theodore nott #ghostface smut #theodore x reader #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine #ghostface x y/n

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gamblersdoll · 5 months

Text

IT'S THE MATTER OF IT.

summary: after dying of hanahaki disease, youre reincarnated.. but you are the past lover of the king of curses.

WARNING: story contains sexual content, blood, gore, death of reader in first half.

"sukuna-sama." she said, bowing to the tallest man she's ever seen. she wasnt too afraid of him, but she gave him his respect he required.

"Y/N." he said, looking down at her. "are you still sick?" he asked, almost sounding worried.

was he even caring... of course not. he is sukuna after all.

"yeah. im not sure why." she said, shaking her head in a light chuckle. "ill be okay though."

"if you say so, Y/N." he said, turning his focus to uraume. the voices of the person you loved and cared for, and the person you were acquainted with drowned out.

if only you knew.

coughing violently, you covered your mouth and witnessed a petal falling into your hand.

you're fucking with me.. right?

you couldn't allow sukuna to witness that, then he'd either call you pathetic or actually showing true concern and hunting down whoever you were in love with and making them pay. but the first thought was that he truly wouldn't care.

or so you thought when you landed in a bedridden state, the flowers consuming your lungs and making it up to your esophagus and eyes, almost not being able to speak nor see.

"why on earth didn't you say anything? you know how dangerous this is!" uraume screamed, worried that their friend would die– no, you were dying for certain. you couldn't tell sukuna that you loved him. otherwise, he'd laugh.

"its... fine." you whispered, only a whisper is what you could do. or risk you damaging your throat from the thorns. "where is ryo..?" you asked, barely seeing uraume's white and red hair.

"he said he was coming, I don't know y/n..." they said, raking their hands through your locs, the locs that sukuna somewhat admired.

"is it okay if I nap? getting really sleepy." you asked , smiling softly until you again, violently coughed up blood and flower petals.

"... yeah." uraume said, leaving you to yourself. they walked out the room to see sukuna, conversing with him about you. how bad have you gotten? he didn't know.

he doesn't care.

the door opened and closed slowly, revealing a flower consumed you, your eyes have flowered out, but still managing to speak.

"who is it." he asked, glooming over you with worried eyes, but filled with.. rage? you didn't know. you couldn't see him, but you could hear him.

"i..." you trailed off, wondering if it was worth telling him. you decided against better judgment, coughing for a bit until you could feel yourself slipping away from life, deciding it was time.

"you." you had said, "it was you...." until you took your last final breath, the prettiest, bloodiest flower consuming you whole , sprouting out your mouth, and eventually, your heart stopped beating. all your warmth had gone away.

sukuna stood there with a blank expression, his hands did tremble a bit, but only for a few seconds in counting. he thought about pumping your heart, but he knew by his strength and anger, he'd crush your ribs, stabbing through your lungs from the brutal force he'd press onto you.

"ill make you pay for putting me in such a position like this, you damned woman."

—————————————

"y/n, these are your classmates slash partners, nobara , megumi, annndddd... yuuji!" gojo had announced, clapping his hands together in glee. "y/n and yuuji, you'll be great friends!"

"why would we be." you deadpanned, folding your arms and tapping your foot. "why are you so excited anyway? it's nine in the morning."

you felt a pair of eyes on you, it felt... dangerous. like a curse is watching you. you didn't recognize them, but yuuji gave you the friendliest smile and shook your hand, while in sukuna's domain, he peaked through yuuji's cheek.

there is no way you're here, you damned woman.

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #reincarnation #itadori yuuji #jujutsu gojo #nobara kugisaki #megumi fushiguro #jjk spoilers

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azrielbrainrot · 5 months

Text

Azriel is Mean

Warnings: smut, this is just smut

Notes: I'm not a writer so keep your expectations low. This man just drives me insane and I have way too many thoughts.

The world is completely quiet and dark. The wind is calm and the moon is bright in the sky. It's a perfect spring night which tells you that it has to be close to early morning otherwise the Velaris party goers would still be making themselves known. You can vaguely recall the muffled sounds of revelry filtering in through the closed windows when this first started. How long has Azriel been torturing you for then? None of these clues give you enough information. Or maybe they do. Your mind is having trouble focusing on a single thought at the moment.

"What's going through that pretty little brain of yours?" The sweet darkness of his voice pulls you right back to reality with a gasp. The brief moment of clarity is enough to make you even more aware of all your senses. The ache in your hands from the tight grip you have on the dark navy sheets. The soreness in your legs from holding the same position for so long. The dryness in your throat from fruitless pleas. And the wetness. You can almost feel your core dripping, down your thighs and below you. Further darkening the sheets. After you manage to blink through the blurry tears you can see it on his face too. Beautiful mouth shiny from where it was just buried between your legs. As you take notice of it you see the corners of his lips edging up slightly.

"Am I going too easy on you? You seem distracted." Wicked fingers start moving once again. A slow, teasing pace. Softly caressing your sensitive walls and reminding you of your current predicament. You can't hold back a breathless whimper which he rewards with a soft kiss to your knee.

"I could stab you right now." Your voice is barely there but he hears you. Like he always does. He notices everything you do. He can also identify the truth behind the statement to his wicked amusement.

"We can't have that." You feel your arms being pulled up until they're resting up above your head. It takes you longer than it should to recognize the familiar feeling of his shadows over your skin. "If you stab me then you really won't get to cum" A plea escapes your mouth instinctively. Your body so attuned to his every whim. "And you were just telling me how much you want to"

"Please! I'll do anything, Azriel" He lets out a chuckle and speeds up a little. Not enough to get you closer to the edge, only teasing you more. Your temper flares. The shadows holding your arms hostage tighten ever so softly. A warning. They're on your side, they want you to cum too. Or perhaps they're as cruel as their master and just want to watch you suffer for longer. But the message is clear. You need to play into his game.

"I know, princess." He leans down and leaves a kiss over between your breasts. Nuzzles his nose lovingly over your skin before catching your gaze once again. "You're always so good for me." His eyes rake over your exposed body. Making a show of how much he enjoys the sight before him. You can't help but curl your toes at the hunger in his gaze. "That's why I know you'll wait like I told you to. Only want you to cum on my cock tonight, you know that."

You let out yet another moan of his name and try to move your hips against his finger. He lets you indulge yourself for a couple strokes. Lets you let your guard down only to order his shadows to restrain your movements even more. Your moans pick up in volume and become ever more whiny.

"If you want me to cum on your cock then why not let me have it?" Ending the sweet request with a soft wiggle of your hips, as restricted as his grip on you allows. His endless patience is wearing thin. Your pleas are not as pointless as they may seem. The soft spot he has for you is his only weakness after all. You try to keep your face neutral at the realization. Things would only get worse if he found out you're plotting against him. "Then we can both feel good. I want you to cum too."

"Alright" Your heart soars, breath almost stalling at the agreement. You didn't think it would be so easy. Scarred fingers abandon your abused hole in favor of getting rid of his leathers. He only pulls them low enough for his erection to slap against his stomach. He strokes it once, twice without taking his eyes off your dripping pussy. Your mouth almost waters at the sight.

His eyes lock back into your own and he lets out a growl at what he sees. Unfiltered and completely primal want. He guides himself to your core but he wouldn't be the wicked spymaster of the night court if he didn't tease you just a bit more. He circles the leaking tip of his cock over your clit and slaps it twice before finally pressing it where you need him most.

"Is this what you want?" You barely have any time to feel the triumph in finally getting what you wanted, in the breathlessness present in his voice, before he starts pushing inside you. Your orgasm catches you unprepared as it wrecks through your body. Mouth open in a silent cry of his name. Eyes rolling back and mind shattering. You don't know how long it lasts or when it even started. The world pauses as you feel unimaginable pleasure. Your blood sings his name as if every nerve ending was exposed to him, controlled by him.

When your mind starts fighting through the haze you realize your hands are gripping onto him. Fingers curled around his dark hair and nails sinking into his shoulders. He must have called his shadows back in the middle of your mind numbing orgasm. You open your eyes to see him watching your face with a somewhat smug and content expression.

"How'd that feel?" You can only let out a moan and close your eyes again. Reveling in the pleasure. Letting the answer flood him through the bond. You can't help but smile at the growl he lets out and stuttering of his hips at the onslaught of pleasure. Let him feel at least a fraction of what he just put you through. This satisfaction is short lived as you realize his pace keeps going steady. He has no intentions of stopping anytime soon. The realization must be clear on your face because you can see the smirk on his face even before you open your eyes.

"You were begging for me to let you cum for so long" He punctuates every word with a precise, deep thrust of his hips. "It would be cruel of me to only let you do it once, right?" You start to say his name, going back to pleading already but he shuts you up with a kiss and a particularly deep thrust. "None of that. Let me take care of you."

#azriel smut #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar

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charmandabear · 5 months

Text

Ascendn't

Summary

I got mad when the game wouldn't let me hug him after the Cazador fight. So I fixed it. Plus a bit more steaminess in the graveyard scene. (Also, yes, I'm insufferable about this title.)

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Tav Rating: M Word Count: 4.5k Tags/Warnings: post-Cazador fight, Act 3 spoilers, blood kink, biting, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, soft dom Astarion, enthusiastic consent

It's been a good 10 years since I've written fanfiction and probably about 20 since I've published any online. This boy got me down BAD. I made an AO3 account for this fucker. (Which you can find here.)

“I can do this, but I need your help.”

You’ve never heard him plead like this. He’s usually so cool and confident. He doesn’t need anyone if he can help it. But this is different. Standing over Cazador, dagger in hand, fear and desperation in his eyes.

“I’ll be free - truly, completely free. Isn’t that what you want?”

He knows how to make your heart melt and break all at the same time. Gods, yes, of course that’s what you want, more than anything in the world. For him to be free to live the life that he never got to have, the life that Cazador stole away from him. He was so young when he got turned. And if he doesn’t take this chance, then as soon as you manage to get these damned tadpoles out of your head he’ll be relegated to the shadows once again. You can’t do that to him.

But this isn’t it. This won’t give him the freedom he so desperately craves, no, deserves. It’s just another form of chains. You take a shaky breath and prepare yourself for his disapproving glare.

“I know you think this will set you free, but it won’t. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador.”

Astarion’s face goes slack, the recognition of the cycle of abuse suddenly clear. His eyes on you soften as he murmurs, “You– you’re right. I can be better than him.” He turns a steely gaze back to Cazador.

“But I’m not above enjoying this.”

With a ferocity that you haven’t yet seen in Astarion, he yanks Cazador’s head back and starts viciously stabbing into his neck. Two hundred years of pent up fury and revenge release in a matter of moments. At a certain point, he’s not even stabbing the man, but rather the idea of Cazador and everything he represents.

Eventually he slows and drops Cazador’s limp body to the ground. The dagger falls with a clatter, and Astarion takes a step back. His eyes finally come back into focus and he realizes that it’s over. Really, truly, over. He’s finally free.

His face is awash with an overwhelm of emotions that you can’t identify. He’s panting, first from the physical exertion and then the sobs that wrack his body. He lets out a howling cry filled with pain and suffering and relief and anguish and he falls to his knees, shoulders shaking. Up until this point, you and the rest of your party have been frozen to the spot as you watched Astarion claim his revenge. But something in you breaks free and you rush to his side. Where you need to be. Where you belong.

You grab him tight in your arms and curl into his neck, your own tears mixing with the blood and grime on his bare shoulder. You think with an almost sardonic humor how often your positions have been reversed. Whereas when he leaned into your neck it was often with hunger, or lust, or even just a flirty playfulness, now all you could bring is a shared pain and comfort. You plant a tender kiss just below his ear and he looks at you with tearful eyes, an unidentifiable question present. You wrap your hand around the base of his neck, fingers raking through bloodstained silver curls. Pressing your foreheads together, you sync up your breaths with his, trying to slow them back to an even rhythm. Gods, you love this man so much.

You finally dare to break the silence, whispering, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” He lets out a weary chuckle and nods. You take one more look into those wet crimson eyes, bloodshot and tired, and smear some of Cazador’s blood left on his cheek in an attempt to wipe away his tears. He takes your hand and kisses your fingertips gently. You suddenly become aware that the other six spawn have been released from their soul-draining chains and are approaching, just as tired and sweaty as the rest of you. The two of you slowly get up to your feet, each helping the other in the process.

“Is… is it over? Is he…?” The woman you vaguely recall meeting in the flophouse in Wyrm’s Crossing, Dalyria, cautiously peers at Cazador’s body. Astarion lets out one final sigh, his breathing finally returning to normal.

“Yes. He’s gone.” He sounds like he can hardly believe it himself. As though saying the words aloud might somehow break a spell and make them untrue.

“What does that mean for us?” Petras, you think, comes up behind Dal. You do remember meeting him, feeling like he was like a knockoff version of Astarion. Trying all the same moves with half of the charm. You feel bad, now, about that judgemental assessment. He looks like such a lost little boy.

“It means you have a choice,” he says with exasperation. Sibling bonds, even when forged in fire, never die. “You can hide here, living in the shadows, like parasites.” His voice is filled with venom. “Or you can be more than what he made us to be. You can choose differently, of course. But the consequences are on your head.”

“What does it mean for them?” Dal asks, and Astarion falters slightly.

“Ah. Now that is a question…” You can tell he had been trying not to think about the seven thousand vampire spawn locked up in the dungeons. He was trying to get Sebastian out of his mind since their conversation. You don’t blame him, honestly. Astarion may have been forced to do Cazador’s bidding, but that doesn’t make the fallout from that any less reprehensible. Worse even that he was good at it.

Astarion had taken a step away from you to talk to his siblings, and you can see him beginning to spiral. You close the distance again and lay a hand on his shoulder. You can feel him start under your touch.

“Let’s release them,” you offer quietly. “They deserve the same chance you got.” You have no idea who Astarion would be right now if he hadn’t gotten kidnapped by the Illithid. If he hadn’t been on this journey, seen everything he had seen. Met you. Honestly, you don’t know who you’d even be if you hadn’t met him either. The thought alone makes you run cold.

“You’re right,” he breathes barely above a whisper. “The poor wretches in the cells are innocent. They shouldn’t have to suffer just because I-” his voice catches in his throat and you see him shake off a dark thought, “lured them here.” He reaches down to pick up Cazador’s staff - Woe, you think it’s called - with a hand still stained reddish black with the vampire’s blood. He looks at it for a moment, considering it carefully, and everything this staff had ever meant. Then he slams it on the ground, red waves of energy emanating from it, using its power to unlock every single one of the cells in the dungeon.

“They’ll need someone to lead them. Take the tunnels into the Underdark. Find somewhere… well, not safe, but less perilous.” Petras eyes light up with fear.

“What? No, we can’t-” he begins desperately, but Astarion cuts him off with a hand.

“Just try to keep them out of trouble.” The exasperated tone is back. How often had he needed to manage Petras’ emotions as much as his own? You vaguely wonder if Petras looked to Astarion as a role model. The other six spawn walk off slowly, exhausted but clearly relieved to be starting anew.

You turn to Astarion, who has just finished redonning his armor that Cazador had stripped him of. His gaze is glassy; you’ve seen this look before, sometimes even when you’re in bed together. He might as well be a million miles away. You gently touch his arm to bring him back to you. He jumps slightly, then a wan smile touches his lips, but not his eyes.

“That’s it. He’s gone. After all these years – these centuries – it’s really over.” He shuffles his feet, antsy and tired at the same time. You hesitate a moment, unsure of the best way to respond, but you finally settle on, “I’m proud of you. You did the right thing.” His smile isn’t free of bitterness.

“I’m glad you think so, because I’m not so sure.” His eyes flick up back to you, but that glassy look has returned. “I just feel numb. What I’ve lost, what I’ve gained – it’s all so much. And gods, all those spawn, free in the Underdark. I need some time, I think. Just to let it all sink in.” You reach out to touch his face comfortingly. Your heart sinks as he gently pushes your hand away, but it settles when he doesn’t let go of it.

“Let’s just go. This place reeks of death and I want to feel alive again.” He gives your fingers a small squeeze and then walks off ahead of your party, making his way down the long corridor into Cazador’s dungeon. Well, not Cazador’s anymore. You briefly wonder what’s going to happen to this place.

At the end of the hallway, you see the Gur standing there, too late to be even remotely useful. You struggle to keep a scowl off your face. You hate how they treated Astarion in your last encounter. You could be sympathetic of their pain, of course; they’ve lost so much to Astarion’s actions. But the fact that they offered no sympathy for him back, the fact that they could barely acknowledge that he was a victim himself? Absolutely despicable.

Ulma stands at the head of the group, and her scowl matches yours. “You killed one vampire, but released seven thousand of his spawn? Have you lost all sense?”

“They were innocents. To kill them would have been an even greater crime.” Astarion couldn’t possibly sound more tired. You don’t blame him, these are the last people he wants to defend himself against right now.

“Some of those innocents are your fucking kids,” you grumble under your breath, hopefully not enough for Ulma to hear, but just enough for Astarion’s benefit. It’s clear that she couldn’t when she retorts, “And our children? What of their fate?”

“Cazador turned everyone we brought him into spawn. I can only assume your children are somewhere in those wretched cells. You’ll find them in the Underdark, although you may not like what you find.” The grief is plain in Ulma’s face, as well as the rest of the Gur. You feel a little more sympathy for them, but still no warmth.

“This is…” Ulma searches for the right word to capture the enormity of the situation, “difficult news.” She probably could’ve done better. “We will need to decide what this means.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “Thank you for what you have done – slaying Cazador was a great justice. As for the rest… well, time will tell.” Astarion nods curtly, and you’re relieved to be able to push past them and leave.

You and your party finally trudge back to Elfsong Tavern to rest. The rest of your companions are eager to gossip about the day’s events, everyone having something to say. You shield Astarion from their nosiness and distract them while he bathes in the tub in the corner, washing away more than just the physical dirt.

Later that evening as everyone else is beginning to tuck into bed, Astarion comes to you, finally ready to talk again. You can smell his signature fragrance, an earthy citrus with an undertone of spice, and it’s positively intoxicating. You’ve grown to really love that smell, and even the slightest whiff makes your head spin. For the first time maybe ever since you met, his eyes look… soft. Almost warm, even.

“I should probably start getting used to the shadows, again,” he muses with a light smile. “Who knows how long I have left in the sun?” Your heart drops. This had been your greatest fear, that he would feel resentful of the fact that you convinced him not to go through with the ritual, thereby committing him to an indefinite lifetime in the darkness. You know how much he’s grown to love the feeling of the sun on his skin. Not to mention how it makes his skin look, soft and kissable.

“Don’t say that,” you plead with him. “We could still find a way to control the tadpole.” He shakes his head, his freshly washed curls bouncing slightly.

“Maybe, but even if I could control it, it’s a dangerous game. I’d spend every day waiting for something to go wrong. For the tadpole to find a new trick, reassert itself, make me a slave again.” His eyes grow lighter, discovering the truth of what he’s saying as he says it. “Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom.” You reach out and give his arm a reassuring squeeze, relishing the feel of his cool, toned arm beneath the warm linen. Even after all this time, being this close to him makes you a little lightheaded. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and neck, almost as though it’s aching to be drunk.

“I’ll be with you either way,” you breathe softly. You can’t help but glance at his lips. “I hope you know that.”

“I think I do.” He sounds genuine, a bit of a rarity for him. Lest anyone believes Astarion to have a sincere bone in his body, he adds, “Assuming we survive, of course. Because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you.” You playfully shove his shoulder for teasing you. He laughs and gently pulls you in by your lower back and you feel the heat rising again. Your breath catches as his eyes rake over your body and face. He lingers on your lips for a moment before darting back up to your eyes.

“There’s… something I’d like to show you, if that’s alright? Something out in the city.” He cocks his head and looks at you with an almost impossible combination of bashfulness and lust. Being this close to him and breathing in his heady scent makes you dizzy. You manage to recover just enough to quip, “If you want to sneak off for a cuddle, you can just ask.” He lets you go and you feel a significant drop in your internal temperature.

“I’ll try to restrain myself if you do,” he says with a cheeky smile. He takes you gently by the hand and leads you out the Elfsong Tavern.

The graveyard is quiet, almost serene. Astarion walks forward towards a tombstone covered in ivy and, with something bordering on reverence, brushes the vines away to reveal the text engraved in the crumbling stone.

Astarion Ancunin 1229 DR - 1268 DR

He wipes the dirt off his hands and steps back next to you to get a better view of the stone. You stand together in silence for a moment, as if in prayer.

“Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there.” His gaze is overtaken by that glassy look, the one you recognize to be him reliving his trauma. “I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his.” He sneers at the memory. Then he pauses, considering, “Until today.”

He comes back to himself with a shake of his head, and his eyes return to this plane. He adds, as much to himself as to you, “Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.”

“And what do you want?” Your mouth is dry as you ask the question. You can hope for the answer, but you wouldn’t dare presume. He might need to figure that out on his own, and if that’s the case, you will respect that.

He turns to face you, his red eyes full of more warmth than you’ve ever seen. Your heart leaps into your throat as he smiles and says, “You… I want you.

“You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared.” As he’s speaking your heart starts beating loudly, blood pumping through your arteries at an almost vulgar rate. You know he can tell, and he chuckles softly. Cupping his hand below your ear and gently stroking your cheek with his thumb, he adds teasingly, “You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do.” He pulls you even closer and rests his forehead against yours. You could never get tired of this. As much as you love those moments filled with heat and lust, there’s something so tender about these intimate gestures that aren’t about sex.

“I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.” You grasp at the back of his shirt, looking for purchase as you fall so much more deeply for him. Your voice is barely above a whisper as you breathe, “You won’t. Whatever comes next, I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.”

You two stand there for what feels like both an eternity and a fraction of a second before he pulls away and looks at the grave again.

“Well. I should probably fix this.” He pulls a dagger from his belt with practiced fingers and kneels beside the stone, carving something into it. You kneel beside him and see that it now reads

Astarion Ancunin 1229 DR - 1268 DR 1492 DR -

His new life. For the first time in two hundred years, he can call it his own. You find yourself at a loss of what to do, or what to add, so you self-consciously pick up a nearby wildflower and gently place it at the base of his gravestone. He glances at you sideways and smirks, “Cute.” You both sit back on your heels to admire his work. He heaves a great sigh, letting go of centuries of tension and fear.

“I’ve been dead in the ground for long enough. It’s time to start living again.” He turns to you and takes your hands. “With everything life has to offer.” His voice has taken on that gravelly tone that sends a shiver up your spine. You don’t want to pressure him, of course, but your desire for his touch is getting harder to ignore. These gentle grazes, lovely though they’ve been, have set your skin aflame.

“Meaning…?”

His eyes glint mischievously and that familiar flirty lilt comes back to his voice. “If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded.” Your body leans toward him instinctively, breath heavy in your chest. The words are out of your mouth before your brain catches up, “Sounds good to me.” He gets close to your face and you can feel his breath on your lips before he pulls away suddenly. He’s teasing you, and you know that he’s relishing in the satisfaction of it.

“You know,” he says with a feigned innocence, as though he doesn’t know the effect he has on you, “I didn’t care for you when we first met.” The sudden shift in tone knocks you back to reality, and you can’t help but laugh. He impishly glances up at you through his lashes.

“But I do now. Being with you is about more than lust or manipulating you into a tactical alliance.” He takes your hand, cheekiness gone, and looks you squarely in the eye with a rare earnestness. “I love you. I love this. And I want it all.” You will never tire of hearing those words. He reaches behind your ear and tenderly pulls you closer to him, finally giving your lips the reprieve they’ve been so desperate for. It’s a soft kiss, gentle, yet it still makes you burn up inside.

He pulls away far too soon, and you gaze back at him with starry eyes. His features is soft and smiley, but in an instant he raises on his knees so he’s towering over you and he takes on that stern expression that makes your temperature rise. He shoves you back onto your elbows before bending down to crawl up your torso hungrily. He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. He pins you down with the weight of his chest and then traps you further by nudging your leg up with his knee, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from you. You couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. And you most certainly don’t want to.

His body presses against yours and you curl your leg around him, pulling him tighter. An almost imperceptible grunt escapes his lips and you smile through your kiss. You can feel his smile in return and you lace your fingers into his silvery hair. He deepens the kiss, rolling his hips harder against you and your mouth opens involuntarily. He takes advantage of this momentary lapse and makes his way toward your neck, marking the trail with kisses. You seize up and your fingers tighten in his hair, encouraging him silently. But he needs more than that, and you know exactly how he’ll respond.

“Use your words,” he hums between kisses. You squirm beneath him, trying to sound even remotely dignified.

“You can,” you manage to gasp out as you try to suppress the moans that his lips are tearing from your throat. He flicks his tongue right over his usual puncture wounds and then gently trails it up the shell of your ear. You shiver with the intensity of it all.

“I can… what? I can’t know unless you tell me.” How the fuck does his voice stay this even? You can bearly even think straight, let alone string full sentences together. And yet he remains calm, nigh indifferent to the effect he’s having on you. But as cool as he is on the surface, you know how much he wants it. You both love the teasing, each night a challenge to see who can outlast the other.

“You can bite me,” you breathe and he nips at your ear ever so lightly, causing you to choke out the last few words, “if you want.”

“If I want? But what do you want?” He emphasizes the pronouns in a singsongy tone, and even hearing “I” and “you” in the same sentence does it for you. He’s still grinding against you all while assaulting your neck with filthy kisses. You try to remember what words are.

“I want you,” you gasp, trying to keep your words legible, “to bite me.” You suck in sharply through your teeth as he hitches your leg up a little higher. He grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head.

“Are you sure?” his tone is still infuriatingly innocent. He knows how much you want this, and you know what he wants in return. You’re not quite ready to give it to him yet. But gods how you wish he would break first tonight. Odds aren’t looking great as his free hand slips behind your lower back causing you to arch it off the ground slightly.

“Yes,” you groan in agony as his lips continues their heinous walk up and down your neck and collarbone. “Please, Astarion. I want you to.” He nips you again at the same time that he presses his thigh right at the apex between your legs. He tightens his grip on your wrists and whispers sharply in your ear.

“Beg for it.”

That’s it. You’ve lost. You cry out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. The words come tumbling out of you, unbidden and unburdened.

“Please, Astarion, bite me. Please please please. Bite me. I want to feel your fangs pierce my skin. I want to know the feeling of my blood inside you. Gods, please, I can’t take it any longer and if you don’t bite me soon I think I might-”

Thank the realms that he cuts you off in that moment, acquiescing to your begging, because you have no idea how you planned to finish that sentence. The sharp moment of pleasure as he sinks in, followed by the loveliness of feeling your blood flow into his mouth. It makes you feel slightly lightheaded, and the high it gives you is better than any you might hope to achieve on Elendren pipeweed. The gentle feeling of his tongue lapping at your neck contrasts beautifully with the sharp tension of him sucking the blood out of you. You can feel him starting to get lost in your neck, his grip on your wrists loosening. You use this moment of vulnerability in Astarion to get him back by arching your back even more to move your hips against his. You hear the sudden intake of breath through his nose and you smile to yourself smugly. He knows what you did and isn’t about to take it lying down, metaphorically speaking.

Once he’s had his fill he draws away from your neck, lips stained red with your blood. He sits up again, one knee between your legs as he looks down on you. He tsks quietly as he shakes his head, drawling, “So naughty. What am I to do with you?” You prop yourself up on your elbows and return his gaze wickedly, your blood tickling your neck as it drips down toward your shoulder. He swipes at the drop with a long pale finger and lasciviously sucks your blood off his fingertip. Your smug grin is back, knowing how weak he is for you.

His face drops into that stern expression again, but this time a devilish smile plays on his lips. He puts his hand on your chest gently, then takes a hard turn as he grabs you by the throat. Not enough to be painful, nor enough to constrict your breathing, but just enough for him to have control. He studies your face for a moment, admiring its beauty, before he yanks you upward commanding you to look him in the eye. He leans in for a forceful kiss as he keeps his hand tight beneath your jaw. You start to lose yourself in the kiss, melting into him, and he takes the opportunity to sharply push you away, his pointer lingering on your chin to show that he’s still in control of where you look. He lets you go and leans back confidently, enjoying how you’ve become extremely pliable in his hands.

He stands to loom over you for a second more, then reaches for your hand to pull you up. You’re completely under his power and couldn’t be more than happy to give him whatever he wants. You take his hand and he pulls it behind his back, pressing your chest into his.

“You’d better be good for me,” he murmurs against your lips, once again denying the kiss you ache for. “We wouldn’t want to punish any bad behavior, now would we?” He caresses your face momentarily and then turns with your hand still in his and pulls you toward… somewhere. Honestly, you couldn’t care where. You love him, and you love this, and you’ll go wherever he leads.

#astarion fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x gn reader #astarion x gn!tav #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 spoilers #astarion angst #astarion fluff

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sourcherryandsprinkles · 9 months

Note

more gf ethan

This has been sitting in my drafts for a while. Enjoy!

Games like these are my favorite to read. If you have any fic recommendations, let me know

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

After binging all the Stab movies, you found a new kink to add to your list. Some would say it’s a little dark and twisted, but you didn’t care. Ethan was willing to play and that’s all that mattered.

‘’What am I gonna do with you?’’ Ethan asked, his pretty face covered with a Ghostface mask as he sat over your hips with the blunt side of his knife right under your chin.

You feigned fear and innocence with your eyes as you looked back at him. ‘’Are you going to kill me, Mr. Ghostface?’’

The knife pressed harder on your skin, forcing you to tilt your chin up as he shook his head slowly. ‘’You’re too pretty to end up gutted like a fish.’’

Ethan slid his other hand up the surface of your stomach, following the path to your breasts. You were visibly not wearing a bra, the peak of your nipples showing through the material and making Ethan grunt under his mask. Unable to resist, he rubbed his thumb over a nipple and pinched it.

He pulled down the neckline, his palm closing around one bare breast. ‘’Mmh, that’s a nice pair of tits you have there.’’ You arched into his rough caress, a surprised yelp slipping when he slapped it. Ethan watched as it bounced, a red mark appearing on your skin. ‘’I bet they’ll look pretty when they bounce as I pound into your tight little pussy.’’

You whimpered at the words, your core aching at the anticipation of him stretching you, filling you all the way up.

‘’You want that?’’ he asked, rocking his lower body against you, making you feel his erection in his pants. ‘’You want my big cock to destroy your little pussy?’’

A wicked grin curled on your lips with a matching gleam in your eyes. ‘’Yes.’’ You wanted his naked body rubbing against yours. You wanted him inside you…with the costume on. ‘’Please fuck me, Mr. Ghostface.’’

Ethan’s cock swelled at your request and he dropped his knife, snapping out of character. It was difficult for him to stay in his act when all he wanted to do was to drop his pants and let you use him, but he agreed to play.

He took a deep breath and returned into character. ‘’Let’s play a game first.’’ Ethan picked his knife back and spinned with agility. ‘’I’m gonna ask a trivia question and if you answer right, I’ll give you what you want. If not…I’m gonna grab a fistful of your hair and force my cock down your throat like you're my little bitch and have you choke on it.’’

In all honesty, you didn’t mind any of those situations. You’ll take his cock whichever way he gave it to you.

You moaned softly and nodded.

Under his shy and dorky appearance, Ethan had a mouth for dirty talking. He didn’t look like he’d be this way, but it’s always the quiet ones, right? He could have you a needy whimpering mess and nearly coming from him just using his words on you.

‘’First question. What does the demon that possesses the little girl in The Exorcist tells the priest when he tries to exorcise her?’’

They do quite a bit of talking in the movie, but if Ethan picked this question, you figured there must be one particular line he wanted you to say. You raked your brain, then it hit you. Ethan always quotes that part when you watch it together and it cracks the both of you up.

‘’Your mother sucks cocks in hell!’’

Ethan slowly lifted his hand to run the tip of his knife across your cheek. ‘’Now, now, that's not a way to talk about my dead mother…’’

You quickly corrected yourself. ‘’No! I’m not saying— Reagan! That's what she tells the priest!’’

Ethan brought a finger to your lips, shutting you up. ‘’I know.’’ He wanted to kiss you, but resisted and dragged his knife down your chest, running it down your cami and tearing it in half, exposing the rest of your upper half to him. ‘’Do I have to do it with these too?’’ He tapped his knife over your panties.

Feeling the cool metal through the lace, your breathing started to speed up and you pressed your thighs together, turned on by the act.

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn @bt.oliana @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @red1culous @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @michaelangdonsslut @byhrxb @kamthecoolest @kattybug @ravenstrueluv @landryslxys @die4niyahhh @sl4sh3rfuck3r @radiant-whore @Meadzy21 @luci1fer @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @depthsofdespairr @bellysbeach @wilmalovegood @loupiotesworld @wenvierismycomfort @t-candy @s-al-em @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @adaydreamaway08

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713 @marzipaanz @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart @xyzstar @graceberman3 @Heartsforneteyamsully @aerangi @hallecarey1 @bxbyyyjocelyn @mikeyspinkcup

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x you #ethan landry smut #scream 6 imagines #scream 6 #scream

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andy-clutterbuck · 1 month

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Rick Grimes in The Ones Who Live | 1x04 - What We

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sturnish · 8 days

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౨ৎ Teachers Pet౨ৎ || ⋆౨ৎ˚ Matt Sturniolo⋆౨ৎ˚ || MasterList ||

ᡣ𐭩 | Warnings - Smut,legal age gap,sir kink,

ᡣ𐭩 | Summary - Y/n is nervous about meeting with Mr. Sturniolo to discuss her grade, but also has a secret crush on him.

As the day went on, Y/n found herself growing more and more nervous about her meeting with Mr. Sturniolo. It wasn't just because she was going to discuss her grade; it was also because she had a secret crush on him. She had been fantasizing about him since the first day of class, and the thought of being alone with him in his office sent shivers down her spine.

When she finally arrived at his classroom, her heart was racing. Mr. Sturniolo, tall and handsome, was sitting at his desk, poring over some papers. He looked up as she entered, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Ah, Y/n. Good of you to join me. Please, have a seat." His voice was deep and commanding, sending a thrill through her body. She could feel her cheeks flush as she took her seat across from him.

The two of them exchanged small talk for a few minutes, but Y/n could barely focus on what he was saying. All she could think about was how she wished they were alone, how she wanted him to touch her. Suddenly, Mr. Sturniolo leaned in, his voice lowering. "Y/n, there's something I've been meaning to discuss with you."

Her heart skipped a beat as he slid a piece of paper across the desk. Her name was written at the top, followed by a big, red 'F' for her grade on the most recent assignment. She felt a stab of disappointment, but she couldn't help but notice the way he was looking at her, the heat in his eyes.

"I think we can work this out," he continued, his voice low and sensual. "Why don't we discuss it further… in my office?" He flashed her a wicked grin, and she felt her entire body respond to his suggestion.

Without another word, she followed him down the hall to his private office. The door clicked shut behind them, and they were alone. Mr. Sturniolo turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "You've been such a good girl today, Y/n. I think you deserve a reward."

Before she could even process what he'd said, he was pressing her against the door, his hands moving up her sides to cup her breasts through her shirt. She gasped as his fingers found her nipples, hardening them beneath his touch. Her head spun as his lips met hers, his tongue delving deep into her mouth.

He pushed her jacket off her shoulders and began to unbutton her blouse, revealing her lace bra. "That's it," he murmured, "let me see all of that beautiful skin." Y/n obediently raised her arms, letting him pull her top off and toss it aside. His eyes raked over her bare chest, and she could feel herself growing wet between her legs.

Mr. Sturniolo stepped back, his eyes traveling down her body until they met hers. "You are so beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. He reached out and tugged gently on one of her earrings, pulling her forward until their bodies were pressed together once again. "And you want this, don't you?" He nipped at her neck, sending a shiver down her spine.

She moaned, arching her back to get closer to him. "Yes, Sir," she whispered, using his honorific for the first time. "Please."

His hand slid down between their bodies, pushing her panties aside and rubbing circles over her wetness. "Oh, you're wet for me, aren't you?" He growled, the roughness in his voice sending a thrill through her. "You're so fucking wet."

Without warning, he spun her around and bent her over the desk. She gasped as she felt the cool leather against her stinging skin. "You're going to take my cock now," he said, his voice low and commanding. "You're going to show me how much you want it."

She whimpered, unable to believe how much she wanted this, how much she wanted him. He pressed the tip of his erection against her entrance, and she felt herself stretching to accommodate him. "Oh God, yes," she moaned, arching her back further. "Please, Mr. Sturniolo."

With a rough thrust, he buried himself inside her, filling her up completely. She cried out, the pain momentarily overwhelming the pleasure. But he didn't stop, didn't let her catch her breath. He began to move, his hips slamming against her again and again, driving his cock deeper inside her with each stroke.

Her nails dug into the desk, her body arching and twisting in response to his brutal rhythm. Her orgasm built inside her, teetering on the edge, and then finally crashing over her in a wave of ecstasy. She screamed his name as her inner walls clenched tight around him, milking his cock. But he didn't stop there, didn't let her come down from the high. He kept thrusting, his eyes locked on hers, until he came as well, his hot cum spilling inside her then pulling his cock out.. He groaned her name, his fingers fucking his cum back into her tight pussy, "Sorry baby, i can't waste any."

"Please sir!" she whines. "Please, what?" he teases. "Please, fuck me again!"

He chuckles, lowering her back down to the desk. "Been a bad girl, haven't you?" He asks, smirking. "Well, you'll just have to take your punishment." With that, he pulls her back up by her hair, forcing her to meet his gaze, and then slams her back down on his cock again.

She cries out, the sudden pain causing her to tense up. He growls, slapping her ass hard. "Take it, Y/n," he commands. "Take my cock."

Tears well up in her eyes, but she does as she's told, relaxing her body and letting him use her. He begins to fuck her harder now, his hips slamming against her, driving his cock deeper inside her. She can feel the tears streaming down her face, but she doesn't care. All she cares about is his thrusts, the way they make her feel.

"That's it, baby," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "Give it all to me." And she does, surrendering to the pleasure and the pain, giving him everything she's got.

As her orgasm builds once again, she feels him tense up inside her. She looks up at him, their eyes meeting, and then he comes, pouring his hot cum deep into her. His body goes rigid, and he growls, his hips bucking violently against her.

She cries out, her own orgasm finally cresting, and then he collapses on top of her, his weight pressing her down into the desk. He kisses her roughly, their tongues tangling together as they both catch their breath.

Finally, he pulls out, his cock sliding free from her wetness. She looks down at the mess they've made on the desk, and then up at him. "Is that it, Mr. Sturniolo?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper. "Am I forgiven?"

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, you're forgiven, all right," he says. "But now you're mine."

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo fluff

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letsgetrowdy43 · 2 months

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Unspoken love—

Jack Hughes x reader

Requested: “You're blind- you're so blind! Why would I even do half the things that I do for you for anybody if I wasn't head over heels for them!” Jack is in love with his best friend and his best friend does not think that Jack would ever be in love with her

Rowan’s Blurb Event!!

The laughter died in Jack's throat as he replayed her words in his head, "Us? Together? No, he's like my brother," she joked as she looked at her best friend, his face dropping as his lips formed a straight line. Her smile fell as she watched his demeanour drop, watching as he grew quiet and reserved before slowly making his way in the direction of the bathroom.

It felt like a stab to the heart. He hated how much of an effect such a simple thing could have on his mood, but when you've been in love with a girl since the age of diapers, it's a little hard not to feel deflated when she has been dodging your affection for years.

Her eyes trailed him across the room, brows furrowing as she got up from the booth and headed toward the boy. Her fist knocked on the bathroom door, "One second!" "It's me," she knocked again, her voice growing gentle, "I just wanted to make sure you're okay"

"You're blind – you're so blind!" Jack exclaimed as he swung the door open, his voice a mix of passion and exasperation as he pulled her into the shelter of the bathroom. He looked at his best friend, the person who had become the centre of his world without her even realizing it, staring at him with confusion, no clue how much she truly meant to him.

"What are you talking about, Jack? Why are you so worked up?" "Why would I even do half the things that I do for you for anybody if I wasn't head over heels for them?" His words hung in the air, heavy with the unspoken truth as he rambled about all of the feelings he had pent up for years.

She blinked, her head filled with confusing thoughts as she put together all of the information thrown at her in seconds, "What do you mean, 'head over heels'?" she raked a hand through her hair, "you and me Jack? you've never given me a sign, I'm not even in your league!" "What are you talking about? There is no league, it has always been you!"

Her eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat as she stared at the boy she had undoubtedly been in love with for years. A lifetime of what felt like unrequited love built up in her chest as she searched his eyes for any sight of a lie, but all she saw was vulnerability filling his senses as he waited for her response.

And then it dawned on her, that they were idiots in love.

"Jack, I never knew," she whispered, "I always thought you saw us as close friends." Silence hung in the air as she stared at him, the realization that their friendship would never be the same filled the room as she contemplated her next words. "I just-," she whispered, voice getting choked up and tears lining her eyes as the emotions finally poured out of her, "Jack, I have never felt in the running for your affection."

Jack's face filled with genuine love as he shook his head, "you were always in the running, the only person in the running," Jack confessed, looking deeply into her eyes. "You are more than enough. You're everything to me, there's never been a person in my life that I have felt this strongly about in my life."

His hands cupped her face, thumb swiping under her eye to wipe away her tears, "Hey hey, no tears okay." She let out a cynical laugh as her hand wrapped around his wrist, "We are so blind, we wasted so much time being idiots!" His face broke out into a grin as he shook his head, "Maybe, but we have the rest of our lives to figure it out," he pressed a kiss to her temple as he pulled her into his chest.

The bathroom, once a place of solitude, became a sanctuary where two friends had finally unveiled their true feelings. They stood there, in the small bathroom, their emotions up in the air, knowing that from this moment on, their friendship would evolve into something more profound she pulled away to stare at him lovingly for a second before she stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a delicate kiss to his lips.

Unspoken love lingered in the air, once confined to silence, had now been expressed, forever reshaping the course of their friendship.

#rowan's blurb event #jack hughes #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fluff

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houserautha · 6 hours

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These Destined Ends

Part Eleven

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: you stabbed him and now you handcuff him, blood play, wound play, the events in this part are probably not hygienic or realistic but my thots took over, you both cry, mentions of killing/death, brief depiction of killing

A/N: I would like to add that reader and Feyd have such a toxic relationship but god do I love it so much (also the writing god possessed me and made it possible for this to be published now instead of tonight, god bless)

You push the dagger in to its handle.

It comes back slick with blood.

You use it to quickly unlatch your bindings, then shift aside as Feyd falls onto the bed beside you. Without thinking, you place a knee on either side of his waist and set to inspecting your work — the cut is deep, weeping ink-colored blood. A depraved part of you wants him to suffer, to feel pain as unimaginably deep as you did. And you do not want him to clot quickly.

Feyd’s hand ghosts over the wound. Blood spills onto his alabaster skin, the bedsheets, on the leg of your pant nestled into his side. And all the while he gazes up at you endearingly, face noticeably paler, blood coming to gather at the corner of his lips. You lean forward to kiss him and lap up the droplets of blood, he groans; you’re pressing your entire weight into him, into the wound.

“I want you to hurt,” you whisper against his mouth. You put your fingers to the wound, Feyd shifting uncomfortably as your nails bite into the recently torn flesh. Beneath you, his cock stirs, and in response you dig your fingers in deeper.

His flesh is warm. Wet.

“Fuck,” Feyd mutters.

“I want to hurt you and you’re enjoying it,” you sneer at him, “perhaps I should just stop. Chain you up to the bed, see how you like it. Leave you to bleed out alone.”

He doesn’t reply. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes — he knows that he’s supposed to atone for his family’s crime, play his part in your twisted battle of wits, but there’s no denying his swelling, twitching cock, eager to make contact between your legs. He grimaces as you remove your hand, breath expelling in shaky bursts.

Feyd watches you reclaim the cuff, hook it around his wrist and then do the same with the cuff on the other side of the bed that Wyn hadn’t bothered to attach. You secure both cuffs so that his hands are pinned above his head. He looks infuriatingly gorgeous like this, blood wetting his skin and your hands, muscles tensed and pain spasming his handsome features.

You grind against him and his hips buck.

“Fuck,” he says again.

You lose yourself, slightly, at the sight of him like this, and you’re entangled between vengeance and desire. The urge to maim him paired with the dreadful urge you have to ride him.

Why couldn’t you do both?

You rake your nails down his chest, creating trails of angry welts from sternum to navel. His breath quickens. Blood pools near the site of the wound and you drag your fingers through it.

“Interesting. You bleed just like the rest of us, Feyd-Rautha.”

“Do you want another taste?”

He inhales sharply. You’ve angrily pressed your palm into the wound, resenting him for reminding you of your transgressions. You growl, “You won’t find humor in this when I’m done with you.”

Fingers bloodied, you put them to his plush bottom lip — fuck, his lips drove you wild — and down his chin, the column of his throat, over the welts you’ve created. He writhes. You unbuckle his pants and, without any trace of kindness, tear them from his narrow hips. Feyd whimpers as the sudden movement prompts a gush of blood, and you grin at the reaping of your effort. He glares.

You scoop more blood like a painter from its palette. His cock is standing to attention, arched backward slightly, flushed and threaded with pulsing veins. Starting at his swollen head, you trace your fingers up and down, coating him thoroughly with his own blood. It takes several applications before you’re satisfied. An entirely addictive sounds escapes him when you fist the base of his shaft and start pumping, the slickness of the blood easing your work.

You stroke him over and over, varying your pace as not to guide him to orgasm. He rallies against you, straining at the cuffs. Although you can’t see it, you feel him dig his heels into the mattress in an effort to gain purchase, anything to channel the desire unfurling inside him. And all the while you watch him, fascinated, bleeding profusely yet so eager for your touch.

The mighty Feyd-Rautha, champion of Giedi Prime, shuddering and moaning beneath you, pre-cum leaking from the slit of his cock. It draws heat to your core. With his hands over his head, his mobility is limited, and you use this to your advantage: maintaining a steady pace on his cock with one hand while the other explores his body, dipping down to cup his balls, trace his thighs, then back up to tease his taunt nipples and the wound in his side. Feyd cries out, eyes rolling back and hips snapping.

You revoke your hand. He’s practically shivering now, undoubtedly torn between pain and pleasure. You climb carefully off his lap. Feyd’s gaze burns into you as you strip off your clothes until you’re standing only in your panties.

“This should only hurt a little,” you tell him. The muscles in his stomach jump and flicker as you resume your kneeling position, this time decidedly higher.

Your clit is aching for friction, so much so that you grind your center into him, right over the wound. He grunts in pain with each roll of your pelvis, seeking out your pleasure while you aggravate the place where the dagger had slid in, breasts pushing outwards. You can see it on his face, what he would do if he could use his mouth on you, his hands, but the pain is too great. Tears spring to his eyes as he fights the crashing waves of agony while you ride his wound.

“It’s not enough,” you utter, mostly to yourself, “it’s not enough.” Not enough pain.

You slide back down his body, reclaim his cock, then notch its head at your entrance. You’re slick with your own desire, and his blood, and you have to fend off his bucking hips to prevent him from penetrating you. The sensation of him gives you shivers, racing up and down your body.

You brace your quivering thighs and sink down on top of him. Feyd howls as your walls clamp down, taking him in one swift movement. You can’t help it — your head lulls back and your body bows, gripped by a wave of unbelievable pleasure. He fills you up so neatly, so fully, that you’re in despair when you pull away, then plunge back down with even more force. It reminds you of the throne room, how you had wrested the power from him. But you were na-Baron and na-Baroness before, this equates to something much more primal, raw, two blood-soaked fighters in an arena of your own making.

You ride him to completion, cuming on his cock twice before he finally musters the words, “Enough. You’ve got your punishment. Now let me fuck my wife.”

You pause with him still seated deep inside you.

“I don’t think I’ve yet reached the depths of your pain,” you tell him in reply.

Feyd’s eyes flash. “No weapons can maim me as entirely as having you naked in front of me and without the use of my hands to touch you. There will be no show of blood for how you’ve tormented me. No physical measure. Let me fuck you now so that we may be equals again.”

Seconds after you unlatch the cuffs, Feyd is on you. He all but attacks you, mouth hungrily searching yours, hands grabbing at your body. Effortlessly he flips you onto your back, blood gushing from him. He wavers, probably from loss of blood, before burying himself inside you. You cry out, wringing pleasure from him with each thrust, the feel of his hands more rewarding than anything without them. He’s on every surface of you — pressing kisses down your neck, your breasts, pulling each nipple into his mouth and giving them a lewd suckle. His hands grab the backs of your thighs, your ass, pin your hips to the bed so that you can’t move.

“You. Are. Mine,” he grunts with each thrust. His voice is wreathed with anger. Possession.

Heartache.

You can’t even begin to examine this before he spears you even faster, with more vigor, words slurring together with impassion. “You are mine, jewel. I thought you dead. I thought you taken from me. But no one can take you from me. No one. You don’t even possess that ability. I am the keeper of your life.”

He’s becoming more and more incensed, his pace growing sloppy and unpredictable. You feel a wetness by your neck and you realize that it’s not blood causing it but rather a furious outpouring of tears from your husband, his jaw clenched and brows furrowed in concentration.

“Mine.” Thrust. “Mine.” Thrust. “Mine.”

You cling to him, hold him the only way you know how, with your legs wrapped around his waist and your nails down his back. It’s as if you’re trying to merge into one being, take this man as part of your own flesh and, in addition, make his sorrows and pain yours. You taste the salt of your own tears as you both rise and crest like waves against one another, finally not opponents in a war that you can’t win but allies in a surmountable battle.

Feyd cums first, but you follow quickly after. Pulsing and shuddering, he cries into your neck as he fills you with his seed, clutching your body to him just as tightly. Both of you are gasping for air from the exertion, the tears, the culmination of your pleasures being chased down in such a heightened state. Feyd withdraws from you. He allows one hand to press against his wound protectively, but then surprises you by placing his bloodied handprint on your breast.

Above your heart.

“You are mine,” he says, “and I am yours.”

Hot water pours down you in rivulets, interrupted only by Feyd’s hands as he washes your body. Crimson water swirls down the drain. You take turns silently scrubbing the blood from each other and swapping stolen kisses, Feyd wincing each time the water makes contact with the wound. You start to form some semblance of an apology but Feyd silences you with a formidable look. “It was necessary,” he tells you.

The bloodied sheets and discarded clothes are much harder to rid of. And there’s no saying what Doctor Wyn was thinking when you told her that Feyd now demanded her attention, what she thought when she saw the horrible wound etched into his side. But, to her credit, she never asked any questions, and you never gave her any answers.

You could see why Feyd hired her.

And when someone wasn’t aggravating the wound, it healed much faster. Feyd refused any ointment that would erase the scar, however, which you knew he would. He kept every scar from every fight like badges of honor. You knew most of them well by now, and had your fair amount of contributions. And although you never explicitly discussed what happened between you two that day, you felt it between you like a tether, binding you together in a way that even you had no words to describe.

And that’s why you stall the Baron’s wish to seek an audience with you. You won’t go without Feyd.

He’s stubbornly vague about everything, too, claiming that it would make more sense to wait to hear everything unfold at once. You’ve missed too much while self-contained and now feel eager to return, to start the plot against Feyd’s uncle.

“I have my ideas,” he says one day when you’re begging him incessantly, “but first hear what the Baron says, make your own judgements. Revenge does not happen overnight.”

This irritates you, but you ultimately oblige.

Finally the day comes for your visit with the Baron, and you make sure to wear your best dress. Instead of the usual monochrome Harkonnen colors you’ve chosen a bright red, a thin fabric that clings to your figure. Feyd’s lips twitch when he sees you.

“You wear red to invoke the ire of the bull.”

“The Baron is no bull,” you retort. You think back to your grandfather’s legacy, of the dark eyes of the bull staring at you while you sat at the table on Arrakis. And while the Baron was not a bull, you were determined to have his head anyway.

Feyd grabs your hand, feathers his lips over your knuckles. “You look exceptional.”

You smile at him. “Let’s see what your uncle has to say.”

You made it a condition of the meeting not to be held in the throne room — you didn’t like the imbalance of power. Besides, you weren’t a lowly citizen come to collect their stipend, you were the na-Baroness, bound to the na-Baron in a bond that transcended the intricacies of power. You were no longer two beings but one, a formidable union. And as you sneak a glimpse of Feyd before you enter the dining room, you’re only emboldened by the resolve you see in his face; he is a fine partner to have in battle, indeed.

The doors open and his hand brushes yours once, a subtle indication of his fealty to you.

Your chin is raised and your stride confident as you approach the table. “A meal then, between family,” the Baron had said when you declined his offer to meet at the throne room. You notice that neither the Baron nor Rabban stand when you enter, which digs under your skin like a splinter.

“Don’t spare your na-Baroness with your pleasantries,” Feyd rasps darkly.

“This is not a political endeavor,” the Baron replies. If he realizes just how agitated his nephew is, he doesn’t show it. “Sit, sit. We dine together finally. I am only too glad to…catch up.”

It’s difficult to keep your composure neutral. Here before you is the man who orchestrated your family’s deaths, the one who carried them out. Hatred burns inside you.

You take your seat, Feyd beside you.

“We’ve already had our catching up, haven’t we, brother?” Rabban’s gaze is cutting.

Feyd just stares evenly back at him. “I remember.”

Rabban grins triumphantly. “And I’m glad to see that you’re healing well.” Before you can inquire about this — was Rabban the cause of the scar across his face? — the former turns his attention to you. “It is my dear sister-in-law that I need to reunite with. Isn’t that right?”

“Need is a strong word,” you retort. “I was under the impression I didn’t have much choice.”

“Oh, how you wound with your words as well as the blade,” Rabban replies, feigning insult.

“You seem to know quite a lot about blades, Rabban. Is that how you dealt the deaths of my family?”

Rabban sneers. The Baron holds up a large hand, his voice punishing, “That’s enough.”

“I’ve only just started,” you bite back.

“Brother, temper your wife,” Rabban says. “She speculates that which she has no knowledge of.”

You open your mouth to reply, outraged, but Feyd beats you to the punch. “My wife will do and say as she pleases. You should just be grateful that she hasn’t slit your throat yet.”

“There will be no deaths today,” the Baron warns.

“Because you’ve had your fill of them?” You counter. Under the table, your fingers form claws.

“Let me give you the truth, na-Baroness, so that you might stop leveling accusations,” the Baron replies coolly. “You are new to the Harkonnen so I may forgive you this once. You were not born as we were. That being said, we were the original defenders of Arrakis. It is our planet. And as you know we will do whatever it takes to defend our own.”

You can’t help it. You snort. Is that what he was doing when he cajoled his young nephew? Put more darkness in him than necessary?

“With the help of the Emperor, we were able to reclaim Arrakis. We tried to give House Atreides the option of conceding but they staunchly refused. We did only what we had to do.”

Your eyes narrow. “The Emperor aided you?”

This, you knew, but you wanted to hear an explanation from his own mouth.

“We both had certain…lofty aspirations…that the other could provide. It was a rational exchange,” the Baron says, as if talking about expanding trade routes instead of lives. “The Emperor was fearful of your father and his power. Now he has to worry no more.”

Conversation subsides as servants place food in front of you, some kind of bird drenched in a sickly colored sauce. The only person to touch it is the Baron, who savagely devours it without any use of utensils.

“You lie,” you finally say. “My father had no intentions of usurping the Emperor as you claim.”

“The Emperor is a…fickle man. He knows his own weaknesses. I cannot blame him for his fear.”

“And why did he partner with you?” You ask. “What did you gain from this?”

“Arrakis,” the Baron answers simply.

“You said that you both had aspirations that the other could provide,” Feyd presses, taking the words from your mouth. “You eliminate the House Atreides for the Emperor, but you are not the sole benefactor of Arrakis. You must know that I would rather perish than take orders from you.”

The Baron wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I suppose the news will come out sooner or later. Rabban?”

News? What news?

Rabban grins at you and Feyd. “The princess Irulan and I are engaged to be married.”

Shock seizes you and keeps you from forming any sort of response. The Emperor gave his eldest daughter to Rabban? Thoughts race through your mind. Not only did that mean the Baron had his influence in Arrakis but now the entire Known Universe as well. Dread fills you. How had anyone allowed this to happen?

“That’s not the congratulations I was expecting,” Rabban continues, clearly pleased with himself.

Feyd’s fist strikes the table, causing the silverware to rattle. “You gave me Arrakis over my brother, but now you secure him as Emperor? What are you playing at, uncle?”

“Your brother is willing to…follow my orders, as you so eloquently said. His loyalty deserves recognition.”

“This is a grave error,” Feyd snarls.

“Jealous, are we?” Rabban asks, drawing the attention back to him. “This could’ve all been avoided if you’d only accepted my offer,” he says to you, then Feyd, “and then you could’ve been in my position, heir apparent to the Empire.”

Feyd shoots to his feet. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance.”

“Boys,” the Baron snaps, intervening what you are certain would’ve been a death match, “everything is now in place. Feyd-Rautha will rule Arrakis and its coveted spice; Rabban, the Empire. Instead of fighting you should be celebrating the fortune of the Harkonnens.”

Silence descends.

This was worse than you imagined. The Baron had manipulated everyone here to get what he wanted. It was he who would profit from the marriages he forged for his nephews.

“Now, Feyd-Rautha, you must put aside your envy. You and the na-Baroness are required to return to Arrakis in a fortnight.”

It feels as if someone has poured ice water down your spine. “What?”

“You think you can rule from Giedi Prime?” The Baron asks, bemused.

“Fine.” Feyd looks to you but no one else. “We are done here.”

You want to challenge him, to remain where you are and root out more truth, but to do so would to humiliate him. You avoid the eyes of the Baron and Rabban as you pick up the skirt of your dress and follow after him dutifully.

The doors slam shut behind you with a resounding thud.

As you search for something to say, Feyd screams, visceral and terrifying. In a blind fury, he cuts down the two closest servants with his dagger, their blood splattering the ground as their bodies slump to the floor. His shoulders heave, dagger gripped tightly in his grasp, and he whirls on you wildly as you approach.

“Do not give them the satisfaction,” you whisper urgently to him, grabbing his face. Your touch soothes him ever so slightly. “Their time will come but first we must consider how to proceed, formulate a plan that will leave them in their graves. They will not go unpunished.”

The dagger clatters to the ground as Feyd finally releases it.

“I will not rest until then,” he swears.

You rock up on your toes and press your forehead to his, holding him to you. “Neither shall I.”

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @the-na-baroness @therealslimshady-1

#dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #feyd smut #writers on tumblr #feyd rautha harkonnen #writing #fanfic #these destined ends #feyd rautha

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wannabespacesmuggler · 2 days

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D.D. | Shane's Girl

Part Six | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh sucks, unedited (I will get to it later, I promise)

Word Count: 1.2K

Author’s Note: Oof—alright, it's been a hot second, everybody. Apologies for going MIA for a while (life, y'know?). I haven't forgotten about this fic and I know that none of you have forgotten about it based on the amount of notes and messages I get (which I appreciate greatly). Thanks for sticking it out with me guys. Excited for you all to see what I have planned in the coming chapters. In the meantime, let me know what y'all think of this one & let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

“Fuck!”

The expletive escapes your lips before you can think twice about it. You nervously look around the camp, searching for Carl and Sophia. The last thing you need is for Lori and Carol to get on your case because you accidentally taught the children swear words. After realizing that neither of them is in earshot, you let out a sigh of relief.

You look down at the garment in your lap. Shane had thrown a pair of his cargo pants at you earlier this morning, grumbling about a hole in one of his pockets. You had woken up earlier than him, probably because he had returned to your shared tent far after everyone else in camp had retired for the evening. This was becoming somewhat of a routine for the two of you: Shane sneaking around in the middle of the night thinking you’re asleep; meanwhile, you spend the restless nights in your tent waiting to see if he actually comes back. You never ask him where he was in the morning—knowing that Shane would brush you off by saying he was on watch as if you don’t understand that the shifts rotate every night. Another sigh escapes your lips as you defeatedly throw the pants onto the table before you and turn your attention to your finger, which you had clumsily stabbed with a needle while attempting to fix the garment.

“You ‘lright?”

The sound of Daryl’s rough southern drawl makes you jump. You look up and see Daryl standing a few feet away with his raised hands. He takes a few careful steps toward you—his movements are slow and calculated. Your brow furrows at the sight—did he think you’re afraid of him?

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle ya.”

“It’s okay, Daryl. I was just a little distracted.”

Daryl nods at your words before taking a seat beside you at the table.

“What’d ya do to your hand?”

He leans toward you slightly to get a better look, his concerned eyes raking over your hands, looking for any sign of injury. A small smile spreads across your face as Daryl continues to worry about your well-being. You raise your hands to show him that you’re perfectly okay.

“It’s nothing. Just pricked my finger—Shane has a hole in his pocket, and I was never good with a needle and thread.”

You shrug your shoulders nonchalantly as you speak. Daryl chews on his bottom lip as he looks at the cargo pants on the table. It’s ripped along the seam, an easy fix—he’s done it numerous times for his own tattered jeans.

“Give it ‘er.”

You look at Daryl’s outstretched hand in disbelief for several seconds before handing him the needle and thread. Daryl snatches the pants off the table and gets to work. You watch him curiously—his brow furrows as he focuses on the task at hand. Daryl momentarily lets his attention drift to you; he awkwardly shifts in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable with how intently you’re watching him.

“Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

His tone is defensive, but it doesn’t make you back down like everyone else.

“Just surprised, is all.”

“What, Shane doesn’t know how to sew?”

He meets your incredulous gaze and can’t help but laugh. The sound is still foreign to his ears, even though it’s becoming somewhat of an ordinary occurrence when he’s with you. He’s much more used to the sound of Merle yelling, music blaring, old motorcycles' roar, and the forest's peaceful ambiance.

“Well, you shouldn’t have to do everything for him.”

His genuine words should comfort you, but instead, they nag at you. You shouldn’t have to do everything for him. You shouldn’t have to turn a blind eye to your boyfriend’s nightly habit. You shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around him. You shouldn’t have to make yourself smaller for his convenience. And yet, here you are.

“You have a cigarette?”

The question catches Daryl off guard. He’s only seen you smoke once—that night at the campfire, and he swore it was his fault. Your words from that night still rattle around in his head. You’re a bad influence, Dixon. He completes his final stitch, bringing the thread to his mouth so he can rip it off with his teeth. He places everything back on the table before pulling out his pack of Marlboro Reds from his pocket and offering it to you. You take one from the pack, twisting it in your fingers before placing the cigarette between your lips. Daryl notices your hesitation as he hands you his old lighter, so he waits until you’ve lit your cigarette before pulling out one of his own. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, but something about this doesn’t sit right with Daryl.

“What’s goin’ on?”

You furrow your brow at his question, feigning confusion, but Daryl doesn’t relent. He simply raises a brow at you as he takes another long drag of his cigarette. You let out a defeated sigh before answering his question.

“It’s just Shane…”

You trail off thinking that since it’s relationship drama, maybe Daryl wouldn’t be interested. But he doesn’t try to change the subject or brush you off, instead, he gives you his undivided attention. He watches you quickly look around camp, scooping the area and taking account of who is around. A frown pulls at the corners of Daryl’s lips as he realizes that you’re once again looking over your shoulder for Shane.

“He wasn’t always like this. I mean, he was always a hothead, but he wasn’t always so cruel.”

“Hey…”

The softness in his tone catches you off guard, and you look up at him. A part of you wants to cry at how attentive Daryl is at this moment. It’s been so long since someone has shown you this kind of care.

“You ain’t gotta defend him to me.”

Daryl watches as a single tear falls down your cheek at his words, and he begins to panic. Did he upset you? Was he out of line? Had he gotten the situation between you and Shane wrong? This isn’t his forte. He wishes he was a different man—a better man, a softer man. He wishes he was more like his mother and less like his father. That she could have lived long enough to teach him a few more life lessons—like how to comfort someone you care for.

Before he has the chance to spiral completely out of control, he feels your fingertips find his, and his heart damn near stops. He involuntarily pulls away from your touch, and it makes him wince. He sits in the shame of his response to your touch. A better man would have been able to return your affection. Finally, he meets your gaze, expecting to see the hurt he caused by his reaction. Instead, he’s met with a smile so warm and tender that he can practically feel the shame in his body melt away.

“Thank you, Daryl.”

A small, affectionate smile pulls at the corners of Daryl’s lips.

“It was nothin’.”

You shake your head at his words. What he did for you today was far from nothing, but you let it go, opting to turn your attention back to the cargo pants on the table before you. As you admire Daryl’s handiwork, you can’t help but hope that Daryl knows that Shane’s pocket isn’t the only thing he stitched back together today.

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#twd #The Walking Dead #walking dead #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #Rick Grimes #shane walsh #merle dixon #glenn rhee #lori grimes #the walking dead imagine #walking dead imagine #Norman Reedus #norman reedus imagine #norman reedus x reader

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