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gangplanksorenji · 4 months

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Kinknuary Day 17: Brat Taming

Pairing: Choi Yena x Male Reader

Word Count: 5,832

[Kinknuary Masterlist]

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You can’t always get what she wants and she can’t always get what she needs—these two clauses never contradict as it's different in each way yet aimed towards the same intent: fulfillment.

Choi Yena is a girl you’d watch yourself into, as she’s the living definition of a brat, in your own words. Not really a specific brat, but she really tends to be selfish all of the time, and that isn’t really ideal considering how you’re always making her change but always ends up defeated and your advances deemed to be useless against her.

She has an iron wall that’s tough to break, but under specific circumstances, there’s always the Achilles’ heel to be used against it.

“Well, this sucks…” Yena chides boredom, sighing deeply as she’s deeply restive within the supposedly delicious food in front of the table and with her discontented countenance, you advance to confront her as you’re confused on why she’s acting like this.

“Don’t like the food, princess?”

“Nu-uh. It’s bland and soggy—look!” Yena grabs a minuscule sample of spaghetti with her fork, presenting how incredibly unacceptable it is on her own perspective as she voices out her frustration with it, and you, absolutely stunned with her complaints as you don’t see anything wrong with the food presented.

“Oh yeah, I forgot—should’ve treated you to eat some gold, huh?” You batted out a joke towards her, in which she took it a little seriously, punching your shoulder playfully as her pouts emanated such strong channels of chagrin, not satisfied with the meal she’s been supposedly enjoying.

“Yah! I’m not like that, but I’d like to eat something way better than this…”

Of course, she’ll be luring you into another set of her tricks, opting for you to fall down of her trap but with two years and a half of being with her, you knew exactly what she’s up to for you to fulfill her wants. You read her mind like a book but of course, you’ll choose to play along with her game to bait her and let her be the victim of her own medicine.

“Like what?” You feign such fake innocence, in which Yena takes as an opportunity to voice out her naughty desires and just like that, she stepped into your trap.

“Like daddy’s—” You tighten the grip of her wrists under the table, making her wince in pain as you stop her from her advances of such dirty talk in public.

“You know what Yena, just eat your goddamn food and we’ll get out of here, okay?” You grew impatient with her own antics, making her opt to the possible endgame before the anticipated climax soon.

“But I don’t like it! I don’t like it!” Yena whimpered as she didn't like the words that came out of your mouth and knowing that you’re setting her up to further make her miserable, she stepped up and voiced out her frustrations towards you and you’re not absolutely having it. “I won’t bother finishing these—”

“Alright then, Yena…” You averted your attention onto finishing the food on your plate as your demeanor became stern and commanding and Yena’s face suddenly feigned fear and anxiety, not wanting what may happen next. “It’s just fair to not reward my princess something if she didn’t finish her food.”

Yes, you read her like a goddamn book and guess what, it’s working more than well. Knowing how insatiable you are for her that can’t bear to not be rewarded with your load for a day says a lot, and she’s willing to do everything just to get that desired prize of hers that you would love to use as an advantage against her—Yena’s kryptonite that will flick a switch inside her, making her reevaluate her own selfish decisions.

“Okay then, daddy…”

Well, if she’s willing to provoke the sleeping beast inside you, then you’ll let her, because at the end of the day, you know that she’ll regret it and will absolutely be damned to be punished and used, like the slutty brat she always became, all for you.

---

Royalties and class, two things that exude Yena as every movement of hers is either sophisticated, intense disgust or her own primal needs taking over her. Limited choices yet it doesn’t matter, because it will revolved around that and it will never change—maybe when you’ve fucked something out of her, then maybe the stars will re-align but chances would be slim to none.

There’s no fucking chance in this planet she’ll be able to make others bear her bitchy, bratty attitude and you are the only worthy to handle her as you know exactly how to make her be yours and to tame that living beast inside her, even if it means to do the nastiest things to her.

Well, that won’t be the case for now but knowing how she’s luring you into a challenge, really makes everything inside you be in that state of fury as her words captivate you and turn you on, and it’s damn dangerous to be this riled while driving on a high-speed highway.

Guess the feelings are mutual between the both of you; she can pick the locks inside you as much as you can with hers, and it’s not even close to exert much effort.

“Yena, you know we can’t—not here, princess, alright?” You peacefully pointed out how risky and not suitable for you to really do this, let alone doing such a sinful act on a highway even though it’s just the both of you that will be blessed by the sight.

Not really surprised about her responsive actions of your denial, and you’d love to see that knowing how her frustration and the needy sounds she makes sends you into a state of delight. “Come on, daddy! You’re no fun!”

Yena pouts as she faces you, frustrated with your own selfish acts of your definition of fun as she crosses her arms right after, letting you know how she seriously wants this.

“If you want us to crash because of your selfish needs to blow my dick, then sure, Yena.” With your encouraging words with sarcasm laced on it, Yena faced you with a glare as you can see it evident on your peripherals. As much as you don’t want to, you might just give it a shot and to maybe even risk your life in terms of a pleasurable service and to literally just make Yena shut up with your own length inside her bratty mouth.

“You’re just playing with me, daddy—I know you—”

“Do you want to blow my dick or not? ‘Cause I’m getting pretty impatient, Yena.” You stated, your tone demanding and laced with subtle rage as you continue to drive, unfazed with her own presence that will soon draw onto your own treasured prize and given the green light, she acted up immediately and didn’t waste any of your time. Drawing her attention towards your clothed nether region, her hands then hastily finds its way onto the button of your pants while carefully not hitting anything, and with her subtle touch makes you lose a hint of focus yet you fight it as the last thing you would want to see is crashing on a highway. Carefully unbuttoning your pants and bringing them onto your knees, her eyes lit up in excitement as she can see your member getting erected and that’s all because of her.

“Ooh, getting turned on I see, hm, daddy?” Yena delightfully mocks you as steam comes out of your nose, a bit annoyed with her current antics as there’s no in any planet you would deny how it’s not her fault that you’re getting this hard.

“Then do something about it and don’t kill us, Yena.” She then resumes her advances of undressing your final clothed defense, finally freeing your throbbing length from its prison and she is met with your member, her eyes now lit in awe yet a click of your tongue makes her stop. “Five minutes only.”

Yena whimpers as she looks at you deeply with her signature duck pout, making you rethink your decision as she persuades you with all her might. “Please, can it be longer, daddy? Please, please?”

Even if she bats out her hundred of pleas you will just ignore it as a brat doesn't deserve such reward—she should be grateful instead of complaining but you know that girls like her will be rewarded truly if they earned it, and this is probably just one of the few tests you have in plan.

Guess, you’ll be just the judge while your mind’s focused on driving straight for the both of you to not crash and god, you��re really fighting for it.

Maybe you’ll be the one who’s going to be tested as it’s all deteriorating once she laid her soft lips onto the head of your shaft, as you give in the pleasure yet focus on the highway.

Five minutes—five goddamn minutes.

---

“Kneel down, princess.”

“Yes, daddy…” Yena immediately obliged your command as her face anticipates what you may have in store, her eyes glistening with need and lust that no one can define, maybe not even herself can.

Of course, she won’t be leaving your place without a load dumped inside her or painted on her because of how addicted she is to you and how she’s always a victim of indulging towards her primal desires the second you’re within the vicinity of her sight.

She’s crazy about you as much as you are towards her but Yena’s just on a whole new level—way above the charts of your expectations and it’s not really surprising at this point.

In most terms, she’s always been a pain in the ass the deal with, even with your entire length plunged inside her, she can’t seem to really change her bratty demeanor, like it’s glued onto her by default and it’s bittersweet—bitter in annoyance and sweet because you love taming her, getting the absolute value of each others’ needs.

Even without serving her desired prize on her speedway blowjob earlier, her eyes are still refulgent with anticipation and eagerness—not to mention how she complains so much when her time is up and without a load deep down her throat, completely opposing her current needs for you.

“You better finish what you’ve started earlier alright, princess?” You relax onto the cold, marble wall as Yena nods eagerly, and then advance her way onto your fully-erect length as she eyes it like her favorite meal and with a mischievous smirk planted onto her mouth and her evil eyes, you know exactly how she’ll start this off. You moaned almost inaudibly once her soft, plump lips became in contact with your swollen head and right from the start, her masterclass is absolutely at its peak finest.

Her mouth is one of your treasure features of her, not just by the fact that you could embrace yourself to initiate such a torrid kiss with her but it’s just the fact on how soft they are that it’s just sculpted perfectly to service gratification to you, not even including her sinful gags and the vacuum-like suction that makes up the elements of a mind-boggling blowjob that she always excels at.

Speaking of oral talents, she has it all, and maybe even multiple.

“Keep doing that, princess… Keep t-that mouth all the way in.” Even if it spirals out of control, you’ll be cursed to encourage her ultimately as she takes your whole length slowly, ensuing a leisure bobbing that aims to build up the pleasure and your own libido.

She didn’t gag, not yet, as she continues to reach new depths, making herself accustomed to your whole length and the inevitable snaps, gagging prematurely as she tried to keep it in without pulling out but was not deemed successful, coughing a little right after her former struggles.

She wouldn’t let herself disappoint you as she grabbed your already saliva-sheathed cock as fast as she could and directed it inside her mouth, blowing you rapidly as her thrusts in quick succession never fails to set yourself on a blissful trance. Her hands find themselves onto the porcelain skin of your thighs, caressing it to voice out how comfortable she is and the other, fondling your sensitive balls in order for better stimulation and better quality of pleasure. Simultaneous gags, drool seeping out of her mouth, tears running down her cheek and her rapid pace lives up tot eh epitome of a blowjob—and she’s cursed to be great at this.cheek and the cherry on top, her rapid pace that adds up to the filthiness of a sinful image she’s been into and god, if you could just take a picture of this, let along record this as a video, you’ll absolutely do it but getting occupied by Yena’s soft lips and tight throat would be just better than anything that can bother you in this world, and you leave it as it is.

Her head frantically bobs like she’s set to hypnotize you as her techniques really live up to her title, every movement she does to stimulate you is making you feel way better than the previous, and it’s really working more than well. She constantly slurps as more drool seeps out of her hungry mouth, also a way to voice out her utter satisfaction with being rewarded with an insatiable candy that she can’t get enough of. Because of her great work between your legs, you dive into the inevitable bliss as your hands find their way to her vibrantly pink locks, grabbing a fistful of it to form a makeshift ponytail in order for you to have such strong leverage to guide her and fight for the utmost gratification.

Of course, she knows what you’ll end up into once she felt your hands on the back of her constantly bobbing head: she could only anticipate it as you hips will gradually thrust into her suffocatingly tight throat, craving for more to the point that you’ll give in and fuck her face rapidly.

She knows you and reads you like a book—again, feelings are mutual, as well as your needs towards each other.

There’s no point in not giving in to using her mouth like a fleshlight, because it’s literally what she’s built for: to take the entirety of your length to the point of no-return and absolutely giving everything you want—what your hips can muster.

“I might need to fuck that bratty mouth of yours princess, you wouldn’t mind it, won’t you?” Your sinister tone makes her apprehensive yet nonetheless, she trusts you with all her might—and you won’t dare to break that—as she nods eagerly, her eyes begging for the absence of your mercy in order to use her mouth with what might you can as she wants it badly.

“Oh, so you want it this badly, huh?” With her slow bobs, you groan with the pleasure she’s giving yet time wouldn’t be wasted as you grip her hair and make her look up at you, your tone now laced with the utter need of voicing out her primal desires. “Then say how badly you want this, princess”

With more greedy bobs onto your rock-hard shaft, she immediately pulls out as so, and let her lips release such wanton profanities that absolutely will arouse the living beast inside of you. “I w-want you to ram on m-my slutty throat, daddy—”

“How hard, princess?” It was a sudden response, aiming to mutter up an answer escaping her lips on her possible wants of your treatment towards hers.

“Want you t-to fuck my throat like h-how I deserve it…” She trembles between divisible of her own lustful words, the utter nervousness and adrenaline kicking in as she continues stating her needs. “Want t-to feel daddy’s c-cock ramming on my t-throat because of how m-much of a slut I am.”

Good thing she knows what she is and what she came to, at this moment. Given on how sincere she is in every word she says as her tone really pleads you to service her throat, states on how she badly desires her close-to-an-ultimate prize (punishment on you own perspective) and without wasting any second, you opted to give her what she wants and to full indulge to your own carnal desires.

“Okay, princess, hands behind your back—” You command her as you grow impatient with her lustful talks, wanting to make her struggle in the best way possible—also, you would not want to hurt her in the process—and to build up the rising climax of her anticipation. “—and your head up.” Of course, your hands aren’t idle enough to just appreciate the beauty of her waiting to be ruined, as you hands force its way onto the back of her head again yet this time, you grip onto her semi-disheveled pigtails, wanting to use them as handlebars and a leverage on what you're about to do to her—maybe she purposely tied her hair this way, knowing that she’ll maybe get her mouth fucked half open.

If this is what she wants, then she’ll get it but you should let her know why this all started: it’s all because of aiming to tame her properly and if your words can’t do it, then sure, maybe your cock will do the talking.

You don’t even need to command Yena to open her mouth as she does it involuntarily, begging you for more until it was all unable to beared and contained, letting everything but indulged within and you can just see your whole length being submerged into the depths of her mouth, taking more and fully encouraging you to even go deeper. The incredible suction of her cheeks never fails to bewilder you, let alone diving deeper as every inch of her walls results in marvelous groans of pleasure because of the warmth and the right tightness of it. You gave Yena’s mouth few thrusts to get herself used on your whole length again—in a better view, she doesn’t really need that since she’s sucking and getting her mouth used by you very often that it’s started to molded onto the shape of your cock—wanting her to feel every inch of it brushing down her throat as she gags when it hits the back of her throat. She fights it with all her might this time, and when you notice her gag reflex calming down, now’s the time to use the pliant princess’s heavenly throat like how she deserves it.

How does she deserve it? Well, it’s only a matter of time for her to find out.

With now a better feeling from both parties, your hips now ensued such a breakneck pace, catching her off-guard. Yena almost breaks herself free but knowing that if she does, she will be in big trouble and be prone to a worse punishment in which she wouldn’t want to. With that in mind, she fights herself onto your rapid usage of her whole throat as drool inevitably seeps out of her mouth, coating everything in its vicinity with her saliva that further adds to the lubrication with your ruthless advances. You tighten the grip on her hair, causing to add more mess to her already disheveled locks as you continuously rammed her throat like you want to prove something—you don’t need to prove anything but rather, prove herself worthy of your mercy.

“Is this what you fucking wanted, Yena? Your f-face to be fucked like a-an animal?” It’s a rhetorical question but an evident nod ensued right after, noticing it even with your rapid pace trying to open up Yena’s throat as you could find yourself getting harsher with one goal in mind: to tame her and possibly, fuck that brattiness out of her brat mouth.

You didn’t just mindfully thrust your hips like you’re in autopilot, but rather set series of forceful deepthroats, filling every inch of her slutty throat up to the brim, balls-deep and then resuming back onto thrusting—it repeats like a cycle, and that’s part of the plan: foreplay, to be build the suspense and then suddenly go berserk. You playfully tug her hair in order to force her down and then taking your entire length with thrusts ensued on a quick succession, each oscillation hits her saliva-sheathed chin with your own balls as the audible sounds of such skin clapping is arousing you even further.

“Fuck—this bratty throat feels good—can’t wait to even feel more of you, princess—fuck!” You continue to give her ruthless thrusts, breaking the velocity barrier your hips can muster as you pull out of her mouth and not surprisingly, she gasps for heavy breaths and multiple coughs because of your harshness down her throat.

“G-God, daddy—t-that was s-so good—hah, y-you’re going t-to make my throat sore…” Yena muttered between catching breaths and a broken voice, truly making you admire the masterclass you’ve done that she surely loved.

“Of course—need this fucking throat to teach a lesson.”

“A l-lesson? Am I the n-naughtiest student you’ve ever seen, d-daddy?” Yena seduces you with her vixen capabilities and her honey-laced words dripping with lust, and it forces you to sully her again, specifically her mouth.

“You know the answer to that, princess.” Yena looks up with you with a smirk, her mischievous plan starting to come together as she bites her lips and moaned uncontrollably, your hands finding its way on caressing her perky yet voluptuous mounds as you aimed to weaken her until she’s about to be fully submissive. With her hands still on her back, she can’t help herself to fight the pleasure as she can only just whimper and close her eyes, letting the serotonin course down her veins as every second that passes is fully treasured by the bratty princess in front of you.

“I would have used your throat more harshly but bad brats like you don’t deserve to swallow my cum—not even a single ounce of it.” Your hands then palmed her cheek as your fingers caressed it right after, admiring the sullied countenance of Yena’s face that deserves to be at the hall of fame on how it perfectly depicts the oxymoron, “the ruined goddess”.

“Brats need to be punished for being such a bitch and if my words can’t tame you—” Your suspenseful tone is intimidating her, sending chills down her spine as every word you say is laced with sincerity and full on lust. Her mouth shivers when she feels your hand teasing her cheek with your throbbing length, and it’s just becoming better for now considering how you’re building up such a stupendous anticipation that anyone can hook onto, even the both of you. “—then maybe my cock will.”

You slap your length onto her cheek, making her yelp a little as you command her to stand up, her immediately obliging to your imperative advances, even with a visible struggle because of her lack of balance.

“Sit here and wait for me, okay? I’ll get something and don’t you dare move away from this position.” You glared at her as she nodded slowly, her mouth curling up onto a smile as her eyes glistened with her own desires, only thinking further of what you may have in store for her.

---

“Wear it, Yena.”

“But don’t I look silly, daddy?”

“Just fucking wear it—it’ll be good on you…” You grow impatient with her complaints as she does what she’s requested to do, as she wears the belt-like leather collar around her neck, her hands trembling probably from her nervousness and there’s nothing to worry about it, knowing it’ll fade faster than the speed of light. With her collar now around her neck, you commanded her to go on all her fours on the bed and again, she quickly obliged, not wanting you to wait any further. Greed consumes over you, finding its way to succumb onto your lustful needs as you line your swollen head within the emanating heat of her lower lips as she moans in every tease you do, fueling up each others’ libido.

As much as you want to tease the living brat out of her, your aim is to fuck it out of her and you’ll do exactly what you need to.

Not wasting any second, the climax of the show starts as you penetrate her with your whole length and in response, she screams in delight because of how big you are inside her, feeling that you may destroy her guts. You easily fill her up to the hilt, burying your entire shaft inside her and then withdrawing to slam back in hard, making her cry for your mercy and to further fuck her like an animal.

The comeuppance starts, and you’re willing to teach her a lesson she wouldn’t forget—you may have done this to her a lot of times but this time, it would hit differently and you would end this session making her know who you really are to mess with.

Grateful to the helping aid of lubrication with her juices coursing down, and around your shaft, you start off with a relentless pace and don't give her time to get used to your length, wanting to make her feel your wrath and how she deserves to be treated. She further moans in every withdrawal you do as the collar helps for a better leverage onto ramming into her tight core repeatedly, and as the cherry on top, you like the muffled sounds of her chokes every time you pull the chain of the collar, you could hear her broken moans and probably, even asphyxiating her—one of her kinks is you choking her, and you’re glad to be innovative and creative on fulfilling that and knowing this, Yena appreciates this truly as she voices out to even ruin her further.

“D-Daddy—r-ruin my slu—slut pussy! I d-deserve t—to be treated l-like this—oh gosh—holy fuck!!”

You continuously do as so, and with her repeated pleas, you grew annoyed with her ebullient noises and stated your frustrations towards her. “Just s-shut the fuck up and take my cock well, princess!”

With your further attempts of silencing her with your ramming clashes against her tight pussy, you vent out your frustrations and channel everything onto your thrusts, causing her to repeatedly plead and moan because of your aggressive actions. She wanted this deserves this, so she just deserves to be fucked like a true animal. Her arms grew weaker, unable to support her upper frame due to the constant overloading of pleasure she’s been feeling and wanting to bury her head with her advances, you won’t let a single trick up her sleeve be deemed successful against you as you pulled the collar towards you, making her compose such broken melodies that reverberated around the room, and around your ears.

You can hear her cries in every thrust you do, as it’s all starting to come to the point where she’ll fully succumb to her needs and submissiveness, which is your goal before this steamy session ends. It wasn't long before you gave her round, bubble buttcheeks the hardest spanks it deserves as it became frequent all of a sudden, making her yelp and cry because of your harsh actions against her constantly-rammed backside. With now your hands fully occupied to treat her like the slut she is and like the brat she deserves, Yena can’t help but just think of your cock ravaging her tight, little cunt rapidly as it clouds her, same repeated, wanton moans are the response of your actions and knowing she wouldn’t last long at this time and with her cunt constantly clenching, you double the efforts on fucking her onto oblivion as the lustful drive in you takes over.

“You’re about to cum, right, Yena?”

She mutters a stuttered “yes” as she nods frantically before resuming her constant moans of pleasure. “But what if I don’t want my princess to cum? Will she not cum for her daddy or will she be punished for good? Because—” You let go of the tight grip on the chains of the leather collar as you inch closely onto her ear and whispered with venom, “—if you didn’t follow me, there will be serious consequences and you won’t like that, won’t you, Yena?”

Yena’s apologetic cries can be heard laced in her agreement, scared that she may provoke you that will make her needs be deprived. “I w-will do anything f-for you, daddy but p-please—-ahh!”

You kiss her nape, and then her neck, showing your affection towards her as you worship the musky scent of her body emanating sweat, perfume and sex as you respond, “Please what, princess?”

It took seconds for Yena to respond, the gratification becoming too much to handle as she composes herself, and pleads for you. “P-Please let me cum, daddy…”

A side of you is fainthearted: wanting to not make herself be lost and want her to engage on her high as much as possible but she needs to be punished, and your conclusion with that? To fully ruin her.

Thanks to the constant lapping of her juices, it didn’t became a struggle to lubricate her puckered hole as you insert your thumb in it, opting to stimulate her further as you continued to fuck her mercilessly. It wouldn’t take long before she reaches her high with of the kinky stuff and the most stimulating advances being done all in one session as she lets out whimpers, and knowing that her high is near and you know it’ll blast like a volcano, you wouldn’t put her to torture as lean in again to her ear and then whispering again, “Then cum on my cock, princess—let it all out.”

Giving her the final thrusts with her collar as a leverage onto a greater quality of such mindless abomination of fucking, she clenched tightly as you groan because of it and within a second, she’s in her own blissful trance, moaning out your name as she voices out her ecstasy.

“D-Don’t s-stop fucking me, d-daddy—oh fuck—I’m c-cumming so h-hard—fuck!!”

As requested by her, you continue ramming her pussy as she climaxes beautifully, voicing out series of ecstatic moans as she forms a rivulet around your shaft, dripping it all over her thighs, your balls and some even on the bed sheets which soon will be changed because of how filthy and messy it would be after the both of you are done. You continue oscillating at such an incredible pace that you didn’t mind making her recover on her high, making her yell in pleasure and utmost sensitivity. With a ruthless pace, of course, you didn’t ignore the chains as you pulled

“Are y-you close, daddy? Please c-cum inside m-me—fuck, p-please, daddy—ahh—mmfh-ahh!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, slut!” Of course, after her ephemeral orgasm, you resume onto your harshness, spanking and fondling her mounds as you draw circles down her taut buds, making her whimper because of the pleasure and sensitivity. You grew frustrated and enough of her bratty actions of eternal need as you choke her a little with the collar, further ramming into her tight cunt repeatedly as her thighs now quiver, her limbs growing weaker and letting herself succumb onto your own spell, hypnotizing her with the rapid sounds of bodies clashing together that adds up to the sea of sinful sounds that’s been kept inside this puny room right from the start.

Now chasing your own orgasm and to further commit onto fucking that living brat out of her body, you gave in to your primal desires, fucking each other like animals as within a few thrusts or seconds from now, it won’t be long until you meet yourself onto the promised land—in the possibly eternal state of bliss.

Now, having enough of the collar, you pull her hair as you draw yourself closer to your own orgasm, wanting to make sure that you’ll have one hell of a climax. You repeatedly spank her to further arouse yourself onto the hypnotizing jiggles of that porcelain flesh, making you indulge and draw yourself onto the red and soon enough, it wouldn’t be that long to meet it.

“I’m going to fucking c-cum in this tight, slutty, bratty pussy, alright, princess? Be sure to take it all because fuck—t-this pussy is literally the best!”

“Yes, da—daddy! Please c-cum in me—finally, p-please—ahh—mmfhh!” You continue your rapid thrusts as your fingers coursed its way onto her mouth, making her suck it as she wantonly savors your fingers like it’s your beloved shaft, sensually licking every inch clean as you buried your whole length in her, unable to pull back but just give in.

Series of thick shots flooded her velvety walls, causing her to moan on your fingers as she can feel the warmth of your semen coating each inch of her flesh white and god, she’s also in a state of bliss on how well she is filled by you. She continues sucking and you continue depositing, even thrusting slowly to extend your orgasm further and as it dies down, you leisurely pulled out—and of course, Yena whimpered because she feels empty without your whole length ravaging inside her—of the tightness of her core, a little exhausted because of your harsh work against her sopping wet cunt and what an incredible sight it bestowed you: her freshly-fucked folds full of your cum, some of it even leaking out of her due to the stupendous amount of volume deposited in it.

Guess her highfalutin came down on a sullied conclusion; it was an incredible display of a steamy session, much likely to be cherished as the once boisterous, sex-filled room has now toned down onto tranquil and silence—mostly just heavy breaths can be heard but it is close on silence.

Yena falls limp onto the bed, her back rests as her lips tremble within her voice, “Y-you c-came so much, daddy—i-it’s so thick a-and warm—hah…”

“Now, are you satisfied, princess?”

“More than t-that, daddy…” Yena voices out her utter satisfaction as her needs are now fulfilled by you and right after, she beams a bright smile onto you which makes you faintly grin in response due to her contagious happiness.

“Also, I’m s-sorry about acting like that earlier, daddy…” You know her apologies aren’t sincere but at the same time, they are—it’s not sincere in a way that she’ll act like a spoiled brat again someday, but now, you’re glad that you’ve fucked your way to teach her a lesson—living the new, ephemeral disposition of hers that’s down-to-earth. You would treasure this truly, but Yena, on the other hand, isn’t in the same shoes with you.

“I want some more, daddy—we can experiment on anything we want, tonight because—” Yena’s hands averted onto your jaw, making you face her as she continues, “—I’m all yours, daddy.”

Seems like she needed more than what you’ve given her and with that, you’re giving her anything to the point of no-return.

#kinknuary 2024 #choi yena smut #yena smut #choi yena x male reader #yena x male reader

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rainybubbles · 2 months

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141 coming back to you after a eight months mission

Plus size reader :) !

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC)

G H O S T

-Eight long months, every fiber of his being yearned for a hot shower, his eyes struggled to stay open.

- Yet, it wasn't his shabby apartment that the taxi drove to.

-Simon, buried beneath the Ghost's mask, still held a glimmer of humanity within him, a breath hidden beneath Ghost's blood, death, and violence.

-But on that evening, what he ardently desired was them: their gentleness, their scent, their warmth.

-Like a wild animal slowly tamed by food, he returned to them whenever possible.

-Under the pouring rain, he advanced, hastily thanking the driver, the heavy bags weighing on his shoulders.

-He stepped into the still slumbering pastry shop, and the bell rang.

-And there they appeared.

- Covered in flour, with a pastry cap and apron, they were surprised to find someone there at five in the morning.

-"Simon," they murmured.

-The sound of his name was so sweet, so soothing.

- But he wanted more.

-He wanted them to whisper his name over and over again, filled with desire, until they could only utter it, clouded with pleasure.

-His bags fell to the ground, and his arms enveloped them in an instinctive movement.

- Their hair smelled of sugar and butter, the flour staining their black sweater. Simon wanted more.

-"Y/n"

-" I missed you," they whispered.

-He couldn't bring himself to respond, to admit this longing, but they could sense it.

-His arms didn't let them go.

-"Scone?" they asked.

-"No. "

-"Muffin?"

- "No."

-" Croissant?"

- "You," he finally said.

A silence stretched between them.

-"I have to finish my batch, I open in an hour. Do you think you can wait?"

-No, he couldn't. But reason prevailed, and he nodded.

-"I'll help you," he murmured.

-"You barely know how to fold a dough."

-"I can follow orders."

-"Sorry, soldier."

-Their laughter echoed, and a sense of relief washed over him.

- He wanted to hear that sound again and again.

- In silence, they worked. Simon followed every move, ignoring the pain, stretching each muscle. He was ready for anything.

-When the last batch was ready and the saleswoman arrived, Simon breathed a sigh of relief.

-Y/n gave their final instructions and left.

-Alone on the street, they walked together.

-Like a starving beast, Simon jumped at every crumb of affection, grabbing their hand, his fingers brushing theirs through gloves.

-"We need to talk, don't we?" they finally admitted.

-"Yes," he replied.

- "About what happened before your deployment…"

-The kiss. A hurried kiss, without thought.

- Lips so soft, erasing the bad news of his deployment and eight long months of silence.

-"I… "

-'Don't say you regret it," he finally said.

-"No, I don't. I mean it. But I don't want it to destroy us."

-"It won't."

-"I know you avoid people, Simon. Attachment."

-"Yes."

-But not them, he thought

- Since the moment his feet led him to that pastry shop. Simon knew he was doomed.

- A stupid cake for Soap's nephew, and he found himself charmed by a baker making incredible scones.

-Simon had become a regular there, a man of habit enjoying the good things, he told himself.

- It was close, he said.

-Close to his shabby apartment, to his gym.

-Just a daily stop for coffee and scones, he reasoned.

- But every morning, his eager eyes searched for their silhouette.

-Their rolls, their belly, their thighs, that smile.

- Every crumb he could get, he took.

-They eventually noticed him.

-A mountain of muscles, hidden by a mask, softened by scones, it wasn't the most discreet.

-They greeted him.

-Always the first customer at dawn.

-In reality, Simon came so early out of military habit but also to avoid the saleswoman.

-Simon desired the baker, not the small, slim saleswoman.

-Slowly, they spoke to him, and everything fell into place.

- They had become his anchor, an anchor in reality.

- A tough mission, and he came to them silently, without needing to place an order, without having to face the crowd, slipping to the back and watching them work.

-No questions, just comfort.

-The smell of sugar, flour, and eggs permeated his clothes in the most exquisite way.

-And now he dreamed of a life where this scent would be constant.

-"I don't want us to drift apart," they said.

-"We won't," he assured them.

-"So, what do we do, Simon?"

-"Kiss me."

-It was a prayer, a barely audible order, a cry for help.

-Slowly his mask fell.

- Their eyes met, hesitant but filled with desire.

-And they kissed him.

- In that dark street, under the pouring rain.

-"Again," he murmured.

-"We have to go back," they said.

- "I don't care about going back," he replied.

- "Simon, you don't want to spend your leave sick."

-"If I stay with you, I do."

-"Idiot."

- "For you."

-Their laughter burst out, and Simon kissed them again to capture it.

-Slowly, they finally arrived at their place.

-Their dog welcomed them, barking happily at Simon. And after eight long months, Simon could finally breathe.

-"I'm home," he murmured.

- "We were waiting for you," they replied.

-Nothing surpassed this feeling, he thought as he kissed them again.

-Simon was a man, and like any man, he had finally found his long-desired home in their arms.

__________

P R I C E

-In an emotionally charged atmosphere, Price let the water flow slowly, carrying away the remnants of blood under his nails.

-After eight long months, he felt like a ship drifting without a course, without a real destination.

-At least that's what he claimed to anyone who would listen, but the ring hanging under his uniform whispered different truths to him.

-Staring at his own reflection, Price read the inscription inside the ring, a name he hadn't uttered in years.

- Like enchanted by a spell whose charm he feared, he hesitated to whisper it again.

-Yet, his heart demanded it.

-He knew it was the longing that drove him.

-Without those eight months, he wouldn't be here, longing desperately to have them back in his arms.

-(It was false; since the divorce was signed, he dreamt of them.)

-Since the day their marriage ended, he had wanted to throw himself at their feet and beg them to come back.

- He desired their warmth, their ridiculous work stories, their cooking, their scent, their fingers, their kisses.

-They were the oasis in the desert of his life, and through negligence, he had let them evaporate.

- It all dated back to before his promotion to captain.

- Back then, he was just a young lieutenant full of ambition, willing to sacrifice anything to obtain that coveted title.

-But the long hours at the office had gradually poisoned his time with them, an absence they had signaled to him, one he had ignored, one he had maintained until everything exploded like a grenade.

-Now, he stood there, on the minefield of his emotional life with a ring they had probably forgotten, longing to hear them say yes once again.

-As he dried himself off, Price settled into his office.

-He told himself it was just simple nostalgia, but the bitter taste of tobacco wasn't enough to distract him, remembering how much they hated that smell. He extinguished his cigar.

-To take his mind off things, he decided to go to the nearest bookstore. A good book would be welcome, he thought.

-"John?"

-That voice, which had haunted him for three years and eight long months of divorce.

-"Y/N."

-It had been so long.

-Too long, he thought, seeing them so different.

- He admired their new haircut, their new clothes. What a lucky man he had been.

-"Yes. Still teaching?"

-"Yes. And you, did you manage to become a captain?"

-"Yes."

-The silence stretched, their eyes avoiding his.

-"But it wasn't worth it," he admitted.

-"Too much work?"

-"Not enough of you"

-"John," they interrupted.

-"I'm not trying to get us back together, far from it. I know it won't happen, but I wanted to be honest with you. I think this divorce has been the biggest failure of my life, and you deserved better than me."

-Hesitantly, they opened their mouth, a mouth he had kissed so many times, one that had shared all their troubles, all their doubts.

-"Thank you, John. But I'm also to blame. I should have told you everything that was going on in my head, everything that wasn't right."

-"You couldn't, when all I listened to were orders."

-"Maybe…"

-"Good person, wrong time, it seems."

-"Nothing prevents us from correcting the timing, right?"

-John raised an eyebrow.

-"It doesn't mean we have to start all over, but… you've been a pillar in my life, John. I missed you. Whether as friends or more, it doesn't matter."

-"Thank you, love," John murmured.

-They approached him, and during this long absence, John could finally feel human warmth again.

-To just be John again, not Captain Price.

-Their hands wrapped around each other.

-They both knew it wouldn't be purely platonic, but like a suspended promise, for now, they would stick to it, hoping that one day the rings would find their respective places again.

-Theirs from their drawer to their finger, and his from his neck to his hand.

-"I missed you."

-"You too. Tell me what I've missed."

-And John could only smile.

-If these eight months of hell, these three years of desert led him back to them, then it was worth it, he decided.

- So when he packed for his next return, the soldiers watched him curiously because for once the captain had a home where he really wanted to be.

_________

S O A P

-Immersed in an ocean of turmoil, Soap returned after eight months of absence, longing to celebrate his return with his family.

-His thoughts, drowned in alcohol and his mother's reprimands, were rocked by the cheery laughter of his nephews and nieces.

-Between the urge to scream and the desire to simply savor their presence, he oscillated.

-When the festivities finally came to an end, he could finally breathe.

-Eight months.

- Alone in his flat, memories flooded in, evoking strategies, bombs, deafening tumult, and lingering smells.

-Everything was an attempt at distraction; the television, the rain, a run, a cup of tea, messages on his mobile.

-He longed for something, even if he didn't know exactly what.

-But it was missing, creeping under his skin little by little, scratching at the door of his mind.

-"Again, really?'

-His eyes fell on his neighbour.

-The same one who had endured his screams at three in the morning, his hurried departures on missions, his heavy suitcases dragged at seven in the morning.

- And now, at four o'clock, they stood before him, a mischievous gleam in their eyes, the result of an incident involving dumbbells in his hands.

-"Sorry.", he apologized.

-"I'm starting to think you're doing it on purpose."

-"On purpose…? "He raised an eyebrow.

-"So that we see each other. You know, like in those cliché romances where the noisy neighbour ends up seducin' the complainin' neighbour."

-Incredulous, he couldn't help but laugh.

-"Ye wouldn't need that."

-A teasing smile stretched across his neighbour's lips.

-"I know. But you seem to need it. Not an adventure, but a distraction."

-They referred to the dumbbells.

-"Aye."

-"I make cookies." they said.

-"At 4 a.m.?"

-"I know how to keep myself busy in silence."

-"…"

-"Interested?" they asked.

-The latent feeling under Soap's skin resurfaced.

-He nodded and followed them. And then he realized.

-The warm atmosphere, the decor, the unstacked dishes, the soft carpets.

-That's what he had missed, a heaven of peace.

-"They won't be the best cookies in the world, but they'll do."

-"Ah'm good at it." he said.

-"Pastry chef?"

-"Military."

-"Hm, that explains a lot. "They gave him a complicit look.

-"Like what?" Soap asked.

-"This horrible haircut."

Laughter erupted in the kitchen.

-"Ma haircut is incredible."

-"For a 6-year-old."

-"Ah look handsome with it."

-"Even without it."they said.

-"Good at flirtin'?"he asked.

-"With the right person, yes."

-Soap smiled.

-"Ye would be bonnie with a mohawk."

-"No thanks. But, well, I understand the muscles and the irregular movements now."

-"Aye, Ah don't choose my hours."

-Too bad, you'd think criminals can't be punctual, huh? "they joked.

-He smiled.

-"Exactly."

-Hands in the dough, Soap couldn't help but let his gaze drift over his neighbour's curves.

-He admitted that sometimes his door slammed a little louder in the hope of catching a glimpse of them, like a good luck charm before a mission.

-Curves he longed to explore, letting the eight long months fade from his memory to be replaced by love for them.

-"Ah should hae made more noise if it means havin' cookies."

-His neighbour smiled.

-"Maybe. I was worried about this silence, you know."

Soap felt touched by their concern.

-"Ah'm sorry."

-"Don't apologize, you didn't decide on that. It's just… maybe I could give you my number? If you ever have plants or stuff like that, I'll take care of them."

-"Okay." he acquiesced.

-He took the paper feverishly, keeping it as a precious treasure, and continued cooking.

-At the end of that day, returning home, Soap could finally close his eyes.

-The creeping feeling had come to an end.

-That longing, that emptiness, it was them, the sound of a life together.

-He brushed the paper, a smile on his lips.

-Getting up, he decided to drop a dumbbell loudly.

- A noise at his door rang out, and he smiled. Nothing was worth his neighbour.

-So slowly he opened the door, and dinner followed to apologize.

-Then another to repay.

-And slowly, they erased from his mind the eight long months that had haunted him.

G A Z

-After eight long months of absence, Gaz finally found a moment of respite in his humble accommodation on the base.

-The deafening noises of the base's incessant activity, the hurried faces, the soldiers' rushed departures, everything seemed to dissolve into a chaos filling his ears.

-Everything seemed to fade away as soon as he could cross the threshold of his room.

-Here, in this haven of tranquility, he could finally silence the external turmoil.

-His pulse slightly quickened as he reached for his phone, his fingers instinctively finding his favorite contact: them.

- He felt this visceral need to reassure them, to feel their presence through the voice that was so dear to him.

-In this suspended moment, he longed to hear nothing but their soothing breath, to lose himself in their tender words.

-His ears buzzed, every beep deafening his eardrums and…

-"Hello?"

-"Y/N," he murmured, relieved and tender.

-The echo of their voice provided him with a welcome comfort, a balm for his weary soul.

-"Kyle. Back among us?"

-"Yes, I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you."

-"No, I'm on break. I have a shift tonight."

-A silence stretched.

-"Is everything alright?"

-Kyle hesitated before speaking.

-Is everything alright? The blood, the bruises, the cries, the deaths… Everything seemed to still be on his skin, vivid in his mind.

-"I don't know," he admitted.

-"You didn't break an arm, did you?"

-Kyle smiled at the memory.

-After a rough mission he had rushed to his flat ignoring the pain in his arm and the medics.

-Yet he ended up to E.R days later with a blue arm and broken bone.

-Y/n was one of the nurse who was in charge of him and his cast, they kept contact.

-"No, I don't know how I managed to cope without hearing from you."

-"Charming," they laughed at his attempt at flirting.

-"Maybe."

-"More seriously?"

-"Tired," he admitted.

-"I would tell you to sleep, but I imagine you don't want to."

-"I can't."

-Not when he knew the nightmares awaiting him.

-"…I finish at 1am, if ever. I'm not implying anything, I know your base is super far, but I know that company can help."

-"Hmm, I don't know, will there be food?"

-"My company isn't enough for you, Kyle?" they joked.

-"I fear not."

-"Damn," they exclaimed, laughing.

-Ah, there it was.

-A tender smile stretched across Gaz's lips.

- In this exchange, he found comfort, a precious connection.

-His body relaxed slightly.

-"I missed you," they confessed.

-"You too."

-"You know, I bought those awful biscuits you talked about so much, hoping you'd come eat them at my place."

-"I'll take it as a declaration at this rate."

-"Shut up, I know you'd never buy them because 'no time'."

-"I like speed."

-"Even in bed?"

-A mischievous smile formed on his lips.

-"That's for you to find out."

-"You always say that."

-"I mean it."

-"About?"

-"Us."

-"Kyle…"

-"I know, after eight months of absence, it might just be the longing speaking, but… the only thing I wanted was you. Coming back to you, holding you in my arms, making you laugh one last time. And… staying friends… it's worse."

-"Worse than eight months without me?" -"Yes."

-"You're horrible for doing this."

-"I know."

-"At a distance, over the phone. I can't… I can't guess anything."

-"I guess I'm a coward."

-"Shut up, I… I swear I'm going to hit you and then kiss you."

-"Kiss me?"

-"Of course, do you really think I answer all your calls at any time out of friendship?"

-"Y/N…"

-"Last time there was an eight-hour time difference."

-"You told me…"

-"That there were only two, yes, because… I didn't want you to worry. You're a stubborn idiot always thinking of others, so I wanted to be selfish for once that you are."

-"I am. I want you, Y/n."

-"Then come get me."

-Kyle smiled and hung up.

- In his car, stress, fear, adrenaline surged. But for once, the enemy wasn't to be fought.

-Once in front of the hospital, hours of driving later, he stood at the entrance and saw them come out.

-Their name spoken from their lips, and he embraced them.

-"Never again," they whispered.

-"I can't promise anything, but I'll try."

-"I swear I'll kick Price's ass if he does that again."

-"I'll help you."

-"Promise?"

-"Promise."

-And he kissed them.

-Suddenly the eight long months evaporated on Y/n's couch, his fingers sliding through their hair, and his lips on theirs.

-The silence returned and Kyle could finally breathe.

If you want more : my masterlist

#ghost simon riley x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x plus size reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #kyle gaz garrick x male reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader

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starsaver94 · 3 months

Text

Taming the Beast Within Ch.5

Soft snoring filled the air of a fifteen-year-old Kyoko’s bedroom. A thin line of drool flowed freely out of her mouth and made a small stain on the sheets as she slept peacefully. At least, until a soft yet loud knock resonated against her bedroom door. Kyoko groaned as she stirred from her newly disturbed sleep.

“What?” She whined out at whoever was currently at her door.

“Kyoko, it’s 8:00 am. You need to get up!” Her mother exclaimed from the other side of the door.

“Why?”

“Because your entranced exam for U.A is today. Did you forget? I made breakfast for you, so hurry and get dressed. You don’t want to be late.”

“Oh,” Kyoko mumbled before closing her eyes again in order to go back to sleep. But as soon as they were closed, her eyes shot back open again.

“Crap!” She shouted, quickly scrambling out of bed, changing her clothes in a rush, grabbing her backpack and bolting out the door into the hallway. Kyoko runs up to the kitchen counter and grabs a small bowl of eggs and rice that her mother had just made.

“Good morning, dear.” Reiki greets her newly awoken daughter “Did you sleep well?”

“Mm-hmm. I slept really well.” Kyoko mumbles around a mouthful of rice, stopping for a moment to gulp down some water from a tall glass.

“Careful dear, you don’t want to choke do you?” Reiki warns as Kyoko finishes the last of the rice and runs to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

“Did you pack everything you need, sweetie?”

“Yeah, I packed everything in advance last night, remember?”

“Ok, well, just be careful out there and do your best, alright?”

“I will.” Kyoko reassures her mother before kissing her check and heading out the front door “Bye mom! I love you and I’ll tell you how things went when I get back!”

Reiki smiled and let out a sigh of both pride and sadness “My baby’s on the path to achieving her dream.”

As Kyoko walked down the street, she began to notice other students around her age walking down the same path she walked.

They all must be taking the entrance exam as well.

Kyoko continued to walk down the street until she rounded the corner and was met with the large entrance gates of U.A High School. The sight of what was considered the top hero school in Japan made Kyoko’s heart race.

It’s much bigger than I thought. Should I really go in? I mean only the best of the best can attend, and my quirk is…

Thoughts of doubt raced through her mind as she walked through the gate and down the entrance path, pausing only to take another look at the school in all its glory. That was, until a sudden force was felt against her left shoulder that nearly knocked her off balance and snapped Kyoko out of her daydreams.

“Watch where your standing idiot!” A harsh male voice growled while continuing down the brick path. He was wearing a black coat with matching black pants and had a tan scarf wrapped around his neck. An aura of somewhat subdued anger seemed to follow him.

Kyoko didn’t get a good look at his face, but one thing in particular about the unknown male did stick out to her. A head of spiky, ash-blond hair that looked almost painful to the touch.

Just another student going to take the entrance exam.

Kyoko shook her head and continued down the path towards the front doors of U.A. As Kyoko walked, she passed by a brown-haired girl who was standing next to a boy with a head of fluffy, green hair who was… floating?

Just more hopeful students. Keep walking.

Kyoko walked through the large double doors with an equally large 2 painted on it. She continued to walk through the large main hall until she finally reached the exam room.

There’s got to be an empty seat somewhere… Oh! There!

She ended up taking a seat next to a boy with sharp red hair.

After Kyoko took her seat, the lights in the exam room flared to life. This revealed a man with long yellow hair that was styled in a way that made him look like some sort of parrot.

“What’s up U.A candidates? Thanks for tuning in to me, your school DJ.” The man flashed a somewhat cheesy smile and opened his arms out towards the crowd of exam takers.

“C’mon. And lemme hear ya!”

Silence. Complete and total silence.

Is this guy for real?

“Keeping it mellow, huh? Alright, guess I’ll skip to the main show. Now, let’s talk about your practical exam.”

“ARE YOU READY? YEAH!”

More silence.

Who is this guy?

“Today you rockin’ boys and girls will be out there conducting ten-minute mock battles in an epic urban setting. After I finish here you’ll be sent to your specified battle center, sound good?”

Wait… did he say… battle?

Kyoko’s heart dropped. She hated fighting, more than anything else on earth. Now she has to fight if she wants to get into the academy.

I must’ve missed that part on the application form…

Kyoko quickly pulled out her exam ticket in order to check her battle center location. It read “Test Location: Battle Center B”.

She looked back up at the screen which now displayed what types of enemies would appear and how many points they were worth when defeated.

“Excuse me, sir? But I have a question.”

A single light beamed down on a taller, black-haired student. The light reflecting off of his glasses.

“On the printout, you’ve listed four distinct types of villains. Not three like you said. With all due respect, if this is an error on official U.A material, it is indeed shameful.”

He went on to explain how U.A was supposed to be the most honored school in Japan before pointing at the green haired kid from earlier.

“You with the unkempt hair. Yes, you. You’ve been muttering this entire time. Stop that at once. Because if you can’t bother to take this seriously, then you can leave. You're being a distraction and nuisance to the rest of us.”

Wow… Hopefully the teachers aren’t that strict.

The exam supervisor went on to explain how the fourth villain type was merely just an obstacle and wasn’t worth any points if defeated.

“That’s all I got for today, so I’m going to sign off with a little present for you guys! It’s… a sample of our school motto!”

Suddenly a large projection of the phrase “PLUS ULTRA” flashed onto the screen. Kyoko could feel her heart thumping in her chest at a rapid rate. She was nervous, but at the same time, she was also excited. This was her first step towards becoming a hero. And she was determined not to let something as simple as a mock battle stand in her way.

The exam room quickly emptied out and Kyoko followed the students that were in Battle Center B. The group of students soon arrived at a large metal door. Kyoko began to fiddle with her coat nervously. Her heart was going so fast it felt as if it could pop out of her chest at any minute.

This is it...

My dream…

My career…

My life…

It all…

Starts here!

#mha fanfic #mha #mha oc's #mha fic #fanfic chapter #taming the beast within

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vincentsambershades · 8 months

Text

How not to tame a dragon

Cregan Stark x Targ!fem!reader

Summary: when Cregan Stark informs his Targaryen bride that she cannot bring her mount with her to Dorne, all hell breaks loose.

(I usually avoid writing since English is not my native language (be warned). I was, however, inspired by some hotd-fics from my favourite creators and wanted to write something fun, about our favourite northern man, mister cregan, which I'm actually pretty proud of. So here it goes.)

Word count: 2.5k-2.6k

Warnings: 18+, angst, smut, fingering, p in v, tiny bit of breeding kink, flufffffff

When Cregan Stark was first presented with the young Targaryen princess he didn't fail to notice the fire that erupted from within her. A fire caused by her close attachment to her dragon. Her Cannibal, albeit frightening, had served the both of them well enough after their wedding. And even though Cregan was hesitant to ride on dragonback, his wife had charmed him in doing so relatively early in their marriage.

In spite of how much Cregan admired the beast, as well as the bond between his bride and her mount, there were moments when he wished he hadn't been married to a Dragonrider.

The princess was used to roaming Westeros with her loyal travel companion. Therefore, when the time had come for the newly wed couple to head to Dorne, in order to manage 'certain financial and commercial matters', as her husband had called them, Cregan prevented her from bringing her beloved dragon along. He insisted that a dragon, despite being a sign of force and power, would create an intimidating environment that would leave no room for impartial negotiation. He was right of course, as always, but the wrath of the dragon was easy to provoke.

"Cannibal is coming with us to Dorne! The cold of the North is no good for him! The heat will soothe him!" she was red in the face and as terrifying as the wild thing she had managed to tame.

"My love, you know we cannot travel with a dragon to Dorne, bringing your beast along will only serve as provocation which we cannot afford!" said Cregan only fuelling his wife's fury.

"This is outrageous!" she looked almost as if she intended to feed him to the dragon.

No direwolf would ever be able to save him from that fate.

She didn't speak to him for at least two weeks after that.

Around that time, their journey to Dorne began.

After long hours of travelling, as night was setting, time had come for them to rest and as Cregan helped his men set out camp for the night, his wife was taking a stroll near the frozen river. She was wrapped in more furs than he could count and looked as if she would tumble over from their weight any moment now.

She would appear comical had it not been for that sour expression on her face.

Separating her from her dragon seemed to toll on her more and more as the days passed. Her denial to exchange more words with him, other than 'Good Morrow' and occasionally 'Good night', didn't seem to improve her mood either.

It didn't matter to her that she missed him. The princess wanted for her husband to be the first, out of the two, to break. She wanted for him to seek her out, chase her and claim her all over again.

Cregan needed her too. He had always known that half her heart belonged to her dragon. That was what happened with all Targaryens.

He had come to terms with that.

Yet, there were moments, like this when the mere view of his beautiful wife had him hoping that he owned at least some part of her heart.

He felt silly. He knew that their marriage was a political arrangement. Her father had established that when the match was made. However, Cregan couldn't help but feel lucky to have found a match in the princess, their chemistry was undeniable and their times together were filled with all the passion other political marriages lacked. There was mutual understanding in their marriage.

Cregan shook these thoughts and concentrated on the task ahead. So called traders from Dorne had been entering his borders and tormenting villages on his coastlines. Of course, the Lord had tried to diplomatically remove them from his land but when the situation became unbearable and his ambassadors came back empty handed, he knew it was time for a formal visit to the far South. He had been tempted to use his wife's creature in order to intimidate them, but the thought of causing further commotion, when the throne was so vulnerable, prevented him from doing so. For a Stark, Cregan's will to maintain the peace was greater than his thirst for battle.

Cregan was lost in his thoughts as the men sat around the fire, passing around carafes of ale to warm them during the cold night. It took his companions quite a bit of convincing, but he finally accepted to take a swing.

"To keep you warm, Lord." insisted the man who was sitting on his right. Cregan took the carafe, offering the man a grateful smile, and drank generously.

Instead of downing more, he wrapped his coat tighter around him and relaxed while watching the flames. Cregan managed to lose himself in the moment. He didn't know what it was, the easy atmosphere or his companions' laughter, but something warm bloomed in his chest. How he had missed travelling. Roaming the North with his friends as the moonlight illuminated them.

It felt even better this time. Because in this particular occasion, he had her to share it with. His stubborn little wife. His fierce dragon rider.

And that was when it hit him.

Cregan realised he hadn't seen her in more than an hour. The last time his eyes had fallen on her, she was wandering around, kicking the snow with her feet. He didn't think she had headed for the woods, he knew she wasn't that careless. Before they began their journey he had, after all, made sure to inform her of all the dangers they might come across, wolves, bears and other animals humans shouldn't meddle with. Therefore, she had to be in their shared tent.

"What is it Lord?" the man turned to him again. Cregan attempted to hide the worry off his voice.

"Have you seen my Lady around?"

"I fear I haven't, Lord, she must be resting." offered the man with a toothy grin that did nothing to ease Cregan's worry.

Cregan rose to his feet swiftly, turning on his heels and heading to the tent where he found nothing but an untouched bed and a trunk he himself had placed there. He exited the narrow space, searching for any sign of his wife. His vision, despite being acute, served him little in the moment and the full moon, albeit helpful, didn't shine enough light upon the heavy snow. His mind ran several miles an hour, considering all the possible paths the princess could've taken. He began his search without being in control of where his feet took him until he reached the river. He looked for footprints but found none. Even if she had taken that route, the fresh snow would've covered her tracks.

His train of thought was rudely interrupted by a crack on the ice that had gathered at the edges of the river. The sound of the rapture was followed by a splash in the cold water and a womanly scream, one that undoubtedly belonged to his wife.

He followed the direction of the sound only to be met with the sight of the princess' attempt at defying the coldness of the river and swimming to the surface. Without second thought, Cregan rid himself of his fur coat, keeping on his less warm leather attire. He placed the heavy coat to the side and got in the freezing water aiming for his wife. She was easy to identify, even in the dim moonlight, and so he reached for her. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her out, letting her limp body rest against the snow covered ground but only long enough for him to pull his dry furs on top of her soaked ones. After she was securely wrapped in them, he carried her unconscious back to the untouched bed he had prepared for her.

"You stupid girl..." he scolded her while peeling her clothes off and leaving them near the fire to dry. Despite being close to the fire and covered in all the blankets Cregan could find, she was still shivering. "The blood of the dragon is not enough to keep you warm after all..." she had awakened during this time and was aware of everything he threw at her.

Had she been in her senses, she would've jumped at him for daring to question the fire in her veins. But she was weak and defeated as she watched him pull his own clothes off.

He knew there was only one way to warm her up fast and that was body heat. And no matter how mad she had been at him for the past two weeks, she couldn't help but feel grateful as he covered himself in the blankets and pulled her to him. His arms found their place around her waist and she buried her face in the crook of his neck inhaling the manly scent of him. He started running his fingers up her back, all the way to her damp hair, and down again, just above her rear. He grabbed her thigh, hiking her leg over his hip and drawing her closer. His fingers found her front and caressed the skin below her bellybutton, tentatively delving lower. She heaved a sigh, her now hot breath hitting his neck as he let his urges overtake him.

His hand found its place between her thighs. She was warm there. Warm and soft. He dipped his fingers in her delicate folds, finding her oversensitive bud and circling it. They hadn't coupled in a while and his desire for her was driving him crazy.

"Cr-Cregan..." she whimpered and for a moment he thought she was hesitant. That thought, however, didn't plague him for long. When he pulled away to look at her face, to search for a negative reaction, he saw her pouty lips regaining their colour and her eyes reddened with unshed tears and clouded with want, pleading for him to finally touch her.

"Please, please, please-" as much as he usually enjoyed her begging him to take her, he was quick to stop her whimpering by capturing her lips in a kiss. His lips felt hot against hers and as he replaced his index finger with his thumb on her pearl, reaching lower and teasing her entrance, she gasped offering him the perfect chance to deepen the kiss. His fingers felt heavenly inside her, pumping in and out of her always hitting the rough spot that Cregan knew made her see stars.

Even with his fingers inside her and his length, brushing against her lower stomach, the kiss was his personal way of reclaiming her, swallowing her whole.

She reached her smaller hand between their bodies, taking him in her hand and stroking him as he sat hot and heavy in her palm.

She pulled away and her slack expression, lust filled eyes and kiss-swollen lips could have made him peak at that instant.

"I want you inside of me, now." she stated and how could he refuse her. Especially when she looked so eager, practically begging him to fill her.

He was quick to pull his fingers out of her, leaving her with an empty feeling. She didn't complain though, not when the sight of him getting on top of her and settling between her thighs had rendered her speechless.

He lowered his hips, reaching between his legs to tease her with his tip before entering her in one forceful thrust. She let out a yelp and choked out a moan.

The feeling of him long and thick, stretching her out after weeks of refusing him couldn't compare to anything.

Except, perhaps, for the feeling of her, wet and warm and tight, around her husband. Cregan swore there was no other woman besides his wife that felt so perfect.

Her tears, from how intense their lovemaking was, had Cregan remembering their first time together, right after their wedding feast when he had her lay on silk sheets, broken her maidenhead and molded her to him.

"Cregan I need to-need to-" she tried to say while Cregan delivered licks and bites to the sensitive skin of her neck.

"What do you need, my girl?" he thrust in her hard and fast, the way she liked it as his lips landed on her breast, sucking lovemarks and taking her nipple in his mouth, making her moan loud enough for everyone around to hear.

"I n-need to peak, please!" she managed and who was he to deny her wishes. He led his fingers to her pearl, rubbing it while hitting her sweet spot.

"Suck a good girl for me, begging me for her peak. Do it, I want to feel you come apart on my cock" he commanded her and not long after that her climax hit her. She held onto him, her nails digging into his biceps as he kept his unrelenting pace. His murmurs of 'that's it' and 'good girl' were muffled by her hair. Endless mantras of his name left her lips as she rode out her orgasm, her hips moving involuntarily against his own.

"Do you want me to spill in you, uh, my love?" he asked almost mockingly as his thrusts grew uneven, a sign he was close.

"Sp-spill in me Cregan!" she yelped as he continued to abuse her insides. Her husband groaned at her lustful pleas, grabbing her face and forcing her to look him in the eye.

"I will, sweet girl. I will spill in you, make you round with my pup. You would like that, wouldn't you?" Cregan came apart with a satisfied moan, his warmth filling her and then running down her thighs as he grew soft and pulled out.

He didn't leave her side after that. He laid beside her, instead of on top of her, and pulled her to him. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to regain her breath and Cregan placed reassuring kisses to her forehead.

After a few moments of utter silence, he heard her sniffle and mutter something against his throat. He soon came to realise she was apologizing. He gave her a questioning look, wondering what she had to apologize for.

"I'm sorry for avoiding you for two weeks, it was stupid and immature of me and I'm so so-" he silenced her with a kiss to which she responded quickly.

"You have nothing to apologise for." Her expression was hopeful. "I understand what it is like to be parted from something or someone you've truly set your heart to. That's what staying away from you felt like" she gave him a nod before letting his words truly set in. Her confusion painted her face a scarlet red and her anticipation was later imprinted in her voice.

"What are you saying?" she questioned and he sighed softly, cupping her cheek and wholly giving into her.

"I love you infinitely, my fierce dragon princess. And you needn't say it back. Not unless it's your truth." a weak smile formed on her lips.

"I love you too, have loved since I married you, before that even." her cries ceased. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, inviting him to her. "I love you my wild man from the North, my wolf." he laughed at that, an honest heartfelt laugh, the vibrations of which she felt against her own chest, and proceeded to kiss her.

Cregan kissed his dragon princess like his life depended on it.

#cregan stark #cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan x y/n #cregan fanfiction #hotd #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #a song of ice and fire #cregan stark smut #house targaryen #house stark #cregan imagine #cregan stark x targaryen!reader #my writing

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yandere-wishes · 1 month

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𝓦𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓦𝓸𝓵𝓯

Summary: Heritage pricks Wriothesley like a valley of thrones, it's unnerving to find someone with the same pains.

Warnings: Yandere Behavior, werewolves, gore, older man/ younger woman if you squint.

January 15th; 12:00 Am

There's blood on your face and a blade in your hand when Wriothesley first meets you. A body at your feet half gutted and half eaten. If not for the flickering shade of gold in your eyes, he'd have summed you up as just another alleyway murderer.

Not a monster.

Not a creature he was all so intimately familiar with.

When you'd first met the Duke of Meropide, there had been a full moon hovering overhead. A little too haunting for your taste. The stars cowered behind heavy clouds as the taste of metal rang in your mouth. His frigid fingers had tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. Tracing it's shell that had yet to lose its unnatural edge. "Qutrub" he mumbles, low and rattling as he drapes his jacket across your shoulders.

You've yet to tell him that that night still haunts you. Not the blood or the first kill. Not the face of the man as you tear out his intestines with your teeth. No, the nightmares come from his voice, how easily he spoke of the horror you'd turned into. He'd known you before you'd even known yourself.

His familiarity is what haunts you.

All too deep and knowing.

You still shiver when the beast's name leaves his tongue.

He's blunt and brutal when he tells you of the curse you've inherited. What manner of creature resides within you. He speaks as if he's the Archon of wisdom, all lethal facts and icy truths. You couldn't really speak back then, brain still split between two worlds. Too feral to be human, yet too meek to be a threat. "The first transformation is always the worst, kid. It'll take a while before your mind's set straight again."

You didn't understand what he meant back then. Too busy focusing on the permanent buzz in your head. It felt like a fever dream, sticky, slow. Your limbs weren't your own and neither were your thoughts. You think you may have collapsed back then. Vaguely recalling the sensation of his calloused palms against your forehead.

It's only by the end of a brutal week that you finally realize what his words signified. You're starting to act human again. Morphing back into something normal, something tame. It's only on the seventh day that you remember how to form words. And even then it's only half-slung phrases in your mother tongue. Wriothesley answers when you speak. Mirroring your words, your accent, your tones. That had been around the time you'd begin to understand what he was. What you where.

Not human.

Never human.

It's another excruciating week before you remember the language of Fontaine.

Another long endless month until the new moon.

January 30th; 1:00 Am

There's blood on your hands again, a shade too red to have a name. You stare at the body, his face shredded beyond recognition.

His bone reverberates between your teeth. Beckoning you to crush it, to crack it open and gulp down the marrow like nectar.

Wriothesley hums in approval, slinging himself over the ring ropes. The Pankration Ring is abandoned. Reserved only for the warden and his new "pet". It had become routine over the last few weeks, Wriothesley would bring in a "misbehaving" prisoner, some he -and by extension Fontaine - needed gone. And you would take the opportunity to whet your new, primal powers.

"bloodlust does not define us." He circles you. Predator and prey. "Our kind has existed since the dawn of Tayvat. We're not monsters, although that's what everyone likes to think." he stops, his fangs tickling the side of your neck. As if trying to simulate a reaction, he needs you to feel the antiquity that courses through your blood. To understand where all this is coming from.

The bone in your mouth cracks, something thick spills out. Just as Wriothesley's fangs pierce your precious flesh.

"We're not monsters..."

"Not quite"

January 31st, 11:59 Am

His voice is haunting. It slips into the cracks of your psyche, pulling apart the open wounds until there's enough room for him. Only him. The glib timbre of his voice stalks you through the corridors and past the darken rooms. Slithering over walls and echoing in your skull. Cauterizing doubts of what you are. He needs you to feel his pain. To live with his curse, his blessing.

There's a window five meters from his office. It's the only time you catch glimpses of the world outside the metal dome. Your mind is fractured now too preoccupied by new sensations and emotions to fully recall anything from the topside world. The blurry scenery has long since faded from your memory.

Somewhere a clock chimes. You start to race for the boxing ring.

February 1st, 12:15 Am

You recall the first lesson he ever taught you. Back then you had yet to shed the ferocity running ramped across your veins. Preferring to use your teeth, to tear and sheer, hacking at whatever flesh you could reach.

You lay in a pool of gore, fresh enough to make your mouth water. Still, you keep your eyes locked on him. Longing for some acknowledgments, a shred of affection.

Wriothesley's shadow is casted above you, white fangs glowing. He looked every bit the predator he'd raised himself to be. "Tired already?" His voice carries a tone of mockery. It's to be expected you guess as you'd laid on the metal floor heaving. Black dots danced across your vision, laughing when you tried to block them out. Wriothsly stands proud, metallic boxing gloves reflecting what little light they can. "We're qutrub's (y/n), not animals. Stop acting like one."

Today's prisoner had put up a fight. A dirty one at that. His blade had pierced you more times than you dare count. it had been Wriothesley who had finished the job. Who had saved you from your target. A heartbeat later you feel him pulling you up, cradling you in his arms as he departs for his chambers.

Back then you'd seen him as a predator, a beast. No difference in what he decided to call himself. Now all your eyes can convene is a saint draped in black. Wriothsly wears his heritage on his sleeve. Proud of the beast he has become. Proud of the way his bones rearrange to turn in into something odious, something ethereal. Someday you wish to make him proud. To be the creature he envisions, to be more than a monster, more than a wolf. To be worthy of him.

"I love you" Wriothesley mutters, warm breath hitting the side of your neck. You wonder if monsters can love if that sentiment isn't stripped from them the moment they grow claws. You think it's ludicrous to believe either of you can still harbor such human feelings.

The new moon feels like a lifetime away.

Febuary 8th, 2:00 Am

"Until you learn to control your powers, they'll always reign over you. Never bend to them. Remember they are an extension of you. Not the other way around."

The bloodlust has grown more ferocious as of late. Its vicious howl rings through your head, blocking out Wriothesley's voice. It's a welcomed difference, a much-needed rest from his constant yammering.

You've taken to hunting for sport. Slaughtering any you can corner, any you can out-match. Cherishing the blood that dries under your nails and the liberating ache of your body after the fact.

At first, Wriothesley had made a show of decorating his desk with any blood-soaked trophy you'd brought him. Now you think he's growing vexed.

He has you perched on his lap. Ankle cuffed and chained to the stone floor. A security mechanism he'd insisted on after you'd brought him the heart of the Coupon Cafatria's chef.

Wriothesley never keeps animals in the fortress. He insists it's cruel to cage such a free thing. You wonder if you'll be the first exception.

Wriothesley drinks tea religiously. it's the only thing keeping his heritage flowing within his bones. You wonder if the flavored scorching waters keep the violent urges at bay. You wonder if their soothing is all that keeps him from ripping out people's jugulars.

He offers you a sip from his adorned glass. The tea's aroma is overwhelming, it reminds you of a place you've never been to. It burns your tongue on the way down. Enough to make you consider shattering his cup.

February 11th, 3:00 am

Wriothesley flinches when he sees the blood coating his hands. Flashes of a hell he'd long since buried flicker through him.

A part of you wishes to tell him that he's clean. That killing isn't a sin. At least not here, not to them. He tells you of the night he first transformed, a tiny boy who, at the time, had only ever pulled his punches.

He tells you why he killed and maimed, why his powers awakened when they did. "I keep trying to tell you." His words are phantoms, restless spectators that cloud your mind. "We're not monsters, not really. Sure all they see is the bloodshep and claws and they take off running. But the truth is our kind have been guardians and protectors longer than their kind has existed."

His fingers trace your cheek. Leaving red waterfalls to drip down your chine. You think this is love in its rawest form. You think this is desperation in its strongest form.

Wriothesley's kisses taste of burnt ice and ash. Filled to the brim with sorrow, too deep to understand. You claw at the back of his neck. breaking skin on a childish whim. Desperate to unleash the monster he insists, doesn't exist.

In a blinded second of rage, of passion, of some emotion, no word could properly describe. He has you sprawled on the cold ground. His body hovering over yours. You see his eyes bleed into the most perfect crimson. You see the monster start to break out.

Febuary 14th 11:58 Am

It takes too much effort on his part not to baby you. To remind himself that regardless of your age and lack of experience you are still an adult. He gives up on most days, opting to just cradle you on his lap and hum some forgotten tune until you fall asleep.

Tonight's the new moon. He doesn't know what to expect.

You hear his voice in the back of your head telling you to calm down. 'It's just the way we look, you're alright.' you ignore it favoring the sensation of your claws digging behind your eyes. You feel his claws on your wrist prying your hands away. They cut into your veins and you howl, something inhuman, something feral.

Wriothesley kisses your eyes, staining his lips a doleful red. He listens to the cacophony of your bones rearranging, cracking, and slipping into their new positions.

he teaches you how to box. Tells you it's a way to stay in touch with your human side.

he tells you about the murders, about how, even at such a young age, he'd known he was a monster, he'd known his heritage sang hymns of moons and blood between his bones. He tells you how he overcame it, where he became something more than a monster. The stories ease the transition, piquing your interest enough to distract you from the natural way your body bends.

"I want to be human again" you choke, tears marring your cheeks "I hate this, I hate you. Why couldn't you have left me in that alleyway? Why couldn't you have left me alone!"

Wriothesley's facade cracks, your trained eyes pick up the slightest indication of concern weaving across his face. "They'd have hunted you like a wild animal". "I am a wild animal" You protest. "You should have let them kill me!"

There's blood in the back of your throat, metallic, pungent. It feels like holding the sun between your teeth and letting it burn you from the inside. You wonder when you'll be strong enough to deny the bloodlust, to relish in the transformation. Will a time ever come when all this feels natural? When you're as calm and composed as him?

Wriothesley kisses your forehead. It's the last thing you remember before the world turns red. Your brain and body are no longer your own, governed now by the fanged creature inside you.

If ever there was a time to die, now's not it.

Febuary 15th 11:00 Am

You wake up in a soft bed. Wriothesley's arm tucked under your head. Your nails have lost their supernatural edge, you trace stars and moons into his chest absentmindedly. His pale blue eyes, shift to you, shaking off the netherworld they'd been engaged with.

"There's an old story about us." His gaze is as cold as the blizzards of Snezhnaya. "About how we were cursed yet survived. The divine turned us into soldiers, they didn't expect us to thrive."

You used to be a fickle thing, all so arrogant and free. So sure of your place in this world. When did that change exactly? When did the world morph into an endless stream of gore and despair? When did you start hanging onto his every word? Despreat for him, all of him?

"What is a monster anyway" you ask, voice too frail that it cracks when met with open air. "A guardian, an outcast, the child of heroes who shares none of the glory its parents once had." You feel the burn on your tongue from the tea he gave you. Suck on the flesh before replying.

" It's inexperienced shoulders buckling under the weight of duty."

"Maybe" he shrugs, "I guess it could be that too."

Somewhere along the lines, Wriothesley forgot how to love. He's not even sure if he's ever understood the emotion in the first place. Maybe it all comes with being a feral, creature of the night. Maybe it all comes with being born only partially human. He rolls your name off his tongue. Nicking his bottom lip on his fangs.

He wonders if you'll like chameleon or mint tea for breakfast. Or maybe something more bitter. His lips find you delicate ones, an exchange of exhaustion. You're so soft and sweet under him, a stark contrast to the beast he's come to tame.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 months

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 13: Condemned From The Start] [Series Finale]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content (18+), death, angsttttttt, more children than usual, Wolfman!

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 8.1k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoy the finale.🦀💚

In the Eyrie, one of Rhaena Targaryen’s three dragon eggs has hatched at last; the creature is small and pink, and she has named it Morning. When Rhaena’s tears fall onto the scales of her diminutive wings, they glitter like flecks of rose quartz. Deep within the snow-laden labyrinth of the Mountains of the Moon, Nettles is in hiding with Sheepstealer; already the nearby clans are bringing her offerings of meat and treasure, axes and clubs and daggers, hairpins carved from the ribs of enemies and necklaces made of bear teeth. Silverwing is settling into a lair on an island in the Red Lake at the northwestern corner of the Reach. Word of this has travelled back to King’s Landing, and Borros Baratheon implores Aegon II to seize Silverwing for himself; but the king does not want a new dragon. He wants Sunfyre back. That grim truth aside, Aegon is unable to trek across the continent to tame the beast anyway. Some days he cannot even cross a room. At the bottom of the Gods Eye, bodies are dissolving into bones, threads of long white hair breaking loose to flow in the currents like weightless strands of spider webs torn free by cold drafts. And only a few miles from the border of the Crownlands—preparing to cross the icy waters of the Blackwater Rush—the army of Northmen camps under a full moon in a clear, indigo sky heavy with stars like glinting coins.

“There are passageways under King’s Landing,” Clement Celtigar says. He stands by the bonfire with his sword in his hand, his face flame-bright and eager, forever licking up drops of the Kingmaker’s approval, a stray cat lapping milk splashed in an alley. Increasingly, Cregan Stark finds him tiresome. Clement is brash and dramatic, forever swearing vengeance, reveling in his newfound position as the head of his house. The Warden of the North has never had to beg for attention, admiration, acclaim. These things come to him like snow falls to the earth in winter: effortlessly, inevitably. Yet Cregan tries to be patient. Clement is soon to be his brother-in-law, and it is dishonorable to fail to extend courtesy to one’s kin. Furthermore, it seems, Clement has his uses.

“Are there really?”

Clement nods. He wears the banner of his house on a strip of fabric looped around his upper arm: crabs red like blood, a backdrop of white like snow. “That monster’s disciples used them to kidnap my sister from the Red Keep. But she fought hard. When we searched her rooms, all the furniture was upturned and the sheets ripped from her bed.”

“She is brave,” Cregan murmurs in agreement, though he is distracted now. The air tastes like smoke and ice, the wind rubs raw spots into the soldiers’ faces. They are arriving just in time. The depths of winter is no time to wage war. Cregan Stark imagines how you will greet him when he liberates you: a desperate embrace, hands that refuse to let go, whispered gratitude and breathless kisses on his earth-stained knuckles, bones of steel softened by the innate weakness of womanhood. You will love him, of course you will, fervently and entirely. Then when the realm and succession are secured, the Kingmaker will take you North and wed you in the tradition of his people, under the heart tree where the Old Gods can witness it. And then there will be the wedding night. In Cregan’s understanding, women receive little pleasure from the act itself. It is a burden they bear for the men they love, for the children they are divinely tasked with bringing into existence. Cregan Stark intends to alleviate your suffering in this regard as much as possible…yet he has already begun to choose the names of the sons he will make with you. He especially likes the sound of Brandon, sturdy and grounded and thought to mean leader or prince. “This is the last night your sister will ever spend in the clutches of the Usurper.”

“Praise the Seven.” Then Clement adds diplomatically: “And the Old Gods too, of course.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Cregan Stark says, gazing up into the night sky where constellations tell the stories men deem worthy of remembering. “And the start of a brand new one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“How did you learn to braid hair?” little Jaehaera asks you in her lilting, reedy voice like a bird’s. You are sitting behind her on the floor in Alicent’s bedchamber. Nearby, Autumn is flipping through a child’s book with Rhaenyra’s ever-solemn son, murmuring as she points to colorful illustrations of ravens, dolphins, bears, dragons, crabs. They are learning to read together.

“My sisters taught me,” you tell the princess. Firelight turns her silver hair to gold, her pale skin to flames. Logs crack and pop as they melt to glowing embers. Alicent glances over at you and sighs despairingly. The dowager queen, so thin she might disappear, is hunched in a chair by the fireplace. She has an unshakeable, rattling sort of cough that reminds you of how Sunfyre sounded on Dragonstone when he was near the end. Her long auburn tresses are falling out in handfuls. She will not survive the winter, this is a certainty.

“You have sisters?” Jaehaera says, surprised. “How many?”

You smile faintly as you weave her hair into one thick braid like the kind Aemond once wore when he went to battle. “Three. Piper, Petra, and Penelope.”

“Where are they now?”

“Back on Claw Isle, where I came from. With our mother.” Mourning Father, mourning Everett, writing letters to Clement to keep his spirits high as he and the Warden of the North march towards King’s Landing to slay the Greens’ king and bind me to a different man’s will.

“What’s Claw Isle like?” Jaehaera asks with a child’s clear, boundless curiosity.

“Rocky, misty, grey. But the ocean is beautiful.” You think of Aegon’s eyes, the same as his daughter’s, a murky storm-blue that is deeper than it looks.

“What brought you here?”

You consider this before you answer. You see it, you feel it: cinders like dark snow in the air, Aemond’s iron grip on your forearm. “When your father was burned at the Battle of Rook’s Rest, he needed someone to help heal him. Your uncle Aemond found me.”

“And he asked you to stay with us?”

He would have slit my throat if I said no. “Yes, he asked very politely, as any gentleman would. And of course I agreed. I wanted to make the king strong again. I wanted to take his pain away.”

Jaehaera stares down at her tiny hands, palms crossed with lines that are long and shadowy in the shifting firelight. She does not speak of Aegon. She does not know him, and he frightens her: the burns on his skin, the suffering in his glazed eyes. She has no memories to impress his true character upon her. If she does not make them herself, she will believe whatever she is told. “I miss Aemond. I miss Daeron.”

“I know, sweetheart.” They were formally laid to rest yesterday on two funeral pyres. Daeron’s bloodied, charred, seafoam green cape was burned to ashes on one. All that was left of Aemond—his favorite books, his quills and ink, small leather eyepatches from when he was a boy—were torched on the other. “I miss them too.”

Jaehaera’s braid is finished. You reach into a pocket of your emerald green velvet gown to retrieve what you have brought for her: a thin golden chain necklace with Aegon’s ring as a pendant. He can’t wear it anymore. His fingers are too swollen. “What is this?” Jaehaera says as you place the chain around her neck. She lifts the ring and peers at it, gold wings and jade eyes.

“It’s supposed to resemble Sunfyre,” you explain. “Your father loves you very much, Jaehaera. He wanted you to have this ring and keep it with you always.” Aegon didn’t say that; he rarely mentions Jaehaera at all. Sometimes you think he forgets she exists. But she is a part of him, she is his legacy, and you cannot look at any piece of her without seeing the man you love.

“He gave it to me? Like a gift?”

“Yes. A gift.” A gift, an inheritance, a relic, a reminder.

Jaehaera turns around and looks up at you hopefully, vast wave-blue eyes like winter oceans. “Do you think I’ll have another dragon someday?”

Her own infant beast, Morghul, was killed in the Dragonpit before Rhaenyra fled the city. “Maybe,” you tell her. “There are eggs that could hatch someday. And there are a few unclaimed adults left, Silverwing and the Cannibal. Perhaps you’ll tame one.”

She wrinkles her nose in confusion. “What’s a cannibal?”

Someone who murders, devours, fuels their body to the detriment of their soul. “Someone who eats their own kind. Like a dragon who feeds on other dragons.”

“So just like in the war. Dragons killing dragons.”

“Exactly,” you say, a shiver crawling down your spine. “Now go show your new necklace to Grandmother.”

Jaehaera wobbles to her feet and dashes across the firelit bedchamber to where Alicent is slumped in her chair. “Look, look! It’s Sunfyre!” you hear Jaehaera chirping. Alicent examines the ring—skeletal hands trembling, large dark eyes slick with tears—and dutifully fawns over it, telling the little girl how beautiful she looks, how brave she has been. Then she bundles Jaehaera into her boney arms and holds her like she’ll never let go. Autumn catches your gaze from the other side of the room, and when you leave to return to Aegon she follows.

“What is your plan if the Greens lose the battle?” she says in the hallway under an arc of grey stones. Her tone is urgent, her hazel eyes sharp. Everyone knows the Northmen are within days of King’s Landing. Borros Baratheon—a large, loud, abrasive man, but with a bottomless appetite for combat—and his soldiers will march out of the city tomorrow to meet Cregan Stark’s army on the fields of the Crownlands, sparse and grey with winter. The Lord of Storm’s End has spent hours locked in the council chamber discussing strategy with Larys Strong, Corlys Velaryon, and the misfortunate yet courageous Tyland Lannister, maimed by his months of torture at the hands of the Blacks.

“We won’t.” We can’t.

Autumn slams her palm against the wall behind you; the sick thud of flesh against stone reminds you of the day Helaena died. “Wake up. We might. You’d better have your options figured out.”

And you recall Larys’ words on Dragonstone: I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable. “We’ll run,” you say weakly. “We’ll take Aegon and we’ll escape through the corridors under the Red Keep, just like he did before. Cregan Stark will kill Aegon if he finds him. I can’t let that happen. We’ll have to run.”

“Run where?” Autumn snaps pointedly, pushing you towards a conclusion you refuse to acknowledge.

“I don’t know.”

“Where? Where could we go that is beyond the grasp of your wolf if he seizes the capital?”

“Dorne, Essos. Somewhere, anywhere.”

“The king won’t survive a journey like that.”

You cover your face with your hands, feel the biting cold of snowflakes melting in your hair, see the stains of earth on your thighs as Cregan Stark forces them apart. How can I lie with a man who hailed the deaths of people I loved? How can I spend the rest of my life listening to him being called a hero for killing Aegon? How can I give him children? How could I love a baby that was half-made of him? “We ran before. We’ll have to do it again.”

Autumn scoffs. “You have no idea what it means to be a woman on your own in the world. What will you become without a great house, without protection? A prostitute? A peasant? Will you eat scraps covered with rot or mold? Will you live in a tree? Will you beg some family to take you in? And then when the father who is oh-so-gallant in daylight starts fumbling under your blankets once the candles are blown out, will you let him inside you? Or will you fight him off and risk a blade in your guts, your throat? You have no fucking idea what it’s like out there.”

“I don’t care what happens to me if Aegon’s gone.”

“You would abandon Jaehaera? You would abandon me?” Autumn demands. “You speak for us now. You are the only one who can. Our fates are twisted up with yours.”

That’s true. And I promised Helaena I would look out for her daughter. You can’t imagine a life without Aegon; there was a time when he was only a name—and an infamous one, a terrible one, soulless and monstrous—but now he has broken down the eaves of what you were once resigned to call your life and painted colors in the sky you’d never glimpsed before, never even dreamed of. You ask Autumn with genuine, painful bewilderment: “What is the point of learning that something exists only to have it taken away? Why would that happen? Where is the justice in it, where is the reason?”

Autumn smiles, sad and patient. “Ah, this is an affliction of the highborn. You still believe that there is a design, and that life has some amount of fairness in it. There is no divine judgment being passed, my lady. There is no god weighing the worth of your dragon or your wolf or yourself. Life is random, and it is ungovernable, and it is very often cruel. And that makes it all the more remarkable that you knew the king for the time you did. That you ever met him.”

It wasn’t enough. And I can never go back to who I was before. “I’m sorry. I should not complain to you. Your losses have been terrible.”

“It is no contest,” Autumn replies, weary now. “But I should go back to check on the children. They need me.”

“No. They love you.”

And now she beams, sparkling eyes and copper ringlets. She doesn’t need to say it, you can both feel it in the winter-cold air. She loves them in return. She loves them fiercely. As long as they live, she will have reasons to.

When you reach Aegon’s bedchamber, Grand Maester Orwyle is just leaving. He bows to you and grins, pleased that you have both survived the fall and retaking of King’s Landing. He is haggard from his months in the dungeons when Rhaenyra ruled the capital, but he endured. Who would have guessed at the start of this war that the old man had more years left than Aemond or Daeron or harmless little Maelor? You wait in the hallway for the maester to amble sluggishly by, but then when he is gone, you peer through the slit of the half-open door to see that Lord Larys Strong is speaking to Aegon, who is propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows and wearing only his cotton sleeping trousers. He is thin, frail, ghostly pale with the exception of the scars that are a mosaic of white and scarlet and bruise-like violet. Aegon and Larys have not noticed you. You linger just outside the doorway, watching, listening.

You can take care of Aegon as much as you wish now: feed him, clothe him, clean sweat from his brow, dose him with milk of the poppy, rub rose oil into his scars, stretch his legs, test the heat of his skin for fever. He’s too weak to stop you. He can’t walk, can’t stand, can’t stay awake for more than an hour or two at a time, can’t even pour his own wine or milk of the poppy; the glass bottles are too heavy when full. Yesterday, Aegon had to be carried outside in a litter to see the remnants of his brothers burned on the pyres. And he had exchanged a brief, somber glance with Autumn that you neither anticipated nor understood. He acknowledges her so rarely. And yet her small hazel eyes had been alarmed, knowing.

Larys is saying with a grave expression and his restless hands propped in the handle of his cane: “Lord Borros Baratheon is asking for your assurance that as soon as the war is won, you will take his eldest daughter Cassandra as your wife.”

Aegon stares at him, incredulously, impatiently. Aegon has not called you his wife in the company of others since his homecoming. You do not ask why. You already know. It is not because his intentions have changed; it is because if he is not the victor, your life is in less danger as his captive than as his queen. “Surely even a man as brainless as Borros can surmise that there would not be much benefit for the lady now. I am a worm. Useless, pathetic, deformed, no longer virile.”

“He is willing to take the chance, I gather. And he is placing his eggs in more than one basket. He would like another daughter, Floris, to be married to me.”

“Seven hells,” Aegon mutters. Then he turns determined. “I cannot marry another. I won’t do it. I am claimed already, body and soul.”

“I fear how enthusiastically Borros’ men will fight for you if you do not agree to the match. He is risking his life for your cause. He will expect generous repayment.”

Aegon is quiet for a long time. He stares fixedly at his bedside table: a full cup, a large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. His dagger is still there from when you cut and braided his hair for him this morning; he cannot do it himself anymore. At last Aegon says, almost too low for you to discern from the doorway: “He’s not cruel, is he?”

“Who? Borros Baratheon?”

Aegon glares at Larys. “No.”

After a moment, Larys realizes what his king means. “Cregan Stark isn’t cruel. I’ve heard many whispers from many mouths, but I’ve never heard that.”

“Look at me. Don’t lie to me.”

“He isn’t cruel,” Larys says again. “Perhaps the truth is worse. He is measured, competent, merciful, wise. He is honorable. The Manderlys want to torture everyone and the Boltons itch to sharpen their flaying knives but Stark forbids it. He respects the laws of war. He tries to avoid the slaughter of noncombatants. He forbids his men from burning farms or raping women. He is devoted to the woman you call your wife. He takes no mistresses, visits no brothels. Cregan Stark is not a monster. He’s not soulless. He’s just on the wrong side.”

Aegon nods slowly, then his face breaks into a humorless smirk. “Tell Borros Baratheon that I’ll marry whichever daughter he wants me to when the war is over. I’ll marry all four if that is his preference, and bed them all on the wedding night too, one right after the other. Agree to anything he asks for. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

It doesn’t matter because none of it will ever happen, even if the Baratheon army does win the Iron Throne for the Greens. It doesn’t matter because Aegon does not believe he’ll still be here in a month, or two weeks, or perhaps even days.

But he can’t mean that. He’s not thinking clearly. He’s confused, he’s exhausted, he’s in pain, you tell yourself, before remembering that Aemond said it first.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Larys is subdued, sorrowful. He bows deeply to his king. Then he turns to depart.

“One more thing,” Aegon says, gesturing to something on the side of his bed you can’t see from where you’re standing. “I hate to impose upon you further, but I can’t manage it myself. Can you take that and empty it somewhere? I don’t care where. But you must keep it hidden from my wife. The red-haired girl Autumn knows, and so do the maesters now. They are all sworn to secrecy. Can I trust you to exercise the same circumspection?”

Larys is gaping down at an object that is a mystery to you. He begins to stammer out a reply, stops to collect himself, and starts again. “Yes. Yes you can.”

“Good.”

Larys picks up the object; you are puzzled to discover that it is a chamber pot, white and porcelain. And as he navigates around Aegon’s bed and towards the door where you wait, you see that the vessel is full of blood.

You gasp before you can stop yourself, a razor-sharp inhale of breath that both men hear. They spot you, lurking in the doorway like someone lost, someone far from home. Shock bolts across Aegon’s face, and then frustration, and then defeat, and then profound misery.

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just knew…I knew you’d be upset and I…I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“How long?”

“It doesn’t matter, Angel.”

“How long?” you ask again. “Just since this morning?”

“Four or five days now.”

“Four or five…?” Your mind whirls like storm winds. He’s dying. He’s really dying. His kidneys are failing and there’s nothing I can do. I can’t cut him open and stitch him back together. There’s no wound to scrub clean with vinegar and then bandage with honey and linen. There’s no brew that can restore the rhythm of his blood and bones and nerves. He’s just dying. That’s all there is. That’s the beginning and the end of it.

“Please don’t cry,” Aegon says, reading your face. “Don’t do that, please don’t, I’ve hurt you enough already.”

His hands stretch out to close the space between you, and as Larys slips from the room you go to Aegon, climb into bed beside him, collapse into him as his arms catch you and rest your head against his bare, scarred chest, his feverish skin mottled with the history of wounds you helped close all those months ago. “I’m sorry,” you sob. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let you go after Baela and Moondancer on Dragonstone. I should have stopped you. I should have dragged you inside the castle to wait until Aemond and Vhagar could help you. I shouldn’t have let Aemond go to Harrenhal. I shouldn’t have let Daeron fly south. I shouldn’t have let Autumn go back to King’s Landing, and I shouldn’t have let Everett stay there. I shouldn’t have let Helaena leap from the window. I should have stopped Maelor from being sent to the Reach. I should have stopped Rhaenys and the Red Queen from taking flight to burn you in your armor at Rook’s Rest. I should have stopped this! I should have done something! The only good thing I’ve ever had to offer the world was healing but I can’t save anyone, I can’t stop their suffering, I can’t do anything!”

“None of it was within your control, and none of it was your responsibility. I am the king. The fate of my kingdom and my followers rests with me. I wear their spilled blood, not you. I am so full of red I’m overflowing with it.” And he chuckles, sardonic, exhausted. He’s already battling unconsciousness again; you can hear his heartbeat slackening, the slow laborious expanding and contracting of his lungs.

“Aegon,” you say softly, as if afraid to speak it into existence. “What happens if the Baratheons don’t win tomorrow?”

“They will. They have to. There’s nothing I can do for you if they lose.” Then he winces and groans. It’s his back again, his failing kidneys, overrun with so much ruin—burns and breaks and pressure and heartache—that their cadence faltered and then ceased. You grab his cup of milk of the poppy and tilt it against his lips; and how many times have you done this since you met him, burned nearly to death and half-mad at Rook’s Rest? A hundred? Aegon drinks it down, his arms still tight around your waist. They do not loosen until he’s out like a snuffed candle.

You refill the cup on his bedside table with milk of the poppy in case he needs more when he wakes, pick up the dagger you use to cut his disheveled hair, take it to the dresser. And in the cascade of silver moonlight flooding in through the windows, you practice laying the gleaming blade against your wrists, pressing it to the throbbing arteries of your throat, angling the sharpened point of it between a gap in your ribs and towards your racing heart.

Autumn. Jaehaera. Aemond’s child that Alys carries. I still have promises to keep. I still have tasks that cannot be left unfinished.

Helaena’s words surface like a drowned man dredged from the waves: You must whisper into the right ears.

You set the dagger down on top of the dresser and roam to the castle library where Aemond once spent so many hours. You collect a stack of anatomy books and carry them back to Aegon’s bedchamber. There, before the roaring fireplace, you devour them for any scrap of hope, any last resort. You turn pages until one illustration stops you. It is an unclothed man, his major veins etched in blue and his arteries in red, his nerves a faded yellow, his bones white and unshattered, his body a roadmap of the bricks and mortar used by the architects of nature. You have seen this image before. It is the same page Aegon teased you for studying when you were travelling by carriage back to the capital from Rook’s Rest.

You rip out the page, crumple it violently, pitch it into the fire and watch it burn.

~~~~~~~~~~

At dawn, Lord Borros Baratheon leads his men out of the city. You hear them through the glass panes of the windows, closed against the winter chill and flecked with frost: boots marching, hooves of warhorses clomping against cobblestones. They carry with them swords and spears and bows and morning stars like the one Criston Cole was famed for using. Meanwhile, throughout the city, civilians are arming themselves with anything they can find to ward off an invasion of Northmen, creatures they believe to be bestial and mindless. Men carry kitchen knives and clubs fashioned out of bits of furniture or driftwood. Women hide their young children in cupboards and under creaking wooden floors.

“I should be going with them,” Aegon says. He’s just taken another dose of milk of the poppy and is struggling to keep his eyes open. His long, slow blinks close his vacant eyes for ever-increasing intervals. You’ve changed his clothes and cleaned the sweat from his skin as best you can, but he’s burning from the inside out.

“You’re not able to fight, Aegon. Nobody faults you for that. Everyone knows you were wounded in battle.”

“They must think I’m a coward.”

“No, you inspire them. They love you. I love you.”

Aegon doesn’t say it back. He never says it back. He only offers you the same drowsy, mournful phrase of High Valyrian he always does, not knowing that Aemond told you what it means: To your misfortune.

Autumn is with the children in Alicent’s rooms. The castle is tense and as quiet as a crypt—Alicent weeps soundlessly, Larys paces the halls with Corlys and Tyland Lannister, everyone peeks out of windows constantly to see if bannermen of the victor have appeared on the horizon—but she keeps them distracted with stories and games. You cycle between Alicent’s bedchamber and Aegon’s. He is in and out of consciousness; sometimes you perch beside him on the bed, sometimes you lie curled up against him counting the beats of his heart, sometimes you help Autumn read to Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger. It is just after noon when the city bells begin to toll and screams rise from the streets outside the Red Keep. You and Autumn hurry to a window. In the distance, beyond the city gates, there is a swarming mass of infantry, cavalry, archers. Their banners, when you strain your eyes to decipher them, are not the brazen, vivid yellow of House Baratheon. They are night black and an icy, steely grey. They are the colors of House Stark.

“No,” Autumn says, denial in a protracted, helpless exhale. Alicent shrieks, frightening the children. You grab Autumn’s hand and lead her out into the hallway to warn the others if they don’t know already.

Lord Corlys Velaryon comes bounding up a staircase. “There are soldiers down in the secret passageways!” he booms. “Northmen! Armed! I’ve helped our guards bar the doors, but that won’t hold them back forever.”

Autumn looks to you. “Get the children ready to travel,” you tell her. “Find Larys and inform him.”

“Yes, my lady,” she says, and is gone. You sprint in the opposite direction towards Aegon’s bedchamber. You blow the door open like a strong wind, and Aegon startles awake. You rip through his dresser for things he will need: warm clothes, boots, his dagger, bottles of milk of the poppy.

“Get up, Aegon. We have to go. We’ll run, we’ll flee, there are Northmen in the tunnels but we’ll find another way out, we have to try, we have to, if they catch you they’ll—”

“Come sit with me,” he says from the bed, calmly, like you have all the time in the world. He is reaching out for you with one hand.

“What? No, we have to hurry—”

“Angel,” Aegon says. “I need you to come sit with me now.”

Why isn’t he afraid? Why isn’t he frantic? You cross the room with slow, numb footsteps. When you reach the bed, Aegon takes both of your hands in his own. And suddenly you know exactly what he is going to say. You remember what he told his brother in High Valyrian the last time Aemond left Dragonstone. Your voice is trembling and hoarse. Your throat burns like embers. “Aemond was supposed to be here to help us win. But he’s gone. Daeron, Criston, Helaena, Otto, Everett, Jaehaerys, Maelor, Autumn’s baby, so many people are gone.”

Aegon whispers, smiling softly as tears spill down his cheeks, one scarred and the other pure: “I’m not going to get better this time.”

“No,” you moan. “No, Aegon, no. You can’t say that, you can’t tell me that—”

“I’m not going to get better.” Now his palms cradle your face, forcing you to listen. “I’m not. And it’s okay. I’m not angry, I’m not scared. You’ve done everything you could and you’ve bought me more time and I’m so grateful. But I don’t want it to hurt anymore. I’ve been in pain for so long. I’ve been in pain my whole goddamn life.” He kisses you, like tasting something rare and fleeting. His thumbprint skates along the curve of your jaw, memorizing the angles of your bones, the rhythm of your pulse. “Please, Angel. I don’t want to try to run and die on the side of the road somewhere. I don’t want to die with Cregan Stark’s blade at my throat.”

You shake your head, unable to believe, unable to understand.

Aegon glances to the empty cup on his bedside table, to the large glass bottle of milk of the poppy. Then his eyes return to you. “You know how to do it.”

No. Never. But beneath those cold, dark, stormy waters: It would be painless. “I can’t,” you say, overwhelmed with horror.

“Listen, listen to me—”

“No—”

“Angel.”

“I can’t do that to you. Not to you. I can’t, I can’t.”

“When I’m gone, go to Cregan Stark,” Aegon says. “He is an honorable man, he will ensure your survival. He is the only person who can now. He wants to put his mark on the world. He wants to play Kingmaker. Let him. He can decree that my daughter will marry Rhaenyra’s son and ascend to the Iron Throne. He can end the war. Cregan will keep you safe. Tell him that I kidnapped you, that I forced myself on you. Tell him that I wanted an heir with Valyrian blood. Tell him that I was a drunk, a degenerate. Tell him whatever he wants to hear.”

“You would become a monster?”

“To protect you? I would become anything.”

He’s holding you, he’s pulling you into him until you can feel the fever bleeding from his flesh into yours, until you can number the knots of his spine and the ladder-rungs of his ribcage, counting them with your fingers through the sweat-drenched fabric of his cotton shirt. You draw back to look at him, to really look at him, sunken bloodshot eyes and rasping breaths, scar tissue of the body and the soul. You remember the day you met him, how he’d begged to die and been refused, how you brought him back. You postponed a debt, but you never paid it. It’s not possible to ever pay enough. You stack up gold coins in a vault until they touch the ceiling and still the Stranger comes knocking, jangling his purse sewn with scorched skin and chanting: more, more, more.

Aegon glances to the cup again. “How much?” he asks you, hushed like a prayer.

You don’t answer. Instead, you stand and go to the dresser. You open a small wooden door beneath the mirror. Your reflection is a woman you don’t know, someone who walks through fog and memory, someone made of ghosts. You take four clean cups from the cabinet and set them on Aegon’s bedside table. As he watches—eyes glassy with agony, lungs rattling—you fill them all with smooth, pearlescent, lethal liquid, as well as the empty cup that was already there. “Five,” you say, and it sounds nothing like you. “I think three at once would be enough. Five to make sure.”

He sobs with relief, and only now do you realize how badly he needed this. “Thank you. Oh gods, thank you.”

Your own words come back like an echo: I preserve life, I don’t take it. But that was a different lifetime, a different you. Aegon’s fingers are lacing through yours. He is drawing you back onto the bed, he is brushing your hair back from your face, he is kissing the path of tears down your cheeks so he doesn’t waste a drop of you. He’ll never get another taste, another chance; not in this life, not on this earth.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the end with you,” he says. “I really tried.”

“I know, Aegon.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough.”

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

He looks down at his left hand, then remembers where his ring has gone. He chuckles, darkly, bitterly, dismayed by all the failings he is built of. “I don’t even have anything to give you.” Then he remembers. “My dagger. Can you get my dagger?”

You are petrified. “Why?”

He grins, dull teeth beneath dazed eyes. “I’m not going to hack off a finger or my exemplary cock or something. I promise. Just get it.”

You fetch the dagger and bring it to the bed, and only then do you realize what he means for you to have. He points to it, then threads it through his pale, swollen fingers: his thin lock of hair that you’ve been weaving for him since the day you met. He wants you to take his braid.

“You’ll have to cut it yourself,” he says. “I don’t think I can.”

You hook the blade beneath the top of his braid, and with a few cautious slices of the dagger it is free. You tuck the braid into a pocket of your gown, thick black velvet to guard against the winter cold. Then you lay the dagger on the bedside table and pick up one of the cups filled to the brim with milk of the poppy. Your tears are scalding and torrential; it is almost impossible to see through them. You smooth back Aegon’s white-blond hair as you pour the blissful, deadly brew through his lips and down his throat, hating yourself, knowing it is the kindest thing you can do for him.

Suddenly, when the cup is half-drained, Aegon pushes it away. “You don’t have to be here. You don’t have to watch,” he says. “I can do the rest. Go, now. Right now. If the Boltons or some other house finds you before Cregan does, they might not recognize you. They might not care. You’re only safe with Cregan Stark. He has to find you first.” Aegon takes the cup with one shaking hand and presses a palm to your shoulder with the other. You haven’t moved. You can’t move. “Go. Leave me. Now. Please go. I love you, but you have to go now.”

“I can’t,” you choke out.

“You have to.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”

“Angel,” he says tenderly, smiling. “I’ll see you again. Just not too soon.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and you kiss him, traces of milk of the poppy on his lips that deaden the thunderstruck horror faintly, powerlessly, like small clouds drifting over the sun.

“If there’s anything interesting on the other side, I’ll find a way to let you know.”

The dreams, you think. “Okay,” you say again, barely audible.

“Now go. Right now. Go.”

You wipe tears from your face with your sleeve as you turn away from him. You can’t look back; if you do, you’ll never be able to walk out of this room. You take the dagger from the bedside table. Your bare feet pad across the cold floor. As you step through the doorway, on the periphery of your vision you can see Aegon swallowing down each cupful of poison as quickly as he can. It won’t take long to stop his heart. Minutes, perhaps. Seconds. You walk into the hallway. Autumn has just arrived with Jaehaera’s tiny hand clasped in her own. A few paces behind her, Alicent and Larys stand with Rhaenyra’s son. Two orphans without choices, two pawns in a much grander game.

Autumn is panicked. “Where should we go? What should we do?” Then she takes another look at your face. Her eyes go wide with terror. “What? What happened?”

“Follow me.” Your voice is low, flat, dark like deep water. Your eyes flick briefly to Lord Larys Strong. “Keep the boy here. He’s not safe with the smallfolk yet. But the Northmen won’t harm him.”

Larys knows. It’s over. He is devastated; and yet you think a part of him might be relieved as well. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“I’m not the queen anymore. I never really was.” You give him Aegon’s dagger. “I don’t think you’ll need this, Lord Larys, but now you have it in the event of any danger. Or in case I can’t convince Cregan Stark to spare you and you decide you’ve had enough of this world. You should get a say in how your life ends. You’ve earned it.”

Then you break away from them and glide through the Red Keep, Autumn and Jaehaera trotting swiftly behind you to keep up. You pass the rookery where Aemond wrote his letters. You sweep through the gardens where Helaena loved to collect her insects. You gaze down to the beach where Daeron landed on Tessarion under a dazzling sun before winter came like a plague to King’s Landing. From inside the castle, you can hear Alicent wailing as she discovers her last child’s lifeless body. What was all of this for? Why did this have to happen? Why didn’t anybody stop it?

Out on the streets of the city, the smallfolk have flocked with their makeshift weapons to defend their homes from the Northmen. But their eyes are darting everywhere and their faces are uncertain as they clutch their clubs made out of the legs of chairs and their rusty kitchen knives. They haven’t decided if it’s futile. They don’t want to be butchered for nothing.

“That’s Autumn!” they shout and sigh, especially the women. “The mother of the king’s bastard son, the one murdered by the half-year queen!” They reach out to skim their hands over Autumn’s gown, her long coppery hair, as if she is a saint or a spirit who can impart good luck upon them, who can change their fates. They fall to their knees to bow to Jaehaera, their king’s only living child, and she blinks at them with benign confusion.

But the smallfolk have a different reception for you. You hear their venomous chattering: “Is that the Celtigar woman?” “Her family put this city through hell.” “They served Rhaenyra.” “She’s a traitor, she’s a thief.” A few of them venture close enough to tug at your gown, to strike at you. A woman’s knuckles rap against your cheekbone, raising a bruise there like lavender in a dusk sky. You think dully: I wonder if they’ll gouge out my eyes with those knives like they did to Everett.

“Get back!” Autumn hisses, shoving the smallfolk away. And when she speaks, they listen. “She is going to the Wolf of Winterfell. She is my protector. She is your protector now too. She is the best chance you have left.” And the crowds open up and the three of you pass through King’s Landing unimpeded, though cloaked in thousands of fascinated gazes.

The King’s Gate has been abandoned; the guards must have feared the Boltons’ flaying knives or Lord Stark’s dark justice. Autumn instructs several hulking men of the smallfolk to open the gate if they wish to be spared from the wolf’s wrath. They are reluctant at first, but do as she asks. When the massive doors creak open, the people of the capital huddle behind the wall and peer out skittishly as you, Autumn, and Jaehaera advance to meet the Northmen, who are bloodied from battle and now within a hundred yards of the city. Above, the sky is thick and iron-grey and frigid. Snowflakes—the first of this winter to touch King’s Landing—begin to fall and land in your hair, and you are reminded of how embers rained from the smoldering pine trees at Rook’s Rest.

“Can you catch one on your tongue?” Autumn asks Jaehaera, and the little girl giggles as they both try.

The Warden of the North rides an immense, shaggy warhorse at the head of what remains of his army. He recognizes you immediately, dismounts, approaches with determined, unbreakable strides. Clement is close behind him.

“You’re alive!” your brother shouts joyously. “And apparently not pregnant with a Targaryen bastard! Praise the gods!”

Cregan Stark does not act as if he’s heard this. The Warden of the North is not as you remember him; he is larger, heavier and broader from the muscles won in battle, coarsened by weather and war. His hair is long and dark and pulled back from his face. He wears a sword at his belt that is taller than you are when it’s unsheathed. He is entombed in leather and furs. He does not hesitate before he lays his hands you. You are betrothed to him, you are his property, would a man ask before he grabs his horses or his dogs?

The Warden of the North does not seize your forearm roughly like Aemond once did. Instead, his massive palms and fingers clasp your face as he marvels at you. You can feel the stains of dirt and ashes he leaves there. You want to scream when he touches you, but you can’t. You want to burn with rage and heartache until you crumble like ruins. Your life is already over. Your life has just begun.

“You have suffered greatly,” Cregan Stark says, a marriage of shock and reverence.

“You have no idea.” Perpetual Resurrection, you think. It doesn’t mean you come back better. It just means you’re still here.

“You are safe now,” Cregan swears. “The Usurper will never harm you again.” And it ends the same way it began: with a man mistaking your allegiance and beckoning you into a destiny that he wholeheartedly believes is greater than any you could have envisioned for yourself.

“He’s dead.”

This stuns Cregan. “When? How?”

“Today. Of old wounds sustained in battle.”

He looks at Jaehaera, noticing her for the first time. “Is that his daughter?”

“Yes,” you say. “She must always be treated with kindness. She must be protected.”

“You have an affinity for her,” Cregan notes, intrigued.

You hear Aegon’s voice, so clearly it cuts like a blade: Tell him whatever he wants to hear. “We have been through great trials together. We survived the same monster.”

The Warden of the North nods. This is a story he craves to be told. “Very well. If it is your wish that she not be discreetly disposed of as a Silent Sister, I will betroth her to Rhaenyra’s surviving son. They will unite the noble houses of Westeros and end this war.”

“The worst of the Greens are dead already. Those who remain should be shown mercy. Alicent is old and ill and broken from loss. She poses no threat. She should be permitted to remain in the company of her granddaughter. Corlys was loyal to Rhaenyra until she falsely imprisoned him for treason, and he belongs on Driftmark with Rhaena. Larys Strong, Tyland Lannister, and Grand Maester Orwyle, if no pardon can be arranged for them, should go to the Wall instead of the scaffold. And Autumn, my companion there with Jaehaera…she was a true friend to me. I owe her my life several times over. She must be permitted to stay with Jaehaera and Aegon the Younger as a caretaker, and reside in comfort in the Red Keep for the remainder of her days.”

“Who do you think you are, sister?!” Clement exclaims. “You’re speaking to the Kingmaker, not some handmaiden! You do not command him!”

“I am not commanding,” you counter levelly. “I am pleading for mercy on behalf of imperfect souls who showed me kindness during my captivity. If granted, I will consider these my wedding gifts.”

“She is remarkable, is she not?” Cregan Stark says, grinning to Clement and several other men who have ventured closer. They wear the sigils of Northern houses: Bolton, Cerwyn, Manderly, Hornwood, Dustin. They chuckle in agreement, stroking their wild beards with huge filthy hands. “Dauntless but merciful. Clever but obedient.” And then the Warden of the North claims your lips with his, chaste but overpowering, the first of a thousand kisses you never desired, a thousand acts of affection for a woman who isn’t really you, feigned resignation and bitten-back rage, eternal war with the interminable knowledge that there is something more, more, more…you just aren’t permitted to have it. It was taken from you, it was ripped from your hands like stolen treasure.

All your life you will have to murmur in wounded agreement when people recount the terrible sins of the Usurper. All your life you will have to praise Cregan Stark for killing millions to rescue you. And the days will pass, weeks, months, years, summers and winters, the births of your children and their own marriages; and when Cregan’s boy Rickon, born of his first wife, produces only daughters, your son Brandon and his descendants will become the heirs to Winterfell. In the desolate North—so far from the ocean, so far from everything Aegon ever knew—your greatest solace will be letters from Autumn as she learns to read and write, books that your husband orders for you from the Citadel, setting bones and treating burns, a tiny lock of braided silver hair that you keep in a hidden drawer of your jewelry box, dreams that you never want to wake up from.

But one day, decades after you leave King’s Landing, you will receive a raven from Queen Jaehaera Targaryen, and she will ask you: You knew the Greens in your youth, Wardeness Stark. You knew Aemond, Daeron, Helaena, Alicent, Otto, Maelor, Aegon the Usurper. What can you tell me of them? What was my father like? Who was he really?

And you’ll pick up your quill and begin writing.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader

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art-of-the-sea · 2 months

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Cookie Run: Facets of Knowledge AU

[pt: Cookie Run: Facets of Knowledge AU]

" The Virtue of Knowledge holds two sides to it; Truth and Deceit. Only together can they truly understand its depths. "

Not so much a complete AU as a likely canon divergence, this 'verse is set after Dark Enchantress's defeat. Her attempt to free the Beasts from their eternal prison by creating new bodies for them ended catastrophically. The only way to keep them all at bay was to seal them within the Soul Jams carried by each of the Ancients, as well as within their own bodies. This came with its benefits and drawbacks- after all, the threat has been tamed for as long as the Ancients remain uncorrupted. Not only that, but the reuniting of the Soul Jams' other halves magnified the Ancients' power beyond imagining- as its main holders, it's all in their control now, out of reach of the Beasts.

The complications, of course, come with the continued presence of the Beasts within the Ancients. They may not have any powers, no, but they can certainly be heard by the Ancients they've been sealed within - even seen as a projection of the Soul Jam's magic. Pure Vanilla Cookie knows he's in no danger from Shadow Milk Cookie as long as he doesn't mentally give in to his lies. However, that doesn't stop the comments, the perspectives, or the presence he brings. Sealed together, they have to learn to understand each other deeper than either expected, and slowly, each begin to open their eyes to the other's views and experiences.

More details & doodles below the cut! ⤵️

- Shadow Milk Cookie can project himself outwardly into the world using the Light of Truth, but in almost all cases, the only one that can see, hear, or feel him is Pure Vanilla Cookie. This leads to quite a few reactions to seemingly "nothing" from the outside, which took a long while for the other cookies around him to get used to.

- Shadow Milk gets bored very often due to not having a physical body or the ability to interact with most cookies, so he often resorts to pestering Pure Vanilla in one way or another. PV found that ignoring him only makes it worse, so he'll often engage in giving hypothetical answers to SM's ridiculous lines of questioning. This tends to result in either an absurdly niche philosophy discussion or a yes-and fantasy lasting on-and-off for days.

- Distrust is rampant between the two, of course, which is beneficial for neither of them. Pure Vanilla is convinced Shadow Milk wants nothing but to control Earthbread once more, and SM thinks PV wants nothing more than to lock him away somewhere dark and eternal. Both are partially right, but they are forced to learn the depths of the others' perspective and understand how their defining traits are reflections of each other, stemming from the same place.

- Because of this, they slowly begin to understand each other. To trust each other. To let down the walls, because really... Who else would ever be able to comprehend them like the other?

- Pure Vanilla still refuses to trust him enough to let Shadow Milk take control of the body, though. After all, control of the body would hypothetically mean control of the Soul Jam, and he can't let himself risk the fate of Earthbread once more. Sure doesn't stop SM from pestering, begging, bargaining, and more to try!

- Arguments are surprisingly rare, because if both of them get too deep into their heated debate, they get uncomfortably close to the reality of how similar they are to each other; this tends to make them back off.

- Both of them also feel this discomfort when the other is genuinely feeling mentally unwell, as viewing the other's complexity reflects on their own they wish to conceal. This can result in an awkward attempt to cheer the other up or help the situation, if nothing else to simply remove the shared disconcertion.

(If anybody's honestly interested in learning details for this AU, send in an ask! I might even draw doodles for the replies. this au is also where this sorta popular doodle comes from)

Bonus:

me too gingerbrave

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk #pure vanilla cookie #shadow milk cookie #cookie run au #cookie run art #shadowvanilla #deceitvanilla #vanilla milkshake #purelily will be implied but not the focus for now #hes polyamorous because i say so #digital art #fanart #our art #prism art #facets of knowledge au

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godidontevenknowwhat · 3 months

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Men like you

Jake Sully x Metkayina!Reader (Romancing Pandora 2024 Day 2 - Daddy Kink)

A/N: posting early today because I managed to finish this before work, yay! Sorry for any mistakes or grammatical errors especially approaching the end because I'm literally about to go in to work 😂

Tagging: @eywaite @neteyamsyawntu

Synopsis: When the great Toruk Makto was accepted into your clan instead of feeling apprehension or fear, like many other Metkayina, excitement pooled deep in your gut at the unfamiliar features and you ached to find out how different he truly was. Age difference be damned.

Warnings: Ambiguous age difference but reader is an adult that is at least 20+, no mention of Neytiri but mention of their kids so - you can imagine her lack of presence in whatever way you'd like, Dom!Jake x Sub!Reader, spitting, oral (male receiving), maybe I might do a part 2 with actual p in v at some point if people want it, 2.9k words in total

From the moment the Sully family first arrived by their Ikran on the white sand of your home, Awa’atlu, you were immediately entranced by their unfamiliar appearance and their plea for Uturu because of the tawtute. The deep sapphire of their skin reminded you of the unclear depths of the ocean outside the reef, their thin limbs and tails suited to their home rather than your own suited for top performance in the water.

You had heard tales of the tawtute and their cruelty throughout your adolescence, heard stories that made your stomach turn about the battle that took place in the forests to the west of your clan’s reef. You had heard stories of the tawtute ‘dreamwalker’ Jake Sully, a human who walked in a na’vi shell and how he had tamed the large flying beast ‘Toruk’, how he had looked into the eye of Eywa only for Eywa to look back and grant his soul a place forever within his dreamwalker body.

After almost a quarter of a cycle since the Sully family had been living in the Awa’atlu village you had found yourself growing close with the youngest girl, Tuk, a bright child who brought smiles to the whole clan with her sunny attitude. She clung to your side frequently, introduced to you by the group of Metkayina children that you took care of and taught a variety of skills to as their Karyu.

Tuk’s favourite part of having you as her Karyu was the stories of your clan that you told her and she always spent time telling you stories of her own. She explained to you that her sister Kiri was actually born of another dreamwalker, a friend of her father’s named Grace and that because of the tawtute DNA that ran through her blood and the blood of Jake they had some features typical of the humans. Hair on their brows, five fingers and toes… these were the most obvious differences that Lo’ak, Kiri and Jake all had to the na’vi.

However, looking at Jake Sully sitting across the bonfire from you on this celebratory night for the youth in your clan that had passed their rites, you could pick out the more subtle differences in his appearance. The fire’s light cast a warm glow over the plains of his body, the dips and contours shadowed in a way that made your mouth water.

It was obvious to anyone that the Metkayina were built differently to the Omatikaya, but Jake. Great Mother.

His body held a softness around the stomach but he was fit nonetheless, thick muscles coiled his arms leading to broad shoulders. His forearms were equally defined with prominent veins that spanned their length down to his incredibly large hands. All five of his fingers were long and thick in a way that made your stomach flutter when you thought about them for too long, thought about how they’d feel inside you, thought about how they’d curl against your g-spot just right and make you scream.

Every part of Jake Sully was compelling to you, the way he held himself, the way he spoke, the strange tawtute words that still slipped through after years of speaking the native language.

Lo’ak had let it slip once not long ago that the tawtute name Jake called you every time he thanked you for helping with Tuk and the others, “pretty”, was how the sky people called someone sevin. Even now as you thought about it, it brought a flush to your face and a million thoughts to your head about what that could possibly mean.

You never would have thought, in the name of Eywa, that Jake spent as much time admiring you as you did him. Watching how you interacted with his children was how it started, how you helped Tuk learn the ways of the Metkayina just as you did with the children of Awa’atlu, how you didn’t look at any of them differently no matter the amount of fingers or “demon blood” that everyone else in the reef seemed to only see while looking at them.

It was only after Jake saw what you did for his children that he allowed himself to look at you properly, to see you in the way you saw him.

He started by admiring the gentle waves of your hair, your hairstyle perfectly styled to keep it out of your face in the water. He admired the stormy blue of your eyes, eyes that held such love and care in them. He admired your smile, the way it stretched across your face and the way it brought a smile to his own without any trouble at all. Admiration and yearning slowly turned one in the same as time passed, Jake found himself becoming more and more entranced by the soft curves of your body.

While the Metkayina were softer all around compared to the Omatikaya, a layer of fat needed on your bodies to keep you warm for long periods in the water is what Norm’s theory was, Jake was sure the softness of your body was more than evolutionary. Your curves brought him back to earth, back when he was an idiot with no future flipping through history textbooks in his half-assed bid to get through school so he could at least support himself, back when he didn’t give a second thought to why the world he lived in was so shitty and corrupt or why the only way anyone could see the beautiful statues of goddesses carved centuries before in countries that barely existed anymore was in textbooks. When Jake truly looked at you, when he saw you, he saw the beauty of a goddess and he knew if he were to draw a picture of how he thought Eywa herself would look, it would be terrible because he can’t draw for shit, but it would be as close to your likeness as he could get it.

He was ashamed at first, when his thoughts about you began to turn to ones that were no better than the thoughts of a horny teenage boy, then when he spent more than a few sleepless nights picturing you under him until he came hard enough to send him into a sleep deeper than a coma the shame only grew. Shame ate at Jake, gnawed at him, buried its way under his skin and took up residency so profoundly that he couldn’t evict it.

Sevin. Pretty. Sevin. Pretty. Pretty. Pretty.

The words swam in your mind like an infantile ilu, made a heat ignite beneath your skin that burned hotter than the bonfire and a flush stain your skin you were hoping the cup of kava you were working your way through could be a scapegoat for if anyone was curious.

You watch Jake’s hands as they rub over his thick thighs, jumping in surprise when after a few moments he removed his hands and slapped them back down onto his thighs with a slap. You managed to make out that he said something about heading off, going back to his Marui and without any more lingering he pulled the waistband of his tewng higher on his waist from where it had slipped and took his leave.

You throw back the last of your kava and take a few unintentionally unsubtle glances around you to make sure you don’t have any unwanted attention before getting to your feet and following Jake in the direction of his Marui. You knew the path like the back of your hand purely from your excursions with Tuk and occasionally Lo’ak, able to find yourself outside in what felt like the blink of an eye.

Jake is in the process of closing the privacy covers on his Marui when you approach with delicate footsteps on the connecting walkway, giving you no time to excuse yourself as his eyes lock straight onto yours. For a moment he looks surprised until a sharp grin spreads across his handsome face, his head tilting to the side slightly as he beckons your inside.

You find yourself frozen for just a moment until you will your feet to move, stepping into his home and watching as he finishes closing the privacy coverings. You watch the muscles of his back flexing as he does so, entranced by his body once again just as you had been at the bonfire.

“You’ve got a staring problem, you know that?” Your breath catches in your throat at his words, any confidence you had dwindling out like the doused flames of a fire. Jake senses your discomfort and turns to look at you, a less intimidating smile taking over his face as he approaches you. “Calm down, baby. Don’t worry. I’ve got a pretty bad staring problem too” His large hands move to rest on your hips, pulling you closer and forcing a gasp of surprise out of your mouth. His eyes peer down at you, a lustful haze darkening their amber colour, the way they lock on to your own makes a shiver trickle down your spine. “Stare at you all the time, pretty girl. I just know how to do it without being caught” You can’t control the giddy smile that spreads across your face, almost bringing an ache to your cheeks from the stretch of it.

“Open your mouth for me, pretty girl” Jake watches as your mouth opens automatically, taking a shameful amount of pride in the way you cling to his words and follow them without question. Your pretty pink tongue sits so sweetly in your mouth, spit beginning to pool the longer that he spends staring. Lifting his hand to your face, Jake takes a hold of it to steady you before tilting your head back ever so slightly and pursing his lips to spit onto your tongue.

Your head spins as a high whine escapes your throat, the pure filth of Jake’s actions causing your neglected cunt to pulse needily. You attempt to close your mouth and swallow the built up saliva before it becomes too much but before you can do so you feel the weight of Jake’s thumb settling itself into the dip of your tongue.

Closing your lips around Jake's thumb, an uncontrollable moan escapes him at the feeling of your gentle sucking and pillow soft tongue. In a fleeting moment of cruelty, Jake forces his thumb deeper, pressing ever so slightly to the back of your tongue just to hear your pitiful little gurgle as you gag from the unexpected pressure.

“Christ, such a good girl for Daddy” He drags his thumb out of your suckling mouth, groaning at the uncontrollable throb of his cock when your pretty, plump lips part to release it. Your eyes watery from the slightest abuse of your gag reflex and Jake’s sure the amount of blood that has left his brain to harden his cock this much is going to leave him with less brain cells than he can afford.

“Da-dee?”

Jake lets out a deep, rumbling growl at the sound of your sweet little voice despite the shoddy pronunciation of the human word and the sound shoots straight to your cunt, your slick dampening your tewng “That’s right baby, M'your daddy now, aren’t I?”

The sweet little crease of confusion settled on your brow only serves to turn him on more, tail whipping back and forth erratically as he stares you down with his piercing amber eyes. You watch his hands move from where he grips you to reach for the strings of his tweng, you can feel his amusement radiating from him at how you can’t seem to drag your eyes away until his voice breaks the silence.

“Why don’t you get on your knees for Daddy, pretty girl? C’mon get down there for me” His tewng drops from his body in near perfect sync with your knees dropping to the floor and you watch, entranced, as he spits into the palm of his hand before giving his impressive cock a few quick, slick tugs.

Jake can barely meet your lust-clouded eyes that flick back and forth between his hard cock and his face, worried that he’d lack the self control it would take to stop from stroking his dick in his tight grip until his fat load covered your face.

You feel Jake’s hand take a rough grip of your hair, all five of his fingers gripping your loose waves hard enough to make it sting just a little.

“You want to suck it, pretty girl? Want daddy’s cock in your mouth?”

A desperate purr bubbles from your throat uncontrollably and your ears pin back in a show of pure submission “Please, Please daddy”

Jake uses his grip on your hair to guide your head towards his cock, a growl rumbling from his throat at how hungrily you suck his cock deep into your mouth. Your eagerness makes your eyes water but a nagging part of your mind worries you’ll never have a chance like this again which only encourages you to not take a second of this encounter for granted.

Jake uses his grip on your hair to move your head up and down on his cock, abusing your throat with his length, your body fights to reject the intrusion with messy gags and excess spit drooling from your plump lips but you fight back the urge to gag every time and after a few moments of Jake using your throat how you dreamt he’d use your currently soaked pussy you were able to take him without any overwhelming issue.

Jake is entranced by the tears that spill from your lash line, dampening your cheeks along with a mix of your saliva and his pre-cum that had been steadily drooling from his cock since you dropped to your knees. “So perfect for daddy”

You feel Jake’s grip tugging you off his cock and you whine from the disappointment, fighting his hold to have the weight of his cock in your mouth once again. All Jake can do is laugh fondly in disbelief at how much of a mess you were already, he can only imagine how you’d react if he decided to split your pussy open on the girth of his cock. “Tongue out for me, baby. Show me your tongue”.

You follow his instructions immediately, tongue lolling out of your mouth mindlessly. A desperate sob ripping from your throat when he begins tugging his cock with his free hand. “Ah, baby don’t get pouty now, your mouth was like heaven but I want to watch you look stupid for it, just for a second”

Jake watches you as your cock drunk eyes seem to be latched straight on to his hands movements. He feels his heavy balls drawing closer to his body, his breathing getting heavier the closer he gets to blowing his load. “You wanna taste daddy’s cum, sweetheart? Got a big fucking load of it just for you” He taps the sensitive head of his cock against your tongue and lets out a borderline feral growl when you take the initiative to swirl your eager letting tongue around the tip.

Jake’s hand is getting faster on his cock now, you watch eagerly as your cunt pulses with need and drools more slick into your tewng that sticks to your skin. He pulls back from your mouth and peers down at you, you can tell he’s close but needs something more to tip him over the edge.

“Please cum for me, daddy”

Jake feels your words like a punch to the gut and can’t even suck in a breath before he’s cumming. Moans escape him uncontrollably as he watches each shot of his hot cum hit your face. The first hits your cheek and he knows immediately that he wants to cover your whole face with his load, no questions asked, it’s an animalistic desire that burns shamefully in his gut but he’s too lost in the throes of pleasure to fight it.

Each shot of Jake’s hot cum that hits your face makes your clit pulse needily and you sob in pleasure, a dark desire inside you wishes that every drop was being pumped deep into your empty cunt instead.

Jake forces your mouth back open with a squeeze of your jaw, resting his cock on your tongue for a final time as he roughly tugs out the last drops of cum to at least let you taste him for being such a good girl.

The air is thick with desire as you swallow down the last of Jake’s load, the rest of it cooling the longer it sits on your face. Your eyes are locked with his, waiting for him to say something or do something.

Jake pants above you, admiring your debauched state. Your lips are swollen, your face and chest is soaked from your tears, his cum and your spit. Jake had never been any good at art or understanding it but in his head, right at this moment, your messy little face was a masterpiece and he was the artist that made it.

You startle slightly when Jake crouches in front of you, his hand cups your pussy through your tewng and the sudden pressure after being neglected for so long almost makes your knees buckle. Jake chuckles and pats your cunt condescendingly, enjoying the sound of the wet smack his hand produces as it makes contact with your slick tewng.

“How about we clean up that pretty face of yours.. and then daddy can work on cleaning up your sweet little cunt?”

#jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake sully smut #romancingpandora2024 #avatar smut #avatar x reader

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calisources · 1 month

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𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒

All sentences has been taken from different media and soruces about life in the royal court, involving the introgue of succession, war, marriage, kings and queens and tournaments. Most of this are acceptable for all audience except one with some foul language. Chance names, pronouns, locations as you see fit.

Ten years of shadows, but no longer. Light up the darkness, Majesty.

You don't know a woman until you've met her in court.

A queen keeps a court that is spoken about. A goddess keeps a court that is never forgotten.

And you, lady? Are you a woman of conscience or of ambition?

That's a question rarely asked here at court.

Court games aren't fair. They don't judge men by their worth, and they aren't about what's just.

We know all men are not created equal in the sense some people would make us believe .

Either you break the law, or the law breaks you.

There is no playacting in this court. If you stay your hand, they will cut it off.

Power does not pardon, power punishes.

Listen! The court jester's cap and bells. The King is coming!

He was a man with a vision- and an extraordinary vision it was.

The cat who lived in the Palace had been awarded the head-dress of nobility and was called Lady Myobu.

In every reign there comes one night of greatest blackness, when a King must send away his court of flatterers and servants, and sit alone in the dark with the beast called truth.

It is important to refuse to be intimidated.

They all come innocent in court.

Is that how you get propositioned at the court? 'Mylady, would you be so kind as to allow me to put my manhood in your vagina'?

They used to say that, in a battle between the lion and the tiger, the winner was the monkey, who watched from a distance.

Men love those creatures that need to be taken care of.

If you want to tame a lioness you need to become a lion, not a goat.

A doe is easier to keep.

The woman did not care for empty compliments; to get such a woman, one needed to put forth effort.

I’m a terrible prince. I should put my kingdom first and everything else second, but your first. I want you by my side every second . . .

Once a King in Narnia, always a King in Narnia.

She calls herself the Queen of Narnia thought she has no right to be queen at all.

Plenty of people have told me you are not my father.

It is necessary for a prince to have the people friendly.”

Royalty is not a right, Captain. The willingness of the people to follow a ruler is what gives her power.

Here, in this place, by this people, I have been chosen.

These men are tired of being told whom to follow. Now they have a choice, and they use that choice to call me Princess.

I am a princess. All girls are. Even if they live in tiny old attics.

A prince ought also to show himself a patron of ability, and to honour the proficient in every art.

You should never have been only a little girl, you should have always been a crown princess.

You knew you would be sending me away?

A born king is a very rare being.

The world will need to know that I’m the last royal left. Their queen.

There’s royalty in me, but stronger than that there is adventure.

My life is the Crown and yours is politics, and I will not trade one prison for another.

Dignity is trained into royal children before they can toddle.

The first year of marriage is not always easy, especially within the Royal Family.

The real intelligence in the royal family comes through my parents .

The interpretation of dreams is the royal road to a knowledge of the unconscious activities of the mind.

The royal road to a man's heart is to talk to him about the things he treasures most.

The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known.

The winner will marry the prince.

You want to marry my daughter? Prove yourself worthy.

That is acceptable. A king is a martyr to their ideals.

f I rule the nation as king, I cannot ask to live as a person.

A wise king never seeks out war, but... he must always be ready for it.

All men need something greater than themselves to look up to and worship. They must be able to touch the divine here on earth

I am the First Imperial Princess of the Misurugi Empire!

You can tell she's a princess, she doesn't need a crown.

You, sir, are the most uncharming prince I have ever met! In fact, the only thing royal about you is that you are a royal pain.

No one ever told her "no."

In no time at flat, she'll get herself established as his official mistress, with her own rooms at the palace.

These men are my bodyguards, their lives forfeit to the guarantee of my physical safety. Of their loyalty to me, there shall be no question nor doubt.

Some balls are held for charity And some for fancy dress, But when they're held for pleasure They're the balls that I like best.

Be careful of what women with gowns plan, specially in a ballroom.

The art of husband seeking is something every woman has been trained since birth.

Many wives and consorts, of course.

Who is to rule when I am gone? You are a princess. I have no son.

Men would sooner put the realm to the torch than see a woman ascend the Iron Throne.

Did I not mention there was another?

A king must always have an heir and a spare.

He was born to be a king... He rules men just by breathing. When he walks into a room, he commands it. People love him.

Two knights off to rescue a princess. Sounds like a great song.

As the king's brother, you should've been first in line!

I was first in line. Until the little hairball was born.

That "hairball" is my son, and your future king.

My parents were... rather traditional. They wanted the heir and the spare, and I was left in the cold.

It cannot be easy being the youngest prince. To have others expect nothing from you, yet still shake their heads in disapproval.

If my uncle attacks King's Landing I'll ride out to meet him.

You are in need of serious princess lessons.

You're the new ruler of Mechanicsburg. You need to act like it.

Every princess needs a battle axe. Here. Use this one until we find you something more impressive.

You know what they used to write on cannons? The last argument of kings. I guess you could say magic is the last argument of queens.

A tournament has been arranged in your name, so you must attend and make yourself presentable.

They hope to find me a husband here. They said I am already a woman bled.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. )#rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #royal scheme #royal concept #royal court

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honey-flustered · 1 year

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Can I pls request a dom eddie munson x bratty reader

“Come Again?”

(18+ MDNI)

A/N: This was fun!! I may have gotten a little carried away lol 😅 Hope you liked it and thank you for the request ❤️

Summary: You feel the need to act out if it means getting your boyfriend to finally do something about your behavior.

Word Count: 3.8k+

Warnings: smut, graphic language, belt used as leash and cuffs, use of “master” and “sir”, use of “princess”, humiliation/degradation kink, sex toys (vibrating sex saddle, dildo, gag), reader is used as a footrest for a moment, male masturbation, oral sex (m receiving), cum eating, dacryphilia, corruption/innocence kink, sadistic!mean!eddie, bitchy!reader, kissing/french kissing, overstimulation, delayed orgasm, rough handling, hair pulling, eddie speaks to reader’s dad over the phone during sexual act, some aftercare

You’ve been called all the names in the book: goody-goody, Saint Mary, teacher’s pet. To sum it up, you’re a good girl. Never one to talk back or disobey rules. You had this kind of innocence about you that naturally people would want to protect. From your friends cautiously tiptoeing around topics about raunchy sex to your boyfriend handling you as if your made of glass…you’ve had enough!

You craved the moments where you get to put your foot down. Where you got to say ‘no’ without offending anyone. Where you got to curse, fuck, and live without the care to ruin your prettily perfect reputation.

Dating Eddie, you were sure that the image of you would shift. The good girl gone bad. You anticipated the moments he’d show you new things. The kind of things that would make father’s question their daughter’s taste in men. But no. He’s a gentleman. Even your father approved of him!

And despite the constant looks and whispers you’d get whenever people saw you two holding hands, they’d know that even he didn’t have the guts to corrupt you.

It must’ve been some reason he’d been drawn to your innocence. It had to. Because if not, then why you? He could have any girl that would have appreciated his same interests. Yet, he chose you when you were all the things he’s against. Popular, perfect, prudish and punctual. Mini skirts and magazines. Teddy Bears and Tiaras. It must’ve been something in you that he wished to defile and ravish.

It’s not like he wasn’t capable of doing such things. You’ve heard the stories about Eddie “The Freak” Munson. About what a sex god he is or how twisted he can be in bed. And it certainly wasn’t lost you the way his jaw clenches whenever you’d bend over in front of him. Or how he’d occupy his hands by fondling with the band of his watch just to keep himself from going far with you.

Tonight, this will change. You planned on raising your stick in a newfound confidence to poke at the beast that hibernated within him. No regrets. No holding back.

Earlier, Eddie passed you a note during Biology, letting you know that he had the place to himself. You rolled your eyes knowing that it was probably going to be another tame movie night. Nonetheless, you accepted his invitation with a motive in mind.

———

“I’m thinking Sixteen Candles or The Princess Bride,” He says holding up the two vhs tapes. “Personally, I’m thinking the Princess Bride because I love a good adventure.”

“Oh, really?” You say in feigned excitement before mumbling to yourself. “You could’ve had me fooled.”

“We’ll go with the Sixteen Candles. I think it’s up your alley.” Eddie goes for the vcr when you lay a hand on his shoulder, halting him. He sinks back down on the couch, eyes on you.

“I wanna watch something scary,” You bat your eyes. “Can we?”

“You sure you can handle it?” He asks, putting a hand to your knee.

You nearly scoffed aloud but instead you keep up your flirtatious nature. “Pleaseee. I can handle it.” You add in a lip bite and you catch his eye flicker down at your lips then back in your eyes.

“Okay.” He whispers, eyes foggy and voice dazed as if catch by your spell. “We could watch Halloween.”

You smiled. “Sounds good.”

Once he’d put in the tape in the vcr, he settles back beside you. A small gap between you. You weren’t exactly paying attention only focusing on the scarier parts as an excuse to nuzzle closer and closer towards him. You were sure he could feel your hardening nipples through your thinly woven top, grazing against his shoulder.

Then, you hear it. That heavy breathing. Unmistakably, you knew he was now riled up. No doubt that he’s getting harder and harder.

“Eddie…” You whispered in his ear, taking his attention away from the movie.

He swallows hard. “Uh-huh.”

You lean in for a kiss. He’s stiff at first but eventually kissing you back, slipping his tongue in your mouth. You’d broken one seal. You and Eddie have never frenched before. Why hadn’t you thought of this sooner? God, he’s so amazing at it. His thick tongue was freakishly long, winning the battle for dominance. The appendage flickers, licking at your tongue before shoving it once more in your mouth. He cups your face in the process of deepening the kiss. Your hands searching for his, placing one over a breast.

He lurches himself away, the connection of saliva between you breaking. You’re left baffled by the action.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, nervously. “I got carried away.”

You seethe. You wanted to throw a tantrum, to curse him into next week, to break things. Instead, you let your true nature surface.

“Frankly, I just think you’re much too much of a pussy to do anything, anyways.” You say, crossing your arms and turning away from him.

You can tell you’d surprised him the language you used. You sounded pretty mean, too. Something he wasn’t used to with you.

“Come again?” He asks, confused yet still just as surprised.

“Nevermind,” You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I’m wanna go home. Take me home.”

You grab your purse, hurriedly standing up from your seat. “He’ll think again for wasting my time?” You thought to yourself.

Just as you grab the door open, Eddie slams a hand on the frame, closing it shut again. You yank at the knob then turn to face him again.

“Let me go.” You demand.

“I don’t think you heard me, princess,” His voice a dark tone, you weren’t familiar with. You were both turned on and frightened. “I want you to say it to me again.”

“Why should I? It’s not like you’ll do anything about it. I hear the things they’ve said about you around school. Rumors are just rumors I guess because you’re vanilla as. fuck.” You punctuated by pulling yourself up from the door frame to look defiantly in his eyes.

His pupils dart side to side, scanning your face. A stoic frown slowly creeping into a large smile then into a wicked laugh. “Where the fuck is this coming from?”

Your nose scrunches up in the kind of anger that takes up every muscle in face to form an expression. He places a finger under your chin, tilting your head up some more.

“My good girl still there?” He asks with a mocking smile.

“Take. Me. Home.” But that was the furthest thing you wanted him to do. You wanted to provoke him further. You were almost there.

“Why should I…” He trails the finger down your neck. “…when you were so eager to stay?”

“What exactly will you do with me then? Because you sure as hell wouldn’t touch me. You’d probably just stare at me. I’m no different than a piece of furniture to you except at least they’ve gotten more action.”

“So I’m the bad guy for wanting to take things slow with you? Because I wanted to spare you from that side of me? Do you have any idea how much I’ve restrained myself from taking you in all the ways I’ve imagined?”

“I never asked you to do that. You may think of me as some second coming of Virgin Mary but I’ll have you know I have plenty of experience. I thought having you as my boyfriend would teach me some new things. Guess it’s actually me that has to do the teaching.”

Eddie finds you awfully amusing like this. He can’t help it but to laugh, shaking his head at you. “I wonder what your friends would think if they heard you speaking this way. Oh, I’d pay to see the reaction of father dearest hearing his daughter begging to be fucked.”

“I don’t care what they think.”

“I think you do,” He sighs, slipping the belt around the loops of his jeans in one fluid motion. “If you want me to let out my true desires for you…I will. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Strip.”

“I don’t want to.” You were really playing into the role. It was almost natural to you.

“I don’t give a fuck what you want,” He growls. “Strip. Now.”

You felt a shiver go down your spine. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you in any way you wouldn’t like, but the bass in his voice was enough to make you obey.

With your eyes never once leaving his face, chest rising and falling, you strip off your clothing slowly. He makes it his mission to follow where ever your hands would go, licking his lips as if a predator to its prey.

When you got to your panties, Eddie reaches for your hand, stopping your actions. He slides your hand between your legs, guiding you to move them to the side. With his hands over yours, he guides two fingers inside you. You gasp. He’s using your hand as if a puppet, pumping your fingers into you until he carefully retreats them and raises them in the air to study.

Just as he thought: you were glistening wet.

“We haven’t even begun yet, princess. You really that wet, already?” He asks, voice strained with lust.

Your attempts to protest falls on deaf ears, when he takes your fingers and slips them into his mouth, swirling his tongue expertly around then suckles on them.

“Mmm.” He moans, eyes closed to savor your taste.

The vibrations went straight to your core causing you to flood your panties some more. You shudder which brings his attention back to you.

He smiles, letting go of your hand. “You’re so pathetic. You gonna cum, baby?”

“Fuck you.” You bite.

“Thanks for offering. But I don’t think you deserve it tonight, let alone letting you cum.”

“Then, why the fuck am I here?”

“Turn around and I’ll tell you.” Eddie says, doing a “spinny” move with his finger.

“I’m not sure I trust turning my back on you.”

“Smart girl,” He comments. “But you’re in my territory now. You do as I say. That means no more back talk unless you want to be left on the brink of an unreachable orgasm for a week.”

He wasn’t kidding either. You’ve heard the legends of girls who’ve been punished this way by him. To this day, they aren’t the same.

“Fine.” You grumble, facing your back to him.

You waited a moment for him to do something, the anticipation killing you. His hands clasp your shoulders finally and it makes you jump. You talked a big game only to be this jittery around him. You mentally cursed yourself.

His large hands slide down your arm until he’s reached your wrists, bringing them behind you. With the belt in hand, he ties it around your wrists, tight enough for you to struggle all you want but loosening was not an option.

Eddie’s lips brush your ear. “Get on your knees.”

You lower yourself, clumsily. He walks around you so that he’s looking down at your eyes again. “I’ll be right back with some gifts. Don’t go anywhere, okay.” He smiles, mockingly then jogs to his room.

Not long after he returns with a prettily wrapped pink box, sets it down in front of you. “Open your gift.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” You say, turning your body a little to remind him of your tied hands.

“With that mouth of yours, silly,” He crouches down beside you. “Tear it with your teeth.”

Of course, you listen. You didn’t even think humiliation would be something you’re into but here you were throbbing with need. Leaning over the box, you hover your mouth over it, sinking your teeth in and ripping at the paper.

He looks you up and down, every now and then a sadistic smile plasters on his face. “That’s the good girl I know,” He pets your head. “You listen well when you wish to be filled.”

Once you’d gotten most of the wrapping out the way, he takes over. Removing the lid from the box, you spot some strange items that forces you to look visibly lost before him.

“What’s wrong? Not familiar? No worries I knew the guys you messed with wouldn’t no anything about this. I’ll show you all that I know since you’re so desperate for it,” He holds up a ball gag. “These are all items I’ve purchased for my collection of all the things I’d use on you. I was gonna save it for our 6 month’s anniversary but you had to be greedy. This…is a gag. Exactly what you need to shut the fuck up.”

“You couldn’t pay me to wear it.”

“Good thing, I’m not paying you,” He retorts, then hold up a bigger item. It was in all black, a remote control beside it. Now that’s caught your attention. “This is a vibrator saddle. You straddle it and ride off to the sunset except that won’t happen until I say you can. It even comes with an additional gift you can add onto it.”

He holds up an attachable dildo in hand. “You can ride this while the vibrating pad work it’s attention on your clit.”

“You’re going to use that on me?”

“Yep, everything in here,” He says, proudly. “Now what was that thing you said about being like furniture? That was gold, baby. I think it was so good, in fact, I might actually take you up on it. You’re gonna be my footrest while I watch the rest of this movie.”

“What?! But what happened to the sex stuff and using those things on me.”

“That’s the fun part. That’ll be happening at the same time,” Eddie arranges the sex items a certain way the tall saddle machine at the foot of the couch. He is tries to put the gag over your mouth. You turn your head to one side. He exhales deeply before gripping your hair to keep your head in place then shoving the ball in your mouth. Tying the gag in place, he places a kiss on your lips. “You’re looking good already, princess. Come on, let’s get you to your place.”

He sits on the couch waiting for you to shift towards him, you don’t move. No way are you giving up your role in this so soon. You slide your arms from under you then over with them now tied in the front. You attempt to yank the gag off your mouth.

He rolls his eyes. “You really want me angry.”

Oh, yes please!

“Alright, you’re asking for it,” He lifts off the couch, clutching the strip of belt between your cuffed wrists and drags up towards the machine. When he has your legs on either side of the machine, he pulls your lacy panties to the side again and lowers you onto the thick rubber of the dildo which he preparedly lubed up for you.

You were so tight, that only the tip had sunk in. You groan, eyes rolling back.

“Aw, baby, don’t be shy to take it all. If you’re having this much trouble on this, I could only imagine how you’d react on my cock.”

He pushes you down on your shoulders, feeding you more of its inches. “There ya go,” Eddie praises. “You’re taking it so well.”

You whined against the gag, begging for something your weren’t sure you needed.

“Sorry can’t hear you. Besides, furniture shouldn’t speak,” He lays you flat on your stomach, your elbows and hands resting on the carpeted floor. “If you want this to stop at anytime. Tap your hands on the floor 3 times and that’ll be the end. For now I’m gonna finish the movie. No talking and stay still unless it’s an emergency.”

He soothes your hair once more planting a kiss on your forehead before taking his seat. Then you felt the weight of his feet on you. You didn’t think it so bad.

Until…the vibrations began. The buzzing shot straight to your core, jolting you by surprise. You moan.

Eddie looks down at you. “You remember my rules, don’t you?”

You nod at him, fixing yourself in place and making the dildo hit deeper within you. Eddie was distracted, to say the least. He was only pretending to watch the movie, too, more enamored in the way your tight little pussy swallowed the object.

He raises the level of vibration causing you to whimper around the gag back to back, rocking back and forth on the rubber length. He entertains you for a bit pressing his boot down on your bottom so you’d feel the vibrations harder. You cry out, grinding harder.

“You make a terrible footrest, princess,” He says, guiding the motions of your hips with his foot. “I bet you’re ready to apologize for your bratty behavior tonight. Ready to apologize so you can cum now?”

He turns of the machine, then lowers the gag from your sweaty face. You mascara was now running, you weren’t aware of your tears flowing.

“What do you say? Wanna apologize?”

You pant. “Is that all you got?”

The utter astonishment on his face was enough to boost your confidence for the next couple years ahead.

“I am really going to enjoy ruining you.” He slides the gag back into your mouth. Only this time, he doesn’t sit back in his seat. Eddie cranks up the machine to another level watching you shift and sob. Your hips involuntarily circled and you worried that if you continued you’d come soon and a greater punishment would be in store.

He just stares intensely at you. You, back at him with your hair falling over his face. When you glanced down for a moment, you see that he was hard than a rock. He’s straining in his jeans practically tearing through them. He catches your glance and you shoot him a knowingly teasing look.

The house phone rings interrupting your stares. You expected him to stop the machine but he only cranks it even higher.

“Oh my god, does it end?” You thought, rolling your eyes back at the sensation.

“You be quiet now, ‘kay. It’ll be very rude if you make distracting noises while I’m on the phone,” He answers the call and your heart beat sped at exactly who was on the phone. “Hello, Mr, Y/L/N. Good to hear from you, too, sir.”

You try stifling your cries as he continues to carry on a formal conversation with your father while you’re seconds from release. Eddie crouches to you again the phone close enough in case you let out even the slightest whimper, your father would for sure hear.

“Oh, Y/n? She’s doing juuust fine,” Eddie smiles. “Sure you can talk to her.”

Your eyes widened, shaking your head at him in a panic. He holds the phone away, whispering in your ear. “Do it and I’ll have mercy on you.”

That was good enough for you. You needed to cum bad or you might just explode. He lowers the gag to your face holding the phone to you. You mustered up all the energy you can to play up your ‘good girl’ persona.

“Uh-huh,” You strained. “Yes, I’ll be home at 10 on the dot. Love you, Daddyy.” You hoped he didn’t catch you nearly moan the last part. All thanks to Eddie cranking the vibrations at the highest level.

After hanging up the call, before you could moan out, Eddie slams his lips onto yours. He’s allowing himself to indulge in you, sitting you upright as he leans into you.

He breaks the kiss, turning you by your waist so that your body’s facing the couch. He sits on the edge of the couch in front of you, removing the belt from your wrists and loops it around your neck instead like a leash. Unbuttoning his jeans and pulling a massively impressive cock from his boxers, he gets to work and jerks himself at the sight of you with one hand while the other hand held the makeshift leash.

“Go on and ride it, princess. I know you’ve been wanting to cum so bad.” He groans.

You wait not a second longer, pushing your panties to the side far enough for him to see the dildo engulfed by your plump lips and suctioning walls.

“Oh, fuck, yess.” You cry out.

Each time you’d sink down, Eddie would prematurely pull you up again by the leash. You whine.

“Thank me for being merciful.” He commands.

“Thank you for your mercy, Master.” You sob, bouncing harder and faster and rubbing frantically.

“This what you’ve been looking for, princess. To be treated like my little plaything.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Want you to cum with me. Please.”

He tugs at the leash, bringing you forward only a quarter of the length inside you now. “Suck me off. I’ll be cumming down that little throat yours.”

You eagerly take him in your hands, he looked even larger from this angle. Suckling the head and tasting his essence was enough to make you addicted. You bobbed your mouth over his curved member, taking him deeper and deeper. It just wasn’t enough for Eddie. So with a little help from him, he began to use your mouth for his own pleasure, grunting with every thrust.

Each push and pull of your head forcing you to slam back against the dildo and with a couple more circles of your clit, the tension that wound so tight around had finally snapped. You release with a loud cry, wetting whatever’s in your path beneath you.

“Shit, baby. You’re so fuckin…sexy.” He punctuates with a couple strokes into the back of your throat.

This turn Eddie on enough for him to follow after you, shooting his warm liquid down your throat and forcing it down for you to take it all. You wouldn’t allow not a drop to be wasted. Bobbing back and forth to match the rhythm of your hips until you were both passed the point of sensitivity.

He pulls you off him, lowering himself for another kiss and tasting his salty essence on your tongue. You were left panting and fucked out by the end of the session. Eddie lifts you in his arms and carries you to his room.

He comes back to you with a warm towel, removing your sopping panties to careful clean you. He’ll be keeping those for his own enjoyment in the days you aren’t here. He helps you into some of his clothes for the night. You snuggle into his bed, wrapping his comforter around you.

“You okay, baby?”

“Mmhm.” Was all you could manage to say through half-lidded eyes.

“I’m gonna clean up that mess you made out there, He chuckles. “Maybe then I could take you home?”

“No, wanna stay here.” You mumble.

“Your dad’s not gonna like that.”

But you were already sound asleep, nuzzling next to his side. He laughs, placing a kiss on your forehead.

Maybe he was corrupting you after all. But Eddie does have your disobedience to thank. After all it was just the push he needed to creatively express the new ways for which he plans to ruin you.

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