#it gets in there with its hands and tears it to bits with its fingernails

[fanaticsnail]

"Thank you"

Word Count: 2,168 Sanji-Pollen "Drabble" Part 2 (Part 1 here)

Masterlist Here, Pollen Masterlist here

Warnings: Pollen!Sanji, MDNI, Sanji has inhaled pollen, Sanji can't relieve himself, Edging, Crying, Whimpering, Begging, rutting, Solo!Sanji, Sanji x Afab!reader. smut, p in v

Minors, this is not meant for you.

Tag List: @vespidphoenix @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @sordidmusings @delectableworm @feral-artistry @writingmysanity - We couldn't just leave him like that now, could we?

As the first of the Straw-Hat crew to return to the vessel, you were unsure as to what following the strange sounds down the lengthy corridor would bring you. Nothing in all of your flirtation-ship with the chef could’ve prepared you for the sight gracing your eyes.

His vision was foggy, jaw slacked and a mixture of sticky saliva sweeping down his chin. The beads of sweat pouring from his temples, dampening his cheeks and gluing his soaked blond hair to his forehead as you witnessed his eyes rolling back into his skull. Growls, cries and whimpers were choking through his throat and coating the air with his desperate screams for aid.

Your eyes widened, following the trail of sweat glistening skin over his torso and down to the chiseled ‘v’ of his blonde happy-trail. Everything was red, hot and desperate. His skin rubbed raw with the clawing fingernails of his dominant hand thrusting his cock within his fist with a violent ferocity. Shock held you stationary in the doorway, your hand dropping the objects you had purchased from within town and thudding against the floor; alerting the poor chef to your presence.

He snapped his gaze to you, his body too weak and desperate to shield his aching cock from your vision. Much to the horror of you both, he continued tugging desperately on his abused shaft and pinching his swollen tip as he was brought to the edge of another orgasm.

“I-I’m so s-sorry,” he managed to stutter out through his thrusting, hot and fresh tears falling freely down his cheeks, “I-I can’t st-stop. It h-hurts t-to stop-p.”

“Sanji, what did you do?” you asked him, hastily bringing yourself into his quarters and closing the door behind you. You hesitated, your brows furrowing and eyes panicking at the sight of your friend in a state of complete vulnerability.

The two of you had something unspoken between you; subtle touches as you brushed past one another in the halls, preferential treatment at meal times, and you always seeking him out and gifting him with tokens from your travels – one of which lay abandoned on the floor beside the door.

“Sanji, what did you do?” you again questioned him, your eyes searching his and attempting to dismiss what he was doing to pleasure himself in front of you. You bit your lip, unable to simply cast aside the lewd noises he was mewling at you, desperately calling your name within his shaky voice.

“I-I can’t,” He sobbed, his cock desperately writhing and twitching within his palm, “I can’t cum!” His desperate cry for help broke something in you, you immediately taking pity on him and running over to sit at his side. The mattress dipped at his torso, you refusing to look below his clavicle and search his gaze for answers.

“Sanji,” you hesitated, your hand halting slightly in its descent towards his glistening forehead.

“T-Touch me, please. Please, love. P-Please touch me,” he begged with you, his eyes shutting tightly as he winced out another cry, “I n-need you. Please, I need you.” You pressed your palm against his forehead, taking in his scorching temperature beneath your palm and wincing at the contact.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart,” you commented, swiping his damp hair away from his forehead and sweeping your palm to collect his cheek, “what can I do? Tell me. I’ll get Chopper-.”

“-NO!” He roared at you, shock springing to your spine at his ferocity. His eyes were open and pupils completely blown with unbridled lust as he managed to wince out, his pace not halting in the slightest as his bicep continued to maintain his bruising rhythm of fisting his veiny cock.

“J-Just-… Just…” he closed his eyes, his breath continuing to stutter. He bit his bottom lip hard, piercing the skin as he attempted to again push himself over the edge of another orgasm to no avail. His body was wrecked with grief, physically shaking. You were unaware of the possibility of someone being struck pale with horror and glow crimson with embarrassment: yet, here lay the poor blonde chef in a puddle of his own sweat, shaking with arousal and frustration.

“Just, what? What can I do? Love, name it,” you cooed down at him. You couldn’t bare to watch another moment of him like this, but truly unaware of how to best aid him in his predicament. Sanji cringed through the pain, gritting his teeth and persevering his unspoken thought.

“Darling,” he called to you, attempting to sit from his reclined position; only to falter back onto his unused elbow as he winced out, “I need you to fuck me.” You were absolutely taken aback by his statement, the seriousness in his eyes and the animalistic tone in his voice. Sanji would flirt with you, sure. You would reciprocate, absolutely. But this was something new entirely.

“-Don’t think about it. Don’t think about me. Just-…nmph-…” he was hit with another wave of lust as the dust in his lungs fuelled his desire further, “-You can picture anyone else. Imagine the most handsome man, or beautiful woman you could concoct. Picture the stupid swordsman, I just-… -f-fuck… Just please, lay with me. Please f-fuck me-.”

You placed both hands either side of his face, pulling his lustful gaze into you and holding his grey eyes fixed on your own.

“Sanji,” you called to him, your voice soft and calm. A whimper fell from his parted lips as you rolled his name over your tongue.

“Y-Yes, my love? Y-Yes?” he asked you, his eyes full of sorrow and defeat. You sighed at his expression, smoothing your hand over his face once again.

“There’s no one else I would dream of doing this for,” you confessed to him, “why would I imagine anyone else?” His actions halted, his body immediately reacting to your words and holding himself completely statuesque. At that momentary pause, his body screamed at him to begin moving once more; a growl releasing itself from within his chest and verbally chastising himself.

“Darling, please. Please,” he begged, thrusting upwards his hips into his hands, “Please ride me. I need you.. -nghh-…, please, I…-hhah-…p-promise I’ll be good. Please.”

You sighed, closing your eyes and feeling the waves of his heated desperation falling off him and coating the room with the perfume of his musky arousal. You stood, facing away from him and removed your pants, pooling them onto the floor to entangle with his bedsheets and pillows he flung carelessly off his bed earlier. Shimmying out of your underwear, you kicked them off to the side, your walls already coated with a shameful amount of arousal at the sight of your desperate friend as he pumped his cock in front of you.

Keeping your eyes closed, you turned around to face him again while bashfully tugging down the length of your shirt to shield your arousal from him. You coyly knelt atop the mattress, avoiding his desperate gaze as he took in every moment of your descent towards him. He continued to fist at his cock at a bruising pace, the heavy slaps falling like punches down his shaft to hit at his groin painfully heavy as he cried out for you one last time.

“I’m s-sorry. I’m…a-aahh-…I’m so, so sorry,” his apologies were flung into the air with a mixture of your name and a variety of creative pet-names. You reached down and collected his unused hand, lacing your fingertips within his slowly and carefully.

“It’s okay, Sanji. If you could just-,” you crawled onto his lap and hovered over his rapidly beating hand tugging his aching cock, “-stop for a moment, and I’ll-…” you reached down and tugged away his hand from gripping his cock in the firm vice-clench of his hand. He whimpered and began gyrating into the air at the absence of stimulation, his tongue darting out to dampen his bottom lip with a fresh coat of saliva.

You placed his hand on your hip and released it from your grasp, reaching down to pull back the skin of his shaft and steady yourself as you made a slow descent to impale yourself atop his throbbing cock. His shiny red tip brushed against your glistening folds, prompting him to let out a feral scream at the contact. Your eyes snapped open, searching his face for any harm or pain, only finding a warm blush dusting his cheeks, his jaw slack and a trail of saliva connecting his upper and lower teeth. You furrowed your brows, hardening in your resolve and sunk the tip of his cock into your core. Another scream erupted from Sanji, his whimpers falling away to become feral growls and ferocious snarls.

“Sanji,” you moaned, the tip beginning to stretch your core as you adjusted to his size. His eyes snapped open as he gazed at your face. Although his vision was blurry and exhaustion was overcoming him from edging his body, he was desperately pleading with himself to be present for this moment. A moment he truly never foresaw ever completing on his own. Although still clad in your t-shirt, your torso hidden from him as you sunk down onto his aching cock, he had never seen something so beautiful. His eyes filled with glassy, fresh tears of relief as you continued slowly coaxing his cock into you.

He unlaced his hand with yours, bringing it to meet the other side of your hip as you descended down onto his cock; fluttering as you adjusted to his size. As you nearly took in his entire length, he mustered all of the strength remaining in his body and sat with you fully sheathed on his lap. His balls were sucked into his stomach with the pressure of his release, the new angle immediately hitting the sensitive underside of your clit with his curved cock with his soft pubic hair tickling against your clit.

In that one swift motion of you taking in his entire length, he was immediately a trembling mess; whining sweet praises at you while physically shaking in his shoulders while desperately clawing at your ass.

He was cumming. Instantly.

Ribbons of his pent up release coating your inner walls with the slickened backsplash of his cum. Twitching, lightly rocking with his entire length disappearing within your walls, he held you so tightly as if you were the only thing tethering him to this world. He pressed his forehead against your shoulder, sobbing onto your shirt with tears dampening the material below his closed eyes.

“I-I’m cumming. I’m cumming. O-Oh f-fuck… -nghhh-… I-I… -hh-hahh-… I’m s-sorry. I-I’m c-cumming,” he cried against you, his shoulders shaking with his sobs. 

“It’s okay, shh,” you drew your hands to the back of his hair, soothing over the sweat covered, matted locks, “sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re loved. It’s truly okay.” You pressed a small kiss to his temple while he slowly rocked you within his lap, his cum continuing to shoot up into you and dance with your own glistening arousal. Although you had not experienced a release, you could empathetically feel his satisfaction as he was finally able to climax through whatever seemed to hold him incapable of doing so. 

Waves of exhaustion fell from him, his rocking halting as the last few beads spilled over and into your body, your arousal satisfying his unquenchable thirst and smothering the flames of his wild, burning panic. He sighed into you, releasing your hips from his grip and circling his left hand around your hips and hooking his right hand up the middle of your back to cradle you against himself. A small shudder of his shoulders followed by a low rumbly, laugh of relief had you finally able to relax, knowing your chef was finally himself again. You giggled, lacing your arms over his shoulders and whispering down against his temple.

“Are you okay down there?” you giggled as you checked in with him, prompting another laugh to erupt from his parted lips at your question. He slowly moved his forehead away from the crook of your shoulder and neck, placing a small kiss against your neck before looking up at you.

“Hi,” he whispered to you, a coy smile rising to his lips as his eyes finally met yours. 

“Hi,” you smiled back in return. He placed his forehead up against your own, brushing your nose with his. His eyes creased upwards, his relief falling over him in waves as you traced circles atop his shoulders. He slowly snuck a glance down at the point where your two bodies connected, noticing his slowly dissipating harness was still buried within you. He sighed out a content breath before seeking your gaze out once more. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?” Sanji huffed a small laugh, “I’ll return the favor, then I’ll cook you something. That sound okay?” You laughed at his suggestion, nodding enthusiastically and placing a small kiss on his forehead. 

“Sounds perfect, chef.”

#one piece #opla #opla fic #one piece live action #x reader #sanji x reader #sanji smut #one piece smut #sanji vinsmoke #one piece sanji #black leg sanji #sanji #blackleg sanji #sanji x reader smut #op smut

[assassinsblade]

Forget Me Not | 5

It is your turn to experience guilt and regret, while Azriel takes some time to himself.

WC: 4.4k

Warnings: TW: SA, brief mentions of suicidal thoughts/ideations!!! Please do not read if this is triggering for you. Angst, feelings, we are all sad but we are taking a turn for the better!

a/n: All of the comments and responses to Part 4 were seriously incredible. I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday tomorrow if they celebrate!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

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Azriel's shadows surrounded him before he could command them to do anything else. Darkness swallowed his vision, his chest, his heart, gods, he was dying wasn't he? Was this what dying felt like?

He felt like he couldn't breathe. Pain was searing through his chest as if a fiery sword was sticking from his ribcage, and he barely felt his knees crashing to the ground underneath him.

He didn't know where he had subconsciously winnowed to until he heard his brother's voice, filled with shock and confusion.

"Az?"

Hands were pushing his shoulders back, trying to get him to unfold from himself, to stop grasping his chest. His chest, his chest, his chest, it burned-

"Feyre, get Madja."

Azriel tried to shake his head, but he was so dizzy he couldn't tell if he made the movement or not. He vaguely heard Feyre's movements shuffle to a halt. Rhys must have stopped her at his attempt to say no.

"What happened?" Rhys questioned, voice strong despite the panic slowly making its way in.

Azriel was sobbing. He didn't know when he had started, but he knew he had broken. His own chokes and cries echoed in Rhys' office, his tears falling onto the cold marble floor beneath their knees. Pain laced across his skin from his fingernails digging into his own flesh, and he felt Rhys trying to pry the grip away.

"Kill me," Azriel sobbed. "Please, kill me. Do something, just make it stop-"

Rhys dove for his brother at the words, pulling him into a tight hug. The embrace did little to help with the overwhelming torture raging within the shadowsinger. He was going to die, he wanted to die.

He had never hated himself more, hated how it felt like his body was going to eat him alive if he took one more breath.

The constant memories shooting behind his eyes like poison: his mother mistreated by the Illyrian men while his hands burned, Mor left naked and alone in that forest with a sign punctured to her womb and him not arriving until hours into her pain, Rhys walking into a trap because he hadn’t seen it and hadn’t stopped it, Gwyn violated and tortured because he hadn’t been aware enough to spoil the plot or get there soon enough, and then you — your bloody body being carried in Cassian’s arms, clothes torn off, having been forgotten by him.

"Don't you dare say that." The male trying to keep him together spoke with such command, but the shadowsinger's pain persisted.

"I can't do this, Rhys. She-"

He couldn't stop crying, he couldn't stop hurting, he felt like he was screaming...

"Feyre," he heard Rhys call distantly. Everything was blurry, everything was awful. His head was pounding, his body was giving up on him, and then he felt delicate hands on his cheeks, a soothing feminine voice, and then nothing.

As darkness swallowed him whole, he saw only the glinting gold swimming inside his chest, reaching like a rope into darkness.

It was quiet for a bit. Safe, surrounded by nothing but shadows so much like his own, and the small golden light flickering inside of him. He would be content to stay there forever. To no longer live as the monster he’d become, to be able to pretend he was nothing, no one, just a fluid existence stretched through space. Like the embodiment of flying through the skies of Velaris, wings splayed wide and air crisp and free all around.

Unfortunately though, Azriel’s peace was short lived. Before he could truly bask in the quiet, he was being pulled out of his mind and back into the present.

Bright light hit his face, shining through the window of his bedroom at the House of Wind. His shadows immediately swarmed the opening, pulling at the curtains until he was once again draped in darkness.

He sighed and sat up, running his hands down his face. He felt overly fatigued, his entire body weighed down with guilt, self-hatred, and the words you had spoken to him.

He did let everyone he knew down. He already knew that, reminded himself of that every single day, but that didn't make it hurt any less coming from your lips.

Rhys, one of the many people he had failed, had not stopped staring at him. Azriel knew his brother was waiting for him to break the silence.

His voice sounded broken to his own ears, weak and cracking even when spoken in a low volume. “I don’t know what to say.”

He truly didn’t. What should he have said? Hey Rhys, thanks for tucking me in after I had a complete breakdown, you can leave now.

“You can start by explaining why you came to my office and begged me to kill you.”

Yeah, Rhys was not happy.

Azriel sighed, feeling his chest pinch at the memories. He wasn't happy either.

You’re no hero. You’re a joke.

Your hands are the ones hurting me.

That’s all you're good for: inflicting damage.

“Azriel.” Rhys interrupted his thoughts.

He swallowed, feeling himself tear up again. He hadn’t cried this much since Rhys went under the mountain.

“She’s my mate,” he finally spoke, voice quiet and chest cracking open at the confession.

Rhys didn’t even blink. Azriel couldn’t meet his gaze though.

“Who?”

Rhys knew who. Based on Azriel’s reaction to the information alone, he knew.

Azriel didn’t answer the question, knowing it was unnecessary. Instead, he gazed at his scarred hands resting in his lap and said, “I went to train, and she was already in there. The bond snapped before she even turned around.”

“Does she know?”

He shook his head, focusing on the sting in his arm. “She wouldn’t have missed if she did.”

He felt Rhys eyeing the slash against his bicep, already weaving itself back together. Then his friend studied the rest of Azriel's body language. The way his shoulders were curved in on himself, the way his fingers traced over the scars on his hands, the ghostly look in the male's hazel eyes despite them glistening with tears.

"What did she say?" Rhys ended up asking after his silent observations.

"Enough."

His brother didn't let Azriel brush him off though. "Whatever she said, she didn't mean it, Az."

Azriel scoffed. "Look into my mind, see how she looked at me, and then you try to tell me she didn't mean it."

"She is angry and grieving, and you are the only person available that she can blame and take it out on. Her anger," Rhys suddenly grabbed Azriel's arm, positioning it so he could nod to the reddened gash, "that anger, is because she cares. She's hurt because she loves you."

Azriel shook his arm out of his friend's grip. "It doesn't matter. I fucked up, and I can't take that back. The damage has been done, Rhys."

"I used to think that too." Violet eyes met his. "Feyre hated me, in case you forgot."

Azriel didn't budge, so Rhys continued. "I know what you're feeling right now. That it'd be alright if she hated you, as long as she's safe. But it still hurts, knowing she thinks poorly of you, and that feeling builds up. But your journey with her is not over. She is a forgiving person, you just need to give her grace while she heals. And you need to give yourself grace, because you're in a painful position too."

He nodded, letting a few tears fall. His palm automatically reached for his chest, rubbing it in an effort to soothe the ache there.

“How did you do it? How did you live with it hurting this bad? After Feyre said…”

Rhys sighed, letting out a small breathy laugh — a genuine one. “It wasn’t easy. I left for those days before Starfall, ignored her letters, sorted out my thoughts. Came to the conclusion that even if Feyre never loved me, I would always love her and I’d be happy to do so. And I have a family who I love dearly, who also loves me.”

The pointed look he gave Azriel was obvious, reminding him that his family was there and worried about him too. They had seen the way he’d turned into a shell of himself, barely sleeping in case you had a nightmare and needed him, barely eating or training, his entire reserve of energy being put into monitoring your safety and wellbeing. And he knew they cared, he really did.

Cassian had been trying to get Azriel back into the swing of training again, wanting him to express some of his heavy emotions in the ring, or at least talk to his brother while sparring and practicing. Instead, Azriel was seclusive and pulled the punches he threw the Illyrian’s way.

Rhys had given Azriel time off from his missions, delegating the work to those under the spymaster to take some weight off of Azriel’s shoulders for a bit. Azriel had at first refused but had given in when Rhys had pointed out that time and attention needed to be focused at home anyway, what with the Illyrians’ growing mistrust of Cassian, Azriel, and himself, the threat of an uprising ever present.

But now with what you had said…

“I think it’d be best if I went away for a bit.” His voice was quiet, resigned, lifeless to his own ears.

“By yourself?” Rhys asked, clearly not liking the idea.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just — I think some space from her would be good. You even said you needed that when Feyre had hurt you.”

His brother’s violet eyes softened with understanding. “You’re right. I did. But I do think this is a bit more complex. What if you went with Amren or Mor to see Jurian and Lucien? See what they have been up to for a bit? You can leave some of the work to them, but have something to distract you should you need it.”

Azriel was quiet as he considered, but Rhys cut in before he could agree too soon. “But you come back. And you come back within the month.”

Azriel nodded. “Okay,” he relented.

“Okay,” Rhys repeated. His hand clasped Azriel’s shoulder in support, giving his brother a meaningful look. “I know I sound like an asshole, but it will work out. I know it. You two are too special, in general and to each other for this not to work out.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shut out the pain that came with his brother’s words.

He swallowed, composing himself before meeting his friend’s gaze with teary eyes of his own. “Tell Mor I’ll meet her on the border in an hour.”

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

You skipped training the next night, too emotionally drained to make it out of your room. Cassian hadn't come to find you, either. Maybe he had even heard of your argument with Azriel.

Instead of going to the training ring, you tried to read your books (pushing away the reminder that Azriel had gotten them for you), took some long baths, tried to write, and listened to music.

Nothing kept your mind distracted from what you had said to Azriel, though.

The instant relief that had coursed through your veins when the anger had seeped into the air, draining from where it had hardened in your chest and allowing you to feel lighter, changed over the course of the day into something just as volatile.

You felt guilty. So, insanely guilty.

You kept remembering the look on his face when you had mentioned Mor, Rhys, Gwyn, his mother…

The way his hands clenched and fiddled with themselves when you had told him you see them hurting you in your dreams.

The tears that streaked down his cheeks silently as you just kept on coming and coming, attacking and attacking.

And he had let you. He had stood there possibly from shock, guilt, care, and just let you tear into him without any retaliation.

You had never uttered words so cruel to someone.

And you hadn’t even meant them.

Sure, you had been so angry at him. You had felt so hurt and demeaned, that you wanted to do the same to him. But did you actually blame him for what had happened to his friends? Did he hold the responsibility for the entire world in his scarred hands?

Of course not. But you knew that he thought so. And you had used that against him.

Azriel had never meant for you to get hurt. You, on the other hand, had intentionally hurt him.

Did that not make you so much worse?

You cried yourself to sleep that next night, your actions sending you into a downward spiral of shame. Despite taking the tonic Madja had provided you for sleeping, you found yourself at the mercy of your guilt, your mind tormenting you with Azriel’s hurt and your own mistakes.

If you had known this dream would have taken a turn for the worse, creating a scenario that would haunt you even more than the memories of that night, you never would have closed your eyes.

It had started the same as the others: the snow, the alleyway, the blonde-haired male licking up your neck and reaching for your middle. This time though, when you brought the dagger down into the male’s neck, a familiar choking sound echoed into your ear.

Azriel.

The same noise that had escaped his lips after your weaponized words stabbed into him.

Then his hazel eyes met yours, the snow falling from Velaris’ night sky dusting his black hair. And there was so much pain, hurt, and betrayal in his gold and green irises that you felt sick.

“No-” you panicked, reaching out for him as the bright red blood poured down his neck and over your hands.

No, no, no. Not him. How could you have done this? You were hurting him, you were killing him.

Your hands moved quickly, pushing against the wound as sobs loudly slipped past your lips. "Azriel-" you started to say.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His eyes tried to get your attention, but he was already weak, slipping through your hands and falling onto the pavement below.

When the dagger fell from his neck, you saw the charcoal-colored aggressive waves adorning the top of the hilt and nearly collapsed.

You had killed Azriel with his own weapon. The weapon he had lent to help you, you had taken and stabbed him in return. His support, his offer to make amends, his kind-hearted generosity toward you, turned around to tear into his lifeline.

You killed him.

And hurting him did not feel as good as you had imagined in that training ring, both then and now, snow falling onto his tan skin in the alleyway.

As you stared into his empty eyes, somehow still sparkling with the stars of Velaris, you couldn’t help but scream.

Waking from the nightmare was nearly as difficult as wading through it in your sleep. Your ears were ringing, throat sore, and mouth dry. You were so nauseous, your stomach gurgled as if it was warning you its contents could come up at any time.

You didn’t go to the library to read or run yourself another bath in an attempt to relax. Instead, you found yourself throwing the blankets off of yourself, still trying to catch your breath, and making your way hastily to Azriel’s door.

It seemed so similar to that first week after the assault, when you had sought out Cassian before relying on Azriel for a night. Only this time, as you stumbled through the hall, your only thought was on passing Cassian’s door and finding yourself in front of Azriel’s.

You felt so scared, so anxious, and for the first time in months it wasn’t for your own safety.

Your heart pounded in your chest as your toes padded down the cold floor. But it completely stopped when you noticed the difference in the House of Wind.

Azriel’s door, always left cracked with the light on since your first nightmare after the incident, was now closed, with nothing but black on the other side.

You nearly caved into yourself.

Who could blame him? You had been a terrible person. And despite what he had done to you, it was understandable if he never wanted to see or talk to you again.

Just the thought of him being in pain because of you behind that door…

You hesitantly stepped closer, bringing your fist up to the wood.

“I’m sorry,” he had whispered in your dream.

You knocked softly, waiting a few moments before calling out his name. When no response came, you couldn’t help the anxiety that coursed through you, bringing scared tears to your eyes.

Shaking on your toes a bit, you knocked again. Blood flashed across your mind, his lifeless eyes, his look of betrayal.

"Please," you whispered, calling out to him gently.

But you couldn't wait any longer. Your hands slowly twisted the doorknob, your mind not even thinking of the consequences of entering a spymaster's room unsolicited.

You would just see that he was alright and safe, and then you would go back to your room. Plus, his shadows would let him know you were entering, they would warn him of your presence and could push you out if need be.

At this thought, you suddenly noticed the lone shadow that had trailed you for months was no longer at your side. The darkness behind his door swallowed you whole at the realization. He was gone, done, and you along with him.

You spiraled further, pushing into the room and daring to look around.

It was empty. Darkness shaded the clean room, but there was no shadowsinger, no living presence occupying the space.

Was he on a mission? Did he leave without telling anyone?

His choking noise permeated through your mind again, and you found yourself becoming dizzy with panic and anxiety, the guilt and regret spreading so far into your gut you were sure it was physically damaging you.

Stumbling over to his bed, you collapsed onto it, first sitting before bringing your knees up to your chest and allowing yourself to seek out his warmth and scent in the duvet and sheets. He was okay, you told yourself. He was always okay.

But the lack of your shadow friend spoke volumes. He was done with you. Done trying to prove himself, done trying to be your friend. And it hurt just as bad now when he actively decided to leave you compared to when he did it unintentionally.

Because despite it all, you did love him. You had just become so hurt and destructive that you ruined yourself further in the process, striking out at him as collateral.

You buried yourself deeper into his covers, not even caring when your tears soaked into his pillow. And maybe you imagined the footsteps you heard outside Azriel’s door, the way Cassian’s door had opened and closed and a presence had hesitated outside of the shadowsinger’s room as if they were listening and contemplating.

You surely imagined Azriel coming home and allowing you to speak with him, and in these hopes you understood how he felt this whole time. The silence, the darkness, the guilt and self-hatred. And the never-ending fear that you had done something you could never repair. That you weren’t good enough or redeemable enough to repair.

The last image that crossed through your mind before your swollen eyes succumbed to sleep was Azriel’s face when he had seen you that first day in the kitchen with Rhys. His nervous and devastated but hopeful expression.

You hated yourself.

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

In the morning, Feyre paid you a visit.

She did not comment on you leaving Azriel’s room, but the look she gave you was observant.

The conversation had started out small with her asking how you were doing, checking in on your training progress, if you had been reading anything good lately, if you had tried the meal Cassian made last night for dinner.

Then it was silent, and she hesitated before steeling herself like the High Lady she was.

“Azriel left the other night. Whatever you had said to him, whatever had happened two nights ago, I’m not sure he deserved it.”

You didn’t want to ask about the state she had seen him in. You didn’t want to know how deep the damage you had dealt went, because if you pictured his hurt expression one more time, you thought you might actually shatter.

You stared down at your hands in disappointment and shame, gritting your teeth to stop yourself from crying. You weren’t the victim this time around; you didn’t deserve to cry. And your eyes hurt so bad from crying so much.

“I think you two should talk. Your relationship has become so destructive I’m not sure either of you will come out at the end. Talk.” She demanded, her voice firm.

You nodded in agreement, swallowing the lump in your throat down before asking what you had been wondering since last night. “Where did he go?”

“To the mortal lands with Mor. He needed some time.”

Of course. Of course he needed time, and you would give him that. But you needed him to know that you were at least sorry, because you had no idea when he would be ready to return.

“If I were to give you a letter for him, would you make sure he receives it?”

Feyre sighed, thinking about the consequences of the action, before finally softening and nodding. She understood the need to reach out after such an incident, and you noticed her eyes flicker as she doubtlessly thought back to when Rhys left for a bit before Starfall and ignored her own letters.

“Sure. But you must be kind.”

You nodded again, that pang of disappointment and shame flaring to life again in your chest, and you thought of all the things you needed and wanted to say to Azriel.

But when you actually went to put pen to paper later that night, you found yourself second-guessing everything.

You had gone too far in punishing him — for something he was not even completely to blame for — and he probably didn’t want to hear from you. You should let him breathe, give him time to think and unwind without your existence constantly ruining him.

But then you thought of him standing in the training ring, hurt, crying, alone, and your hands were moving.

Azriel, you started the letter. I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but I think I would regret not sending this to you, not telling you everything you deserve to hear. And I don’t want to regret anything else.

First, I need to apologize. Profusely. You don’t need to forgive me or give me another second of your time, but I am begging you to know and understand that I did not mean a word I said the other night. I could name a thousand reasons why the words went past my lips, but they will never unspeak them. I will forever regret that night, more than any other night in my life.

Please know that even in the times when I am carried away by anger, when I am less than human, less than any of you deserve, I have always admired you. Sometimes I think that made the anger worse, twining together with the care I have for you until it became some kind of warped emotional weapon.

I do think you are a hero. And redeemable and brave and a savior. And I’m sorry for ever trying to put in your mind that you are anything but. You have saved me more times than I could mention in the size of this letter, just in the time I have known you. Please know that.

I have no right to ask, not after everything we have gone through the last few months, but when you are ready, I would really like to sit down and speak with you. About everything.

Maybe we can find a way forward. Or at least a way to exist together without any pain.

You don’t need to respond. I will be here, and I can wait as you’ve waited for me to be ready to talk.

Be safe. If not for me then for yourself and your family.

Then you stopped. Because how were you supposed to sign this off? You pictured his frown at reading the letter, at your words he no longer trusted or felt warmth from. You hated that frown, the sadness you had seen from him so much as of late.

In the meantime, you wrote, I will read the books you left me, continue to purchase those tart pastries from near the Rainbow, and find comfort in your bedroom light remaining on, if not just to remind me of your kindness.

I appreciate your help, even when you are not near. And then you signed your name.

You would wait for his response (or lack of) and for his return. And then you would have the chance to talk. You would be able to hear his own thoughts, emotions, apologies, and curses before letting out your own.

Strength was what you needed until then. The strength to self-reflect on the blame you had placed on him, the words you had thrown around so carelessly. Strength that would get you through the oncoming storm, the marching warriors coming for Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys. The Illyrians wishing to overthrow the high lord and his enforcers, coming to take them down in any way they could.

Their marching was coming, the stomps matching the pounding in your chest.

You’d be strong, and you would wait for him to return. You would hold your ground, dagger at your side and heart hesitantly ready to be displayed.

And maybe, if all went in your favor, you two could finally have that talk.

#acotar x reader #azriel angst #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fic

[meiieiri]

𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐥’𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 [toji fushiguro]

synopsis: after the two brats from tokyo jujutsu tech took the star plasma vessel, toji momentarily sets his eyes on an uncompensated target, you.

warnings. dark explicit sex. voyeurism. dumbification. size kink. overstimulation. unprotected sex.

a/n: help i’m writing this in the lab while waiting for my reflux setup to finish its shit. also my lab coworker just passed by me and i deadass had to cross my legs FUCK why am i so filthy

toji watched from the cctv cameras in the apartment, licking his lips when he sees someone who didn’t quite show up on the briefing sheet shu gave him. he couldn’t help it and he was alone right now, his handler had to take a call. shit, school uniforms are always so short and skimpy these days. his veiny hand finds his stiff throbbing cock, his thumb pressing against the angry tip coating it with his thick cum as the woman on the laptop casually sweeps the mess of the apartment, your cute little butt on full display as you bend over to pick something up from the ground.

and that’s what led to this — shu wondering where toji took the fucking van and him splitting you open on his cock with his head thrown back as you clench around him. “w-wait—“

“i waited the entire day, baby,” toji smirks as you squirm underneath him, your expression pained, he hasn’t even bottomed out yet, and you ‘re already on the verge of tears, gasping and clawing at his back as he slowly inches in as you adjust to his girth before slowly pulling back out only to inch back in a little further again. he stops when he is barely halfway sheathed into your pussy, his hips stuttering when he feels just how tight you are, he’s had women before – loads of ‘em, he spends his hard-earned cash on typical prostitutes but none could ever compare to virgin-tight naive little school girls like you.

toji, the man assigned to hunt down your sister or so he haughtily said when he barged into your apartment this afternoon, is just so big, you could tell just from how he towered over you earlier, his hardened cock bulging through his grey sweatpants as he tells you to be quiet and just let him fondle your dripping cunt.

“w-won’t fit toji,” you whimpered helplessly, “y-you’re too big.”

“maybe if you stopped squeezing my damn cock it won’t hurt so much.”

toji wants to give in to the primal urge to just slam into you, impale you on his cock as he drills into your virgin-tight pussy, but he seems to be enjoying this little back and forth between you two — every time he sinks deeper into your soaking wet cunt, you instinctively try to move away for a bit, shying away from the discomfort, as if you didn’t want this when this rugged-looking mercenary politely asked if you could be his cocksleeve for today.

“c’mon, all you do is whine but you really just want me to stuff you full with my cum,” he tangles his fingers in your hair, angling his thrusts so that he could see the outline of his stiff cock on the skin of your lower midriff. he groans when your fingernails drag across his back when he picks up his already animalistic pace. “see that? hah, you’re practically sucking me in.”

you shake your head at his lewd words, fat tears streaming down your cheeks as he practically uses your body, holding you by the hips, slamming you down on his thick cock, his eyes intently watching the way his cock sinfully disappears into your hole with every sharp thrust. “to-oji! agh – s-slow down-n! y-you’ll break me—!” you whined pathetically, your hands finding his shoulders as you try to get him to slow down.

he crashes his lips onto yours, your forehead resting under his chin, relishing in the way you beg for him to slow down which somehow makes his already hardened member twitch in excitement. he always loves it when he’s a bitch’s first real fuck, unlike those stupid teenage boys that take more pleasure in having a woman do all the work.

“g-good,” he rasps, grunting into your ear as he begins to feel the familiar feeling of your walls spasming around his cock. “fuck yea — take my cock, good girl–“ he frenziedly jostles into you, admiring the way you moaned, the way your breasts bounced with every sharp movement, the way your head lolled from side to side as you fought your impending orgasm.

you sob, your toes curling, your back arching off from the bed, utterly vulnerable to your release. “not inside, p-please, n-not inside ngh— f-fuck, toji! ‘m there, ‘m cumming!”

toji tuts at your plea. “s-stupid girl,” he groans at your spasming body, his heavy balls tightening as he feels the first waves of his release. “agh,” he follows soon after you, groaning as thick ropes of his cum paint your walls, forever reminding you of the sickening fact that you just fucked your little sister’s assassin. toji languidly thrusts two more times, sloppily wiping your tears away, finally slowing down just as you begged, pushing his cum deeper into you, as he grunts into the crook of your neck, his cock twitching as it unloads the last of his release.

“y-you came inside,” you whimpered as toji rests on your dainty frame, still not pulling out.

the older man scoffs, kissing your collarbone. “shh, just take a pill later,” he hushes you and you don’t know why but he reminds you of the most charming of demons — wait but that’s because he is. nothing could be heard in the room other than your and Toji’s breathless pants. “but don’t think this changes anything.” he says after a while and you look up at him sleepily. “i still have to kill your sister.”

“but toji—“ your bottom lip quivers and you shiver when he plants a cold kiss between your brows, his scarred lip curling up into a sickening smile.

“—don’t worry, i’ll make it quick, as quick as i made you cum, that is.”

#toji zenin #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #jujutsu toji #toji x reader #toji smut #toji x you #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x y/n #dilf toji #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader smut #toji x y/n smut #toji x you smut #toji zenin x reader #toji zenin x reader smut #toji zenin smut #toji zenin x y/n smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader angst #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk #jjk drabbles #jjk headcanons

[bookshelf-dust]

i was made to love you

billy hargrove x fem!reader

gif by @suledins

word count: 1,879

warnings: teeny bit of swearing (i think?), reader has some bad experience with romantic things/insecurities/trust issues, anxious habits (lip picking), anxiety/slight panicking, otherwise quite soft and comforting

a/n: well, hello! i haven’t written for billy since october (gasp), but i’m happy to say that i finally got some inspiration for him again and i am pretty pleased with how this turned out. that inspiration was courtesy of a few prompt lists i found! the first being from this list by @euthymiaaa and the second from this list by @creativepromptsforwriting !! both of those were extremely helpful in getting me back in the groove of things. please check those blogs out!! anyway, i hope you will find some comfort in this and that you’ll enjoy. happy reading!!! <333

————

“What’s the matter with you?”

Billy isn’t being mean when he asks you this. His tone isn’t cruel, but instead there’s a lilt to his voice, an almost desperate one. 

He’s asking you to talk to him. The way you’ve been standoffish towards him all day is freaking him out. Your lip is raw from how aggressively you’ve chewed at it, since you’d rather do that than voice your feelings.

But he can’t take seeing you act this way.

“Come on. The windows are gonna start rattling with how you’re bouncin’ your leg, babe.”

You stop on instinct, red-stained fingernails moving back to your bottom lip. 

“Nothing’s wrong, Billy. Just having a bad day.”

But that’s not totally true. Your day had been mundane at best. This feeling, your acting this way, had started when he’d shown up this morning, unannounced, with flowers in his hand. For you. 

Something inside you broke upon seeing him there, knowing he’d spent money on you, knowing that for some reason he was thinking about you. You can’t understand it.

Billy gets up from his place on the couch. His socked feet move across the carpet until he’s sitting down on the coffee table in front of you. His hand grips your knee. You can’t avoid him this way, and it frustrates you even more, because why is it your attention that he wants? 

“I know you better by now than to believe that,” he says firmly.

You can’t handle this. You sit up further on the couch and criss cross your legs so they’re out of his reach. You try not to notice the flash of pain across his face. You’re retreating from him and he doesn’t like it. 

“Why are you doing this, Billy?”

He blinks. “Doing what?”

“Bringing me flowers. Thinking about me. Wanting to spend time with me. Touching me, calling me those names. Why do you do all of that to me?” Your voice breaks over that last word and you exhale, hard. 

Billy’s eyebrows knit together. “Why wouldn’t I?”

You stare at him like he’s suddenly grown a third eye. Like it should be obvious to him why doing all of these things is wrong.

You lift your hand and rub at your chest. “Because I’m me.”

Billy lets out a huff of a laugh, looking over his shoulder like there must be some hidden camera in the room. “Yeah, and?”

Your eyes water. “Can’t you see all that’s wrong with me? There’s so many other girls you could be spending time with. So many you could love or pamper. We’re not even together and you-you’re treating me like I’m special.”

You stand up, now short of breath. Billy stands with you. You keep rubbing your chest. You slip a hand under your sweatshirt and squeeze the soft of your side, leaving fingernail imprints in your skin.

He moves quickly across the floor, recognizing that you’re starting to panic. He takes your hand in his, but keeps your clasped fingers pressed against your chest, just under your collarbones.

“You are special. To me, you’re the only girl in the world,” Billy says. But you’re not looking at him. Your eyes are glued to some spot behind his head. He presses his thumb to your jaw. “Hey. Look at me.” Your eyes find his and he follows a tear as it makes its way down your cheek. “You’re the only girl in the world.”

Your eyes flutter shut and you pull away from him. 

“Th-this doesn’t make sense. I’m not the kind of girl that receives flowers or gets loved on or gets chosen. You’re my favorite person in the world, Billy, but I can’t possibly be what you want.”

He maintains eye contact with you, trying to understand why you’re behaving this way. Why you don’t believe his motives behind treating you the way he does. Like a princess.

You continue on, starting to pace. “My default is being a nervous wreck, Billy. I hate leaving the house, I don’t have any prospects, I’m not exciting…and I don’t have anything t-to offer you.”

And then it clicks.

Everything comes rushing into Billy’s mind, and he understands now, why you’re so confused, why you’re so afraid of the fact that he’s choosing you.

You’ve never had someone treat you this way. The last guy you talked to, the only guy you’ve talked to, wanted you first. But then you realized he wanted to talk when he needed something. You got attached and he took advantage of that. He dangled everything you’d ever wanted right in front of your face and then took it all away.

And now you’re trying to figure out why someone would want you.

The next words to leave your mouth snap Billy out of his stupor.

“I don’t deserve you.” 

Billy swipes a hand down his face, fingers traveling to the back of his neck where he tugs at his hair to keep himself composed. Nothing is more frustrating than having the best girl he’s ever known in front of him and she can’t even see a shred of the value she has. How good she is. 

He sighs. “If you think I am going to validate your pessimistic thoughts, then you’re wrong.”

You stop moving and slowly step back towards the couch. Your hands reach out for the cushions first, like you need to steady yourself or you won’t be able to sit properly. 

This is the part where he’s supposed to leave. To lash out at you and say you’re too anxious, too worried. Thinking about the way those words have been said to you in the past makes you nauseous and your fingers rub at your stomach. 

Billy tracks the motion and sits back down on the coffee table like he had been before. You’re trying to wrap your head around this. 

You’d felt desired for a short time before Billy, and you’d felt special, having been treated like you were. But those features weren’t because of you and who you are, but because it guaranteed you’d be giving attention to someone else. Someone who fed off of that and needed it to feel satisfied. It was never because he really wanted you.

But now Billy does. 

“I’m sorry, Billy. I want to be able to accept that you’re doing all of these things because your intentions are pure and because you actually like me, it’s just that my mind—it can’t comprehend that just yet.”

Billy takes your face in his hands. They’re warm and calloused and big, and your eyes fill just from the feeling. 

“Don’t apologize to me. I understand where you’re comin’ from. But in all honestly, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I bring you flowers and ask to take you out and buy you books and stay the night because I want you. I’ve never wanted to do any of that with someone before. I’m not doing it for my gain. But because you…you are worth all of that. I want to make you happy. You understand me?”

You blink, and Billy’s thumb swipes the tear away before it travels down your face. You start to nod.

“I understand. Can you just…” You lock eyes with him. “Be patient with me? I’m gonna have to learn how not to be afraid o-of this and I know it’ll be hard.”

Billy knows your emphasis on “this” means a potential relationship with him. One beyond the slightly-more-than-friends thing you’ve got going on now. If he’s honest with himself, the prospect of that scares the shit out of him too, because he’s never really done this officially either. He’s always been a hookup kind of guy. The few girlfriends he had never lasted long or had some lasting emotional connection. But he knows your life hasn’t been that way. You’re afraid for different reasons. Because you think he’ll slip away and that you’ll really be the version of yourself that you see on a daily basis. 

“Of course I can. I wouldn’t just give up on you because you’re kinda fucked up. That’d be pretty hypocritical, don’t you think?”

The corners of Billy’s mouth twitch. You blink at him, winded at his attempt to make you laugh. 

He chuckles to himself, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. The gesture steals the breath from your lungs but makes you warm all over. You grab hold of his wrist where it still lingers near your face. Billy is drawing shapes on your shoulder. 

He relaxes his arm and lets you take his hand in your own. You drag your index finger along the lines crossing his palm in every direction.This is more entertaining than anything you’ve done in weeks. Your hand slides up against Billy’s until they’re lined up at the heels, and you push against him in an effort to convey that you want to raise them. 

Billy catches on. You’re trying to compare his hand to your own. He thinks it’s a silent way for you to communicate with him. Like your way of saying: I want this too. I care about you. You matter to me. 

His palm is so warm. Just like the rest of him. And his hand is much bigger than yours, enough so that you hold back a shiver. You want to be able to show Billy that you feel how he does. You want to be able to use those gestures as effortlessly as he does. 

So you lower your fingers until they fall between each of his. And then you’re holding hands. You give Billy a little grin, and he swears he could fucking melt. Seriously, the way you make him feel ought to be studied. 

To him, spending time with you, comforting you, talking to you about the hard things, learning who you are—it’s as easy as breathing. 

It’s like he was made for this. Everything up to this point has prepared him for you. He thinks that somehow, someway, he would’ve found you no matter the situation. You have always been it for him, even when he didn’t know it yet.

You take a deep breath.

I deserve this, you think. I deserve to be cherished and to hold hands. I deserve to let go and see this through.

“Maybe…maybe together we can learn to be a little less fucked up,” you finally say. “I could be easier that way.”

Billy squeezes your hand. “And maybe we’ll get more fucked up in our own special ways.”

That gets a quiet giggle out of you. Shit, he’s won the lottery. 

After a moment of peaceful silence, Billy leans forward, dipping his head down so he’s looking up into your eyes. His own are so very blue this close. With those little flecks of gold. 

“You deserve the world. I need you to know that. I don’t want anyone else. I want to learn you, inside and out. I want you with me. Is that okay with you?”

You look at him, at the way his curls frizz out by his ears, the way his freckles have faded because of the cold, the way his hand shakes when it leaves yours.

“That’s okay. More than okay.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!

#savannah’s fics #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x fem!reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x female reader #billy hargove imagine #billy hargrove comfort #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fluff

[monarchberrysblog]

Giving miguel backscratches. Idk saw requests open and i just had to. Theres a spot he just cant reach. Also miguel giving backscratches sounds awesome, dudes got killer nails. Tho maybe his nails would hurt idk

𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔰

Miguel O’Hara x GN! Reader

Summary: Your man loves some good back scratches.

Content Warning ⚠️: none lmao

Word Count: 837 words 😋

Author’s Note: Yes. I would DIE to give this man back stretched and for his talons to tear at my flesh and—

This isn't proofread, and mostly wrote this having the reader no pronouns and gender-neutral terms (if there are any)

To my readers who love their baby girls (men who have emotional trauma and baggage), this is for you 💌

The gentle pitter-patter of the cool rainwater created a soft, soothing melody that danced against the glass window. Its rhythmic beat was reminiscent of the delicate tapping of fingertips on a hollow, wooden desk, providing a sense of calm that embraced anyone in its embrace—a three-wick candle flickers from nearby, creating a cozy ambiance. The cozy smell of clean linen immediately filled the space while in a queen-sized bed, someone squirmed underneath the soft blankets and shoved some throw pillows away from them.

Slowly emerging from the sherpa blankets surrounding you, a big yawn escaped before you rubbed your eyes and looked around your room. It was the same old, same old—the cozy blankets and pillows, with a couple of plushies accompanying your bed.

Sighing in defeat, you tucked yourself back into the blankets and looked at the flickering candle. “When is he coming home…?”

The colorful hues of tangy orange, yellow, and red filled the space immediately.

As you lay in bed, lost in your thoughts, a deep sigh echoes through the silent room, drawing your attention. Slowly raising your head from under the covers, you glimpse Miguel's entrance. His tired yet friendly eyes meet yours, and a faint smile spreads across his lips, revealing a sense of relief upon seeing you awake.

“Hola…” He sighed, slowly making his way to your dresser, and dug around for his sweats that he always left behind. You let out another yawn before nodding your head.

The tangy colors that filled the room vanished as you looked over to see Miguel in his Spiderman suit still and slipped into his sweatpants. “Lyla, turn off the suit.” The unbodied AI responded quickly as his suit was deactivated immediately.

Miguel flopped onto your bed with a suddenness that startled you. The impact of his body caused a few of the plushies and decorative pillows to tumble to the floor while you bounced slightly from the force of his literal collapse onto the bed. “Hey,” You cooed to him before you placed your hand on his back, feeling his taut muscles underneath the pads of your fingers. A simple grunt from your partner was a good indicator that the man had a long day and wanted nothing to do but sleep and relax.

“Can you move your hand upwards?” Miguel grumbles to you, face-planted onto your pillows. Slowly, you moved your hand up and massaged the taut muscle. “No, cariño. Don't massage it. Can you scratch that spot?” You hummed to him in response and lightly scratched at the irritated spot. “How is that?” You whispered to him. He only grumbled in response, causing you to chuckle.

If Miguel wanted to, he could sleep through a tornado if he wanted to. The inconsistent sleep schedules were always a concern; however, the man managed to get seven hours of sleep per day, surprisingly. It was at an unhealthy consistency, but this was the first time in two weeks you had seen him on your bed, collapsed on top of plushies and pillows.

Miguel let out a contented sigh as your fingernails scratched his muscles, leaving an invigorating sensation in their wake. "Yes, thank you, cariño," he murmured, his voice low and sultry. He could feel his body responding to your touch, the muscles twitching beneath your fingertips. "Add a bit more force," he groaned, his voice muffled by the fox plushie he held tightly in his embrace.

You complied with his request, scratching a bit more aggressively, your fingernails kneading his flesh expertly. He let out a deep moan of pleasure, lost in the sensation. "There...move to the left, please," he pleaded, his voice thick with desire. You hummed in response, your fingers working their magic, as you inched to the left.

"A little bit more," he urged, his voice growing more urgent. You complied, your fingers dancing across his skin, sending shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath, completely lost in the moment.

"Alright, that's enough," he breathed out heavily. You instinctively hummed in acknowledgment before gently massaging the reddened and irritated area, which offered him a sense of relief. "How are we doing?" You turned to face Miguel, draping the soft and cozy blanket over him to provide some much-needed warmth.

As his hand moved towards your thigh, you could feel your heart racing with anticipation. You felt a firm grip on the soft muscle of your thigh, his nails digging into your supple and warm flesh. You couldn't help but let out a chuckle as you placed your hand on top of his, letting him know that he should be careful. The tips of his talons lightly punctured your thighs, with the talon in his thumb lightly drawing a puncture wound, drawing a trickle of blood. “Easy there…” You cooed to him, rubbing your thumb against his knuckles. The talons on the pads of his thumb retracted like a cat, and immediately felt his calloused touch.

“Everything is great now that I'm here…”

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #across the spiderverse #miguel x y/n #miguel x you #miguel fanfic #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel fluff

[lunargrapejuice]

no 'buts'

satoru gojo x fem!reader | satoru makes you watch, unable to touch him, as he jerks himself off<3

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dacryphilia, masturbation obvi, your hands are tied up with his blindfold, overstimulation/edging, lots of pet names - this man cannot shut up ever okay + lots of cum

you aren’t totally sure how you ended up like this; with your hands held together by familiar black silk still lingering with the warmth of its wearer, the hand of the strongest holding them in place so you couldn’t move them. tears clinging to your lashes when, for the umpteenth time, your husband had torn away from you just as you were about to cum around his long fingers and was now having you watch him kneeling between your legs and jerking himself off so fucking sinfully, unable to touch him or be touched in return.

well perhaps you did have an inkling as to what led to this but you didn’t think your actions deserved this kind of punishment. and it was punishment of the worst kind when satoru didn’t let you touch him. 

yes, he had caught you touching yourself in the middle of the afternoon when he was supposed to be at work but stopped by home to see you. and while he had loved to see the way your little fingers tried to imitate the deepness and thickness of his own fingers in and out of your pretty cunt, a breathless murmur of his name on your lips, he was never one to miss the opportunity to tease and punish you.

you were ever his good girl but fuck he loves when you’re bad too.

“‘toru please,” you beg, your voice shaky and adorable and you try to tug at your pinned down hands but he doesn’t budge. “need to touch you. need you inside me.”

his smirk is devilish, cerulean eyes sparkling like a sea of diamonds and sapphires in the afternoon light coming from the window as he stares down at you through a heavy lidded gaze and snowy locks. you’re clenching around nothing just from looking at him like this but it’s not enough.

“don’t think so baby,” he coos, sticky sweet and followed by a deep groan when he pumps himself harder, faster, at your words. “you only get to watch.”

you swear you could sob and when you feel the cool wetness on your burning cheeks, you think you already are. you wanted him, wanted to cum, wanted him to fill you, needed to kiss him. “but-”

“no buts sweetheart. shit-” he’s head falls back, showing you the bob of his thick throat and when you look down his muscular body glistening with sweat, you see his cock flushed and leaking in his messy hand, his pre mixing with your slick that coated his hand from the time he spent reminding you that your own fingers would never make you feel as good as his, that your pussy was made from only him to touch.

he feels you weakly tug at his blindfold around your wrists, his free hand keeping them from going anywhere but this time he lets you move them, just a bit, enough for you to move so your fingers could lace together with his, giving your hand a light squeeze in time with his thrusts into the tight tunnel of his hand. 

“always so needy for me, aren’t you love?” he says, returning his nearly glowing gaze back to you, taking in your glistening pussy and tits with a light bounce at the way the bed moves as he fucks his hand. “can’t help yourself, can you?” he’s babbling, voice getting more and more breathless the closer he’s getting to his orgasm. “couldn’t wait for me to get home so you just had to touch yourself thinkin’ about me?”

“s-satoru,” you hiccup, your fingernails digging into his hand trying to make his hand in yours feel like enough contact but it’s not even close and you can’t help but cry at how mean he’s being. “please - please. wanna be your good girl.”

“oh yeah?” he feels his heart beating in time with his throbbing cock, your sweet pleas and fat crystalline tears nearly breaking him. “my sweet girl’s done bein’ bad? want me to touch you instead of touchin’ yourself?”

you were the only thing that could bring the strongest sorcerer crumbling to your whims and love but he was also the most annoying and stubborn man you knew, always getting his way even when he was so tempted to give in to you.

you nod desperately. “always wanna be your good girl ‘toru. i p-promise-”

“fuck angel-”

then you’re crying out, feeling the tip of his cock parting your sensitive folds, catching on your clit, throbbing and heated, thick cum drenching your pussy as he continues to pump his cock in slow motions, moving up and down your aching sex. never where you needed him the most but after building you and leaving unable to feel him, the slightest touch would have broken you like delicate glass. 

still making an absolute mess of you, satoru finally kisses you, leaning down to crash your lips together, claiming and heated, muffling your whimpers and his groans with deep, wet, kisses. 

you’re so lost in the overwhelming feeling of him that you don’t notice right away that he’s let go of your bound hands until you feel his fingers whipped away your tears, his other hand, drenched in both of your fluids and pulling away from his still hard cock with a lewd sound, finds your clit to rub in slow circle that soothes your cries and makes has you bucking your hips into his hand.

“just a little more sweetheart,” he murmurs against your lips and you can feel the smirk tugging at his own through the kisses you continue to share. “promise i’ll let you cum soon.”

♡♡♡♡♡

comments & reblogs would be so greatly appreciated!<3 thank you for reading ♡

main masterlist

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojou #satoru #🌙moonlight.stories

[angelshadowsinger]

Too Late (Priorities 2)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Azriel x f!reader 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k 𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐲: angst

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲:

Azriel hurries back from his mission to find you’re gone. (sequel to Priorities)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞:

hiii guys! i originally intended on leaving Priorities an open-ended angst, but! y'all demanded part 2, so here it is~ just so you know, this is not happy. if i make a part 3, that might be! also, sorry this is a bit late. this last week was crazy busy and next week probably will be too. TW: very brief mention of vomit

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

ɴᴏᴛɪᴄᴇ: ʙʏ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴏɪɴᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴇʀᴛɪꜰʏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴏᴠᴇʀ 18 ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪɴᴏʀ. ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴ ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴅɪꜱᴄʀᴇᴛɪᴏɴ.

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

The wind howled as Azriel pelted through the sky, his raw cheeks stinging from its relentless barrage. Scarred fists were clenched so hard the imprint of his fingernails marred his palms, jaw set as he grit his teeth and powered through exhaustion. 

You were right. 

The mission that Rhys had sent him on was nothing but a menial task. Any of the lower members of Azriel’s investigation force could have done the job the same as him. But ultimately, it was only himself he had to blame; even if his brother had given him the task, he had failed to pass it on to his espionage underlings. Delegation was perhaps one of his weakest skills— even after all these years he felt he had to earn his worth within his family. 

Thankfully, he was already on his way home the evening after leaving, the ordeal taking not even a full day. And he was flying full-speed in order to get back to you as fast as he could. 

His stomach had been in knots ever since he winnowed from his room at the Town House, where he had left you alone with your tears. The sound of your sobs echoed in his head, and he bit the inside of his cheek as he recalled your pleas for him to stay. 

He should’ve listened— This mission was the last nail in the coffin he had been slowly building every time his brother had summoned him away from you, calling him to duty with barely any time to rest between requests, barely any time to hold you in his arms. 

Gods, he missed you. Every time he had to leave you was like pulling teeth, his body and his shadows always begging to stay by your side, savor your kiss and your touch and your voice whispering sweet nothings in his ear. But his mind always won out. He couldn’t count how many times he had forced himself to withdraw from your ambrosial embrace, how many times he averted his sight from your melancholy gaze. If he allowed himself to linger on it, shame would begin to swirl in his guts and tighten his throat. 

The border of Velaris came into view and the shadowsinger dared to smile, stopping on a tall plain to gather a few wildflowers together. A meager peace offering, but a gift to show his remorse nonetheless. He had never returned to you empty-handed after a fight, and would not begin now.

Azriel plucked a few more stems to fluff up the bouquet, silently preparing himself for the emotional turmoil that was bound to ensue. The things he felt for you terrified him— and maybe that was partly why he would always answer Rhys’ call. Because if he stayed, and told his brother no… that would be his recognition that you had become his top priority. Perhaps it was time to make that leap, he thought, as he winnowed right into the foyer of the townhouse.

The home was eerily silent as he materialized in the dark, no candles or faelight illuminating the first floor. The sound of the clock ticking caught his attention, hazel eyes glancing at the last hour of dusk. The Illyrian frowned, straining to hear you, hoping to pick up the clank of dishes in the sink, the crisp turn of a page from a book, or even the quiet breaths of your sleeping form from the couch you usually dozed off on when you waited up for his return. But he detected not a single sound. 

Anxiety exploded in his chest, his shadows immediately surging out in every direction without needing instruction. His feet were moving before he could think, swiftly carrying him to the last place he had seen you— where he left you, falling apart and alone. 

He cursed as he hurtled up the stairs, three steps with each stride. It was times like these that he especially wished you were his mate, so that he could reach out to you and calm the ceaseless concerns that regarded your well-being every second he was apart from you. 

Rounding the corner, Azriel burst into his bedroom, eyes immediately zeroing in on the empty, made bed. Within a second, faelight lit the room. His shadows dwindled in the corners of the room, uncharacteristically mild as they slowly swirled at the floor, not reporting their findings to their master. Azriel bared his teeth at none of them in particular, but the reprimanding he was ready to bark out died in his throat as he noticed a small whirl of black lingering on the nightstand at his side of the bed. 

He came closer to inspect it, the little mass of shadow concentrated there, some spilling down the drawers at the side and joining its gloomy brethren on the ground. With a wave of his hand it dissipated. The bouquet in his grip fell to the tile with a soft whoosh. 

Your ring. 

It felt as if he had been shot, the jolt of lethal pain akin to when he had taken an arrow to the chest in Hybern. His lips parted as he examined the delicate silver band, the large, tear-shaped sapphire that once gleamed so brightly now dull against the wood. 

‘Stop wearing this the day you stop loving me,’ he had said, his arms around her as she giggled into his chest. She was giddy at his gift, kept admiring how it looked on her finger, her hand fanning out so the moonlight would catch the gem and shine. 

‘That would be never, shadowsinger,’ she had replied easily. 

He had never felt so light, so careless and content; she loved him too. She loved him, and he kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Perhaps she was. 

Azriel fell to the ground, his knees buckling and smashing onto the hard tile. He barely felt it, every fiber of him in shock as he stared at the piece of jewelry that lay on the tabletop, now at eye-level. 

He barely heard his shadows inform him that the ring was the only piece of you in the home left, that your clothes and books and even that ugly throw pillow he hated was gone from the sofa. His wings slowly dipped until they pooled into a black mass on the floor behind him, dread oozing through him as he read the words that laid on the note beneath your ring. 

I’ll never stop, even if you have.

The shadowsinger sat and stared at the ring, at those awful words. He read them again, and then he reread them, again and again. 

He had told you he loved you before he left… But you didn’t believe him. And why should you, when all he gave you as of late were empty promises? Pretty words could only satisfy temporarily, and the latest string of seemingly-endless missions was longer than ever before. 

Doubts began to fill his mind with malicious whispers, his gaze still stuck on the ring and that hideous note. They murmured the thoughts that often found him at the odd hours of the night, when he would lay with your perfect body in his arms and sleep would welcome you but evade him– that you deserved more than he could ever give you, that he was unworthy of your pure and whole love. 

The sound of droplets splattering on the ground summoned Azriel from his descent into devastation, and his eyes slowly fell to examine the tiny pools his tears had formed beside his knees. He hadn’t realized he had started crying. He gingerly raised a scarred hand to his cheek, studying the newfound wetness on his fingertips. It had been so long since he last cried, the evidence of his emotion was foreign. 

Shaky fingers plucked the ring from the nightstand, coming to hold the tiny finery in his lap. It looked so bizarre against the crude black of the leathers binding his thighs, so bright and pure that he couldn’t help but think of you. Couldn’t help but think of when he had seen you personified the same, and he himself as a mass of darkness that would bleed into your light and poison you somehow. He thought of how every time he felt that way, you had worked so hard to convince him that he deserved you and that he deserved love, that you were so happy to be the one to give it to him. More tears escaped as he now realized his failure in telling you the same. You had always been there for him, and when you had begged him for support in your time of need, he had failed you. He had run away.

And now you had erased all traces of yourself from the house Rhys had gifted him. 

The town house had become Azriel’s official residence since his brothers had coupled off, and it had once been the fortress of his solitude. That was before he had found you, and before you had gradually moved your things in… before it had become a home. And now that it was void of you once more, it had suddenly reverted back to that empty, bleak place he had learned to hate.

A lump formed in his throat at the notion that perhaps this place had slowly transformed into your own prison of isolation these last few months. That maybe you had felt this sinking, desperate feeling when you were here, in the place that was meant to be your nest of love, your safe haven. That you had told him you were drowning here, and he had simply told you to wait for him when you were already exhausted, gasping out for him with your last breath. That when he had disregarded your desperate plea, he had effectively swung the sword and severed any faith you had left in him. 

You were gone, and it was all his fault. 

He was too late.

Nausea rolled deep in his gut and he winnowed in front of the toilet just in time before the contents of his stomach surfaced. Only once his body had heaved up everything it could did he begin to sob, knuckles pale as they clenched onto porcelain, his broad form slumped on the cool tile. Shadows swarmed the bath, mirroring their master’s distress. 

Eventually the shadowsinger sat back against the nearest wall, trying to calm his ragged breath. The shadows produced the note that had been left behind, and the sight of your parting words to him nearly triggered another fit, bile rising at the back of his throat. But he paused as he read the words again, scrutinized them even though they were few and short. He sat up and analyzed the note, hazel revisiting and eating up every curve of ink.

You still loved him. 

Even after he had ignored you, neglected you, failed you… you still loved him. Was there a chance that you… still wanted him? If he could repent and swear to do better, would you take him back? If he could just talk to you, if he could get one more chance from you… he could love you. He already did love you, but if he had another shot to be with you, then he could really give you his all, he could really allow himself to love you like he had always dreamt of. He could stand up to his brother, he could tell you how his world was meaningless without you, he could cherish you– prioritize you, he could… 

Azriel frowned, a panicked hand combing through his dark hair. 

Could he do all of that?

He had never been so outright with his emotions, it felt weak to bear his heart to such a degree… But what was the alternative? A life without you? A life filled with wondering what could have been had he not been a coward that was too scared to tell you how he really felt, too scared to even try? 

If there was a time to be brave, it was now. 

He was absolutely terrified, but his resolve was steel as he took a minute to fix himself, another to grab the flowers from the ground and ensure he had your ring. And then he was off in search of you, shadows enveloping him and melting into the night.

･ ゜゜・．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･．｡ ･ ゜゜・．｡･ﾟﾟ･

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #acotar fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar angst #acotar x you #acotar x reader #azriel angst #my work #angelshadowsinger

[lesbon4t]

very good

pairing : natasha romanoff x reader

warnings : rlly heavy praise kink, spanking, punishments, degrading, lil pain kink, mommy kink, strap-on usage, mention of blood, thigh riding, choking, lil bit of hair pulling, marking, dumbification, edging.

summary : you miss one of your russian lessons and your girlfriend is mad about it (3778 words)

MINORS DNI !! THIS IS A FIC FOR MATURE AUDIENCES AND I AM VERY UNCOMFORTABLE WITH MINORS READING MY FICS !! ANY BLOG WITHOUT THEIR AGE STATED OR WITHOUT 18+ IN THEIR BIO WILL IMMEDIATELY BE BLOCKED !!

not proof read

A mixture of pleasure and pain hit you once again, you let out a yelp as another tear ran down your cheek. "Shhhh, it's alright baby, almost there," Natasha assured you. You were currently on your stomach over her thigh, you had missed one of your russian lessons hence breaking the rules put in place between you and Nat.

You held in a breath when you no longer felt her hand in contact with your stinging skin and braced for the next blow. Her hand came down harder than the previous one and the sound of it echoed through out the room. You bit your bottom lip so hard to stop yourself from screaming that it drew blood and your hands gripped onto Nat's thigh even tighter, your fingernails sank into her skin and you were sure it would leave her with marks.

You felt her hand once again soothing over the area she just spanked you, her thumb going in circles and you fell into her touch. "Very good," she said under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear, "I knew you could do it, you're such a good girl for me aren't you ?"

Her hand on your hip that held you in place moved to your scalp, she massaged it comfortingly and pulled it lightly from time to time just the way she knew you liked it, you let out a whimper and Nat chuckles, "Always so responsive..." her hand leaves your scalp, moving back to its secure place on your hips and you're already missing the way it felt in your hair.

"Just three more and we can do whatever you want for the rest of the night baby." She assured you and you let out a whine. She frowned and pinched your sore skin harshly, you jerk due to how unexpected it was but Nat’s hand around your waist kept you in place, " You know you have to finish your punishment, You broke a rule and that's on you angel." she reprimands you, "We wouldn't be here if you had went to your russian lessons like a good girl would we ?"

You nodded and felt your face turn red because she was right, if you had went to your russian lesson who knows what the both of you could be doing right now ? Instead you were over Nat’s knee getting your ass spanked till it was black and blue. You highly doubted you'd be able to walk or sit properly tomorrow. She pinched you again but lightly this time, "Words love, we've talked about this." she reminded you. "Yes," you muttered softly, you knew what she wanted you to say.

You could practically feel Nat’s eyes burning into you, she rubbed circles on your thigh and smirked, "Yes who ?" she asked. Your cheeks turned red, and the silence in the room became loud "C'mon, I know you know the answer pretty girl, go on. It's okay, it's just us." she encouraged you. "Yes mommy.", the words flew out of your mouth quickly and quietly, you buried your head into her thigh, mildly embarrassed, yet aroused. Nat smiled, it always took you some encouragement to call her that but god was it worth it at the end because she loved that title coming out of your mouth. "Good..." she praised, "Good fuckin' girl."

"Baby, I know I said that you need to finish your punishment but you've just been so good for me," her body dips and suddenly her lips are next to your ear, they brush against the shell of your ear lightly and it sent a shiver down your spine. Nat always seemed to have some sort of effect on you, every movement she made towards you had your stomach filled with butterflies and goosebumps raise on your skin. Her hand made its way up your body and her fingers ghosted where you needed her the most.

You wanted to whine but the urge to be good for her was stronger. "Been listening to me," she listed it out and her middle finger teases your core, "Been doing what i told you to do..." she muttered and her finger moves a strip up your heat, collecting your wetness. Nat brings her fingers up and smirks, "So fuckin' wet for me and I haven't even touched you properly yet, such a filthy little girl." she pops her middle finger into her mouth and stares you dead in the eye whilst doing so, she groans at your taste and you can feel yourself getting even wetter.

When she pulls her fingers out of her mouth she smiles, "Been taking your punishment so well." Nat taps your ass twice and you push yourself off her thigh to stand up, this was a familiar command from her, one of which she always used to show her authority around you. She loved having different subtle ways to show her possessiveness over you, she didn't like it to be shown too publicly but she loved it when it was subtle yet obvious enough for people to notice.

When you stood up a slight pain shot up your legs and you wince. Nat notices and she smirks, you hold onto her shoulder to properly stand and when you did she stood up too, her figure towering over yours. Her hand rose to caress your cheek, "Been such a good fuckin' girl for your mommy, haven't you ?" she asked, and you nod, "Yes mommy, always." When you used the title without hesitation, Nat smiled, "I think you deserve a reward pretty girl." She bends down slightly and her lips collide with yours, there was never a fight between the both of you when it got to taking control, Nat always got it and you were happy with that.

Her tongue swipes your bottom lip and you give her access to slip her tongue in, you can feel her grin against your lips. Her hand moves from your cheek to your chin, making your head tilt upwards, deepening the kiss whilst her spare hand travels down your body to grab your ass, smacking it . You moan into the kiss, the pleasure mixed with the pain just made you wetter. When the both of you ran out of air your lips parted, Nat started kissing your jawline and then she muttered "On the bed for me love, I want to see you on your back, I'll be right back," and pressed one more lingering kiss onto your lips before leaving the room.

You quickly made your way to the bed, removing your bra from your chest, that being the only piece of clothing that was still on you. You lay down on your back just like she told you to and you could feel your wetness dripping onto the sheets, the urge to relieve yourself of the knot in your stomach came quick. Your hands grabbed the sheets, gripping onto them tightly holding onto the little amount of self control you had, you were so close to getting a reward you weren't going to ruin it for yourself now. If any time was a good time for Nat to come back it would be now, you didn't know just how long more you could take it.

Just like she could read your mind, Nat came right back into the room, your head looked up and towards the door to see her. She was still fully clothed, her shirt and jewelry and everything stayed,  but her pants now had a noticeable bulge and you knew she was packing. Something about the way she was fully clothed whilst you were completely naked had you squeezing your thighs together. Nat almost groaned when she caught sight of you, looking so pretty and ready for her, but instead her pupils dilated and the mood changed drastically, a smirk hanging on her lips.

She walked towards where you were on the bed and her fingers touched your legs lightly. She walked towards where your head was slowly and so did her fingers, moving up your body teasingly. You took in a shaky breath and whimpered at her touch. Nat hummed in approval before bending down to catch you at eye level, "You're so pretty baby, you've been waiting so patiently for me haven't you?" she asked. You looked at her with eyes that were at the brink of tears, your needs getting to you, "Need you so bad, please." you said softly.

Nat looked at you with fake pity, "Oh love... I'm so sorry I took so long, left you here all needy for me, squirming on the bed like the filthy little girl you are." she says in a sultry way, "I'm so sorry I didn't take care of my girl." she taunted , and she started crawling onto the bed slowly until she was on top of you. Her knee was slotted in between your thighs, pressing against your core whilst her arms were on the sides of your body, trapping you below her.

You gasped when you felt her knee come into contact with your pussy. Needing any form of friction right now, you started to move your hips involuntarily, rubbing yourself all over her thigh. Nat took notice of it quickly, her arms moving to your hips to hold them in place. "But I can take care of my girl now, can't I ?" she asked with a frown, "Or do you want to do it yourself ?"

You shake your head, "No natty, no, please, no. I'll be good, I'll be so good for you, I promise, please. " you begged, you needed her, wanted her so bad. But all she did was cock her head to the side and stare at you with disappointment, "I'm not convinced." she said simply, and just as you were about to protest she continued, "But you can prove to me that you'll be good." You quickly lit with hope again, you were willing to do whatever she asked you to do.

Nat pushes herself up from the bed so she's no longer towering over you and moves to sit herself on the side of the bed. She turns to your confused self and makes a come here motion with her index finger. You get up from the bed and kneel next to where she is on the bed. "Stand up." she demanded and you quickly get off the bed to stand in front of her. Nat looks you up and down and admires your figure, biting her bottom lip, you felt like that look alone could make you cum. She then pats her thigh signalling for you to sit on it and so you did, your bare pussy atop her clothed thigh.

"Ride it." she said, and your brain paused for a second, you needed to hear what she said again. "W-What ?", you muttered. Nat rolled her eyes, "You know I don't like repeating myself baby, I said ride it." she repeated. Your face turned red and blood rushed up your cheeks. Nat almost chuckled at the sight of you, so confused, you looked adorable. Her hands made its way to your sides just above your hip, her thumb rubbed circles, "Why so shy ?" she taunted you, "You were so happy humping on mommy's knee earlier." Nat bounced her leg and your clit bumped against her flexed thigh, you let out a pornographic moan, "Or did my baby turn dumb ?" she asked, "Either you do what I tell you to do, or you're not gonna cum tonight."

You look at her with wide eyes and she raises an eyebrow, challenging you to disobey her. So you put your hands on her shoulder and start to move your hips against her thigh, your slick covering her pants, and she smirks, somehow, she always got her way with you. You try to contain the moans that threatened to spill out of your mouth, this was already embarrassing enough, getting yourself off of Nat’s thigh was humiliating.

But she grabbed your chin and turned your head so you were staring into her eyes, "Let those pretty moans out love, let me hear how good you're doing for me." Nat encouraged you and so you did as she said, moans and whimpers coming out of your mouth whilst your hips moved against the wet patch you've created on her pants.

The friction between her pants and your clit was a little painful and a little rough you had to admit but it felt so good so you moved your hips even faster, the knot in your stomach twisted even tighter, and you started to chase your high. The wet sounds you were making against her thigh echoed throughout the room, "Such filthy sounds you're making," Nat commented and her eyes were filled with a new light, "I'm starting to think you like doing this baby, not a punishment anymore is it ?"

Your hips were beginning to slow and she knew you were tired so she placed her hands on your hips guiding you against her thigh. The moans you let out increased and you could feel your release approaching, "P-please." you stuttered, "so close" you choked out, unable to say more words, too engrossed in your own pleasure. "Hold it." Nat said firmly. You threw your head back, trying your best to hold it, and Nat placed wet kisses along your neck. You squeezed your eyes shut, just as you knew you were about to come she held your hips in place, the stimulation you were getting got cut off.

You tried to move your hips, trying to gain any kind of friction, anything to make you cum, but Nat held your hips in place firmly, she chuckled at the sight of you, she loved playing with you. For once, you hated how she knew your body so well. Frustrated tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes and she caressed your cheek with one of her hands, "It's okay baby, you've done so good for me," she cooed, "Promise you, when mommy helps you it's gonna be so much better than what you would've gotten if I had allowed you to cum." and you nod, trying to do anything that would speed up the process to let you gain the satisfaction you desperately needed.

Nat stood up and carried you off her thigh, she placed you on the bed gently, "On your hands and knees pretty girl." she ordered and so you weakly got into the position she ordered you into. Whilst you got into the position, Nat took off her shirt and her full round breasts came into view.

You looked at them with your mouth agape and you heard her chuckle, "Looking at something ?" she asked. She then proceeded to take off her pants, the silicon strap on sprang out of her pants, and you gasped when you realised it was her favourite. The purple strap had a realistic feel, artificial veins were carved onto it, it was large, thick and long. She loved being able to fill you up completely and that was exactly what this strap did.

She turned back to the bed and climbed back into it, she placed herself right in front of your ass. Nat placed her hand on your waist which now had bruises and took the strap into her other hand. She teased your entrance, moving the strap up and down your slit, your wetness covered the tip, "Please mommy, please, just fuck me." you begged her, unable to take anymore teasing. "You can beg better than that." Nat shrugged, she thrusted her hips slightly and the tip of the strap entered you.

You whimper at the sensation just wishing for her to enter you fully. "Please mommy, please fuck me, I need you so bad, I'm so desperate for you, just need you to fuck me, please, I need you inside of me" you whine and Nat smiled, "Good fuckin' girl."

Then she thrust her hips fully, she didn't give you any warning. You let out a throaty yell at the unexpected action and your hands gripped the sheets tightly, you could feel the tip of the strap deep inside of you, Nat's pelvis against your stinging ass. "You're so wet I just slipped right in baby, didn't even need you to suck my cock." Nat said, both of her hands now on your waist. "You ready for me, sweetheart?" she asked, giving you time to adjust to the toy. You nodded frantically, "Yes please." you mumbled, and she smiled, "Such a polite little girl aren't you ?" Her upper body dipped to press a kiss to your cheek then she got right back up.

She started thrusting into you slowly, then building up the pace faster and faster. Each time her hips met yours, you could feel the tip of the strap hit your g-spot. You thanked the gods you finally had Nat’s full length right where you needed her, you felt so full but you still needed more, as if she could read your mind she pulled out the strap completely. Before you could ask her what she was doing, she slammed her hips right back against yours and you screamed. That movement alone could have made you cum.

"Gonna fuck you so good baby, you deserve this after waiting all day don't ya ?" she asked and you couldn't answer, your eyes rolled to the back of your head whilst Nat repeated that action of slamming into you again and again, "Gonna ruin you for everyone else, gonna make you feel me for days." Nat’s words drove you wild, the pleasure she gave you almost felt overstimulating. "Fuck..." she groaned as she drove into you at a brutal pace, each time her hips met your sore ass, it was a reminder of what she did to you earlier and a reminder that you were hers.

You wanted to respond to the filthy things she said but you couldn't, instead small murmurs of gibberish and untellable words came out, "What did you say ? Is mommy making you feel so good that you're going dumb ?" she asked, and it was true, only she could make you feel so good that your mind went dead and the words spilling out of your mouth became gibberish.

Nat’s hand reached for your neck and she pulled you up so you were on your knees, your back against her chest as she pounded into you. Her hand applied pressure against your neck, making whatever you were trying to say before unable to even come out of your throat. She attached her mouth to your neck, sucking on it and making sure that purple marks would appear on you tomorrow. "You look so pretty like this for me love, covered in my marks, me pounding into you, and all of you, completely at my mercy." She groaned as she thrusted into you even faster.

Her other hand on your waist now moved to the front, her middle finger and index finger found your clit and started circling around it, making you cry out a guttural scream, your back arched and you couldn't fathom how one woman could make you feel this way. "You wanna cum for me, sweet girl ?" Nat asked in such a sweet tone, it contrasted the way she was thrusting into you like there was no tomorrow.

You nodded and the only sound you could muster out of yourself was a small whimper and Nat immediately understood, "Cum all over my cock love, no need to hold it in," she whispered into your ear, "Been doing so good for me, go on baby." And the moment she finished what she said, your orgasm washed over you with a such a strong force, you never had one this good before. Nat continued pounding into you but with not as much force as she used before, slowly bringing you down from your high.

She carried you off the strap and layed you down on the bed, "You did so good for me I'm so proud of you love." she praised you, and she said a million different other things but your mind was too fuzzy to fully comprehend anything she said. All you knew was that you were thankful for her and every little thing she said.

Nat got off the bed and took the strap off of her before crawling back onto the bed. She pressed loving kisses up your body till she reached your face and she kissed you lightly on the lips. With you between her arms, she asked you, "You okay ?" and you nodded sleepily. "You wanna take a shower ?" she asked, and you shook your head, "Alright baby, we'll just stay here then, I'll give you a bath tomorrow, get all the rest you need right now, I know I did a number on you."

She pressed a kiss to your nose before lying down next to you. Her arms wrapped around your body and your legs tangled together between the sheets. You turned your body so you were facing her, you could feel each others breath on your skin and Nat said softly, "I love you," she kissed you lovingly all over your face, you giggled at the ticklish sensation before moving yourself so you were in a slightly more comfortable position.

Your head rested atop Nat's chest whilst her head rested on yours, her hands soothed your body comfortingly. She pressed a kiss to the top of your head every once in awhile with a small mumble of "I love you so much." and "You're the love of my life." You closed your eyes and almost immediately fell to sleep wrapped around Nat’s comforting frame.

She moved your hair to the side so she could kiss you again on your forehead and smiled at how pretty you looked as you slept. Slowly, Nat also closed her eyes and she fell asleep to the sound of your breath and her arms around your body.

a/n : hope y’all enjoyed this, it was super fun to write and my second fic on here :D likes, replies and reposts are appreciated mwahhhh 🫂🫂

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #natasha x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #dom!natasha romanoff #smut #natasha romanoff smut #black widow smut #mcu #marvel fanfic #gxg #lesbian #lesbian smut #wlw #natasha romanoff fanfiction #sub!reader #nat is a bit of an asshole :(

[frudoo]

Hubby Gaz pampering his baby mama <3

Warnings: Pregnancy, fem!reader, mildly sassy Kyle lol

Fluff ahead 🤍

“Love, just let me do this for you,” Kyle sighs, brushing the wispy strands of hair out of your face.

You shake your head, lips pouty and tears threatening to spill. You were laying on the couch, attempting to put some pretty polish on your toenails despite being any day from giving birth. Your excuse? To make a good first impression on the baby. Kyle didn’t dare argue with your logic, but he’d be damned if he let you put more unnecessary strain on yourself.

“I can do it myself,” you insist, trying to contort your heavily pregnant body in a way that allows you to reach your toes.

Unsurprisingly, you can’t do it, and another frustrated sob escapes your throat. Kyle just places a second pillow under your head to get you comfy, taking his seat at the opposite end of the sofa and plopping your calves onto his lap. He massages your sore feet for a while, grinning at the content sniffle you let out.

“Gonna let me take care of you, now?” He questions with an amused hum, gently rubbing his way up to your swollen ankles.

You huff in response but nod anyway, fidgety hands finally taking rest on the curve of your belly. The baby inside rewards your touch with a strong kick to your palm, and you would find it cute if it wasn't for the jab to your ribs that followed. Kyle chuckles at your pained whimper, one hand coming up to rub your bump fondly.

“Just a while longer, my dove,” he coos, patting your tummy a couple of times before reaching for the bottle of nail polish you’d chosen earlier.

“Easy for you to say,” you roll your eyes, adjusting the pillow that you had placed beneath your back when you were sure you could do it on your own. “You don’t have to push a whole child out.”

“No, but I have to hear you whinin’ about it,” he shrugs, curving his lips into a sly smile when he feels your glare concentrated on him. “I’m only teasin’, love.”

Another huff escapes you before Kyle finally swipes the first coat of paint onto your toenail. He’s surprisingly precise, tongue bit between his teeth in concentration. Everything about his actions is calculated, each stroke of the polish-coated brush flawlessly coating its keratin canvas with ease. You giggle, and he finishes painting your pinky toe before looking up at you with a quirked eyebrow.

“Somethin’ funny, dove?” He questions, gently blowing cool air onto the fresh polish to encourage it to dry, which only makes you giggle more.

“You’re so focused. It’s cute,” you beam, watching as he dips the wand into the little glass bottle to collect more shiny polish in the bristles.

“Just makin’ sure you give the little one a good first impression, like you said,” he teases, one emollient palm cradling the base of your other foot to color your unpainted toenails.

You hum softly, eyes fluttering shut as your sweet, doting husband continues to tend to you, making sure that no spot is left unpolished because he knows it would just give you grief. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he glances up to see you fast asleep, chest and belly rising and falling in sync with your deep breaths. He grins, carefully shifting your legs off of his lap to stand, then leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

When you wake up, you’re in bed with a fresh, matching coat of shiny polish on your fingernails.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x fem!reader #gaz x female reader #cw: pregnancy #y’all i love this MAN

[anlian-aishang]

Kinktober Day 9: Virgin!Levi & First Time

Word count: 1900 Tags: levi x reader, smut, fem-bodied!reader, virgin!levi

The strongest were not born, they were sharpened. It was never his goal to earn that superlative, rather, the world had forced it onto him through its kicks and punches. Levi’s walls were impenetrable, you were the first to show him that there was weakness to that. When he wanted to let someone in, there were no points of entry. Getting to know him - first the friendship, then the relationship - your love was a blade that sawed its way through: act by act of kindness. 

Tonight and its milestone. Was this the completion of your carving? Had you finally stepped through to the other side? 

You had not the mind for that now: in his room, on his bed, bare before the other. Clothed only in moonlight and an entanglement of his pristine white sheets, shrouded in disbelief at the scene you found yourselves in. You never imagined you would get to see him like this. He never thought he would show this side of himself. 

Tearing down that slate, stripping him free from garment after garment, you had gradually revealed the man beneath. Vision honed into his tells. Hands in his lap, holding each other: his grounding technique. Minute twitches in his perpetual flat lip: wavering composure. Those familiar signs helped to decipher those new to you. The flush in his chest and face: blood running hot and fast. Arousal half-hidden beneath the bridge of his hands. Toes curled into the comforter. Heels dug into the mattress. 

Playing witness to his nerves made them contagious. To see unease in a character defined by calm resulted in a shared anxiety. He was the one you turned to for solace. Now, the tables had turned, and he was the one in need of comfort. 

That sense of responsibility filled you with a sudden confidence, a mission. You cupped his cheek in your hand, softly, “Don’t worry, Levi.” You thumbed some sweat from his skin, “I’ll take good care of you.”

Levi closed his eyes and sighed. Foreheads pressed together, he closed his fingers around your wrist, “I know.”

Communicating his trust to you, but convincing himself to have faith. His intuition was remarkable among all, immaculate above all, but some unspeakable irritant kept him tethered to doubt. He found the days you were together uncountable, but knew the times you betrayed him to be zero. Levi inhaled: you’re fine. Then exhaled: and you know it. 

You watched his breathing, not with anxiety, but with adoration. Just watching him be, watching him live, felt like a privilege. The thought of pushing him had not crossed your mind. Palm descended from his cheek to his heart, “You know, we don’t have to -”

“No.” Levi’s gaze snapped open, his breaths regulated, “I want to.” A deliberate swallow, throat cleared of hesitation. He tilted his chin and brought his lips to yours, “I want you.” 

Your eyes widened just briefly before his hand caressed your nape and pulled you to him. Tongue swiped the slit between your lips and prodded you open for his kiss. Your gasp, he drank it, fuel for his venture. Levi explored every part of you, moaned as he savored your taste. Teeth grazed your bottom lip then bit, anchoring you to him. Authoritative and assured. There he is. 

Just as infectious as his angst was his assertion. As he confidently dipped his tongue down your throat, you took control in your climb up his body. Hands on his shins, over his knees, crawling up and up his thighs. Deliberately, you passed over his neediest spot. Lust encouraged you to be hasty in fucking Levi Ackerman. Love reminded you to be gentle as you made love to your virgin. 

Along the sides of his waist, through his sultry groans and your enamored sighs, you both adored the touch: soft grip a lovely contrast to his sharp hip bones. Fingernails traced each muscle of his abdomen. Palms to his pectorals. Right hand ran over and around his throat. Left hand tangoed with his locks. At his undercut, they met: fingers knotted together, a grapple to your ride. 

Your legs landed on the outsides of his, running parallel. Backs of your thighs to the tops of his. Chests apart just enough to aggravate him, make his mind wander about how good it would feel to have your front wholly to his. Mind fucking made the physical version better, but he would learn that eventually. 

Small and slow steps for now. You reached down quickly, but delicately grazed his member. Fingertips to his shaft, base of your hand to his tip. Establishing your hold, not even working him yet - despite your carefulness, Levi clenched his teeth and hissed. The first time he had been held by another. He tilted back against the headboard, loosened his jaw, and sighed. Once again, convincing himself of a fact he knew to be true. It felt good. You felt good. 

Brows narrowed, you lingered for a handful of seconds, surveying his state for a sign of stoppage. Instead, he clutched your arm and began to push and pull your grip - back and forth, up and down his length. Moving as one. Together. With each oscillation, you felt his solidity strengthen, both in his erection and his stability. Mentally comfortable in the pursuit of pleasure, though his strained tendons and exasperated exhales suggested the opposite. 

Circling over his tip, drifting your thumb along his slit, “A’Ah!” Levi squirmed beneath you. Fists bunched in the sheets, bolts to his writhing,“Sh’it…” 

Veins began to make themselves visible. His cock began to rise into a steep arc. It was then that your daydreams came to fruition, recognizing how perfectly that curve would fit inside you, and how even the inexperienced newcomer would reach your most sensitive spot.

You manipulated your movements to bring him just outside your sex. Bent forward, your lips to the cusp of his ear. Eagerly, yet calmly, you cooed, “Just sit back, relax. I’ll take care of you, Levi.”

Taking care as you lowered yourself that crucial distance. Cautious as your hips began to rock. Nervous yourself, but projecting control as you made his pleasure your priority. Hands knotted behind his neck combined with the bend of your knees provided the leverage for it. 

His tip hit your favorite patch. His length filled you up while his girth stretched you thin. The sensation he brought you lured shameless sounds out from in, coloring the air of his room. Swears he never would have expected the first time he laid eyes on you. 

You fluttered your eyes shut and deepened your fucks. From base to top every time. So deep in your warm velvet caress, Levi grit his teeth and cursed. 

The stress in his tone brought you back from your selfish escape. A soft, soothing kiss, you ensured, “Let me know if it hurts, okay?”

He could only tilt his head back and moan. You were correct in translating: it didn’t. Physicalities reinforced those ideas. His passion had begun to leak inside of you. Your arousal started to seep, drenching his shaft. You held your breath in anxious await of your clean freak’s panic, but he did not seem to notice. If anything, the syrup to his voice and ripple of his abdomen suggested he enjoyed it. 

Dangerously sweet. Levi did not have much experience with orgasm, though even that he was ashamed to admit, but his intuition remained keen even as you rocked him. Building pressure in his core caused his floodgates to shake. Legs trembled, failing to stabilize. Arms spasmed, unable to slow your bounces. Lip quivered, incapable of warning you of his symptoms. On top of it all, a blinding headrush of a degree he had never encountered before, a spiral he was helpless to stop.

Levi flushed red in an embarrassed sweat. He had told himself that he wouldn’t cum too fast, not before you, but “Fuck…” Levi moaned, “you feel so good!”

Poor little thing could hardly help himself. His strain was pathetic, but with your infatuation, you dubbed it heartwrenching. Twitches and trembles seized his body, and suddenly, humanity’s strongest was reduced to pure weakness. That’s how good you were. 

Even as your head swelled with that compliment, your concern for him remained steadfast. While delighting in his vulnerability, stronger was your urge to watch his release. 

You withdrew your hands from the back of his neck to the sides of them. Slamming your lips to his, a hard and fast kiss accelerated your movements. You could taste the desperation in his gasps, could feel the surge in his length. His end was near, it was all but spelled out. Having dreamt of this so long, though, you needed to hear it.

“Gonna cum?” You beckoned, “Gonna cum, Levi?” 

Your tone bordered on teasing. The personification of his insecurity in finishing too fast. “N’No…” Levi flung his head to the side, exhibiting stubborn denial, “N’Not… yet…”

You furrowed your brow in confusion. Didn’t he want this? Your memory rang clear: I want to. I want you. You studied his expression: bright red blush, grit teeth, gaze laboriously squint. In that eye contact, you wordlessly understood his refusal to give in. Perhaps more than anything or anyone, you had learned how considerate Levi was. Sacrificing his own time, energy, joy for nameless strangers, let alone you. 

The thought of faking it crossed your mind, and it was not only that you did not want to establish a dangerous pretense, but more so that you recognized how easily he would see through it. And how livid he would be.

In lovely compromise, you intertwined your fingers with his and serenaded, “Go ahead, baby. Cum.” A selfless demand. “Cum for me.”

For you. Only with that pretense could Levi allow himself to give in, and you knew it. In this context and others, if it served you at all, he would strive for it. With how amazing you felt, that strife did not last long. 

With his last ounce of control, Levi squeezed your hips in a white-knuckle grip, jerking you into the places and rhythms that would get him there. All the while, emitting screams that would wake the city and squander any doubt over what was going on in his room. 

“A’Ahhh!! F’uck, (Y/N)...!” A couple of heaving breaths nearly worried you, but the violent slams of his hips and fervent warmth inside actually quelled you. To his loud and repeated melody of oh god - oh fuck - fuck - fuck me - your content hums played harmony. In peripheral vision, you caught a glimpse of the clock and smirked to yourself: record time. 

As his breathing returned to regular, as his eyes drifted back open, you smiled and slowly lifted yourself off his lap and spun yourself to his side. His arm wrapped around your back, hand took a strong hold of your shoulder. Before your eyes, you savored the way his chest rose and fell, the overstimulated nerves that twitched themselves to calm. Most of all - the erasure of his embarrassment, replaced by consideration then determination.

After all, he still had his mouth. 

Kinktober Year 3 Masterlist

#levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #specials #smut #levi #levi ackerman #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #anlian writes #my writing #alias's #kinktober year 3

[cades-outsider]

Robby Keene X Reader

Warnings: None, it’s mainly just fluff! This is S3 because I am IN LOVE with S3 Robby!

Side Note: I am not stopping the Cobra Kai writings! I am going to be focusing on Milo Manheim characters as well, so if you like any of his characters, send in requests! I have a special Ryan Baker smut coming up! 😩🤚

Your heart raced as you walked down the halls of the juvenile detention center in which they were holding Robby, a guard escorting you to your destination. Going through two big white double doors, catching the attention of a bunch of juvie inmates.

A bunch of squared silver chairs and tables came into view, but it seemed as if time had stopped once you spotted Robby, his hands covering his mouth anxiously waiting. Bobby, one of Johnny's best friends sat beside him. He was the one who was able to get you in to see Robby so soon, apparently you weren't old enough to visit him by yourself. Which you thought was stupid.

With every walk towards Robby your body was shaking, you were nervous. Not because of what happened that led him in here, but because of how he would react to you wanting to see him.

Bobby's head perked up as he seen you, he waved you over with a soft smile causing Robby to turn around. His lips parted as he was in shock, surprised that you actually showed. But more importantly shocked that you actually wanted to see him after what happened.

Robby stood up slowly as you walked closer to him, you couldn't hug because of the no touching rule. But you wanted to, and by his reaction you knew he wanted to as well.

You smiled at Bobby as he led you to take a seat beside him, Robby turned back around and took his seat, lips still parted, too shocked to speak.

Bobby looked back and forth at you both awkwardly for a moment before pointing behind him "I'll let you guys.... catch up" He spoke before walking away.

"You're- you're here...." Robby said lowly, as if in disbelief. He wouldn't have blamed you for not coming.

"I'm always here for you Robby..." You placed your elbows on the silver table, resting your chin on your hand.

Your eyes couldn't escape his, you had missed him so much and you didn't want to look away. The slightest smile fell across Robby's lips as he cleared his throat.

"So... what have you been up too?" He questions, wanting to know if you've been okay.

"Missing you" You crack a smile with your answer.

Robby let's out a small chuckle, with a side smile "besides that..." He jokes lightly.

You sigh, pretending to think "nothing too interesting, everything's pretty much been quiet" Your tone changes with every word you speak. It's as if Robby sensed your emotions, he raised his eyebrows and looked down slightly, disappointed with himself.

"Is... is Miguel okay?" Robby questions nervously, bitting his fingernail as he looks up at you. Almost not wanting to know the answer to that question.

"He's okay Robby, he's healing" You tell him sincerely.

You could see the pure guilt written on his face, the regret. "Hey..." You grab his hand that was laying on the table, completely disregarding the rules.

"I don't blame you for any of it... I know you would take it all back in a heart beat if you could, but it'll be okay..." You said lovingly. But you also didn't quite know what to say, you hoped he wouldn't take it the wrong way.

Robby's eyes bore into yours, you start rethinking your words for a moment until he nods his head, closing his eyes. A small tear rolling down his cheek.

Your hand finds its way to his right cheek, wiping the tear away gently. Your thumb runs over the purple and red bruise that lied there.

"What happened...?" You basically whisper.

"Just a couple of guys. No big deal" He tries to speak as convincing as possible, you could tell there was more to it but you decide not to push him further.

"I miss you Robby... a lot" You say, placing both of your hands on top of his free hand.

"I miss you too..." Robby says, his side smile starting to show.

Soon your sincere moment is broken up by Bobby placing his hand on your shoulder letting you know that your time was up. You nod letting him know you got the message, before turning back to Robby.

"I don't know when or if I'll be able to come back and visit you, but I'll be here to pick you up when you get out" You say, a small smile falling across your lips.

Robby nods his head in understanding, his heart leaping at such a promise. Though apart of him didn't expect you to keep it. Bobby and some of the guards lead you out of the waiting room, your eyes stayed glued to his as much as they could. You could feel Robby’s stare on you, and you knew that his eyes were still trained on the metal doors even when you were out of his sight.

*THREE MONTHS LATER*

Pulling up your car into one of the driveways at the detention center you spot both Daniel LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence at the doors, bickering. Daniel was your dad and Johnny was Robby's dad. You let out a sigh as you step out of your car, leaning on the side of it. You watched as Johnny and Daniel kept yelling at eachother.

"So you got it all under control?" Daniel interrogates.

"Yeah, I do." Johnny nods his head.

"Just like you had Kreese under control? Right?-" Daniel pauses. "-what did you think would happen when you summoned that devil back to earth?" He finishes, almost as if it was a rhetorical question.

"Kreese is my problem" Johnny states, tilting his head up.

"Not anymore. He's made it crystal clear that he's everyone's problem... as usual I'm gonna have to be the one that cleans up your mess" Daniel sighs.

"I clean up my own messes.... and I'm dealing with it" Johnny says louder, walking up to Daniel.

"Yeah and how exactly are you dealing with it? What are you gonna do, barge in there and beat him up. That worked real well with the guys at the chop-shop" Daniel smart mouths, using his hands as references.

"Those guys deserved it..." Johnny says.

"That's your problem Johnny..." Daniel starts, but before he could finish you drown them out, rolling your eyes at their antics, they acted like they were teenagers all over again.

"Seriously?" You hear a familiar voice interrupt the two kids.

You perk up leaning off your car and getting a good look at Robby, "Robby..." Daniel says, turning to look at him.

"Hey Robby" Johnny says as Robby takes a few steps closer to try and pass them, not yet spotting you.

Robby looks at Johnny "I told you i don't want you here." He says nodding his head upwards as if pointing to Johnny.

"You're my son, I wanted to be here" Johnny says 'as a matter of fact'.

"and so did I..." Daniel speaks up.

Robby turns to look at his and squints his eyes "Don't do me any favors, it's your fault I was in here" He blames.

"Listen I know you're upset but I was doing what was best for you...-" Daniel starts as Robby rolls his eyes, looking away "now that you're here I want you to know you'll always have a home at Miyagi Do." Daniel says sincerely.

Johnny steps up demandingly "you're with me." He says.

Robby looks back and forth at the two of them, pursing his lips, an angry expression on his face "both of you. Stay out of my life" He says before walking off.

He stops in his tracks as he makes eye contact with you, both Daniel and Johnny stop their staring contest with each other and turn towards you, just now noticing your presence. "Y/n? What the hell are you doing here?!" Daniel yells from afar.

"I came to pick up my boyfriend" You say as if it was a stupid question to ask. You see Robby let out a small side smile as you make eye contact with him once again, you smile and nod your head to your car. "You coming?" You question, a small smile placed on your face.

Robby nods his head as he walks over to the passengers side and takes his seat, you doing the same in the drivers side. You pass by Johnny and Daniel, both of them looking baffled. Daniel had a look of defeat and annoyance on his face, while Johnny’s face held a grin. He always liked you, despite your dads and his rivalry.

You make it down the road before looking over at Robby, "Thanks for coming Y/n..." He says as he sinks back in his seat.

"Of course babe, I wasn't gonna miss coming to get you" You smile, turning on a green light.

You look over for just a split second to catch Robby's side smile, "you hungry?" You question, looking back at him on a red light. "I could eat" He replies before resting his arm against the door, looking out the window.

You decided not to rush him into talking. You didn't want to overwhelm him, especially after what just happened moments before. Instead, you drove to In-n-Out.

You decided to drive to Miyagi Do, you knew nobody would be there at this time of day and you wanted a place to eat and talk alone with Robby. You parked your car horizontal to the dojo. You handed Robby his food and ate in silence for the first few minutes.

After Robby finished his food you decided to wrap the rest of yours up and put it back in the paper bag. You could feel Robby practically staring daggers into your head.

"Why did you come?" He finally spoke up.

You look up at him confused by his question, "what do you mean Robby?" You asked, furrowing your brows.

"That day, with Bobby. Why did you come?" He clarifies.

"Because I love you Robby" You state, staring into his eyes that are scrunched up in confusion.

"Did you not want me to come...?" You couldn't help but ask.

"It's not that, I just... no one's ever showed up for me like that and I just wanted to know why.... especially after what I did" Robby says, breaking eye contact to look at the floorboard.

"Robby... what happened was horrible, but I'm always going to be in your corner. I'm always going to be there for you" You say, as Robby feels his heart skip a beat.

He finally manages to look you back in your eyes and when you get to see his face, his eyes are filled with tears that won't stop rushing down. The small bags under his eyes are slightly red, as he finally reveals his vulnerable self to you.

"I need you Y/n" He cries, and you take that as your sign to unbuckle your seat and place yourself in Robby's lap.

His hands hold onto your waist for dear life as he looks up, and into your eyes. You place your right hand against his face, rubbing your thumb back and forth on his soft skin.

Your legs wrap firmly around Robby's waist as you place your lips on his. His lips fight with yours as his tears fall against both of your lips, it becomes messy and filled with love.

Robby pulls away to lean his forehead against yours, both his hands now holding onto the sides of your face only for his lips to be back on yours "I love you" he mumbles against your lips.

"I love you Robby" Your voice comes out as a whisper against his lips.

You pull away from his lips, your eyes gazing over every inch of his face, Robby's eyes are still closed as another tear rolls down his face. You take that as your sign to tightly embrace him in a hug.

His arms wrap firmly around your waist, hands resting on your back as he lets his head fall onto your shoulder, his body starts shaking as he starts crying harder, holding onto you for dear life.

  You stay like that for a while, until his breathing calms down and his tears fade away. Still on his lap, you pull away from the hug while his hands drop down to your waist.

  Robby's glossy eyes meet yours "I have something for you" You say before lightly placing your lips on his for a brief moment before getting off his lap and returning back to the drivers seat.

  You don't give him a chance to speak before you're already driving away from Miyagi Do. A little while later you pull up to his old apartment building.

  Robby looks at the building and back to you with a confused look on his face as you park the car. "Come on, it's just in here" You give him a small, innocent smile.

  You both get out the car, grabbing Robby's hand you walk into the complex and in the elevator to his apartment door. You grab the keys out of your back pocket and unlock the door, letting Robby in first.

  "Y/n what is this?" Robby questions looking around the apartment, as he noticed how clean and kept up it looked.

  "Well... while you were in juvie I decided to fix it up for you, I got permission from your mom and everything's taken care of, the fridge is full of food and the rents payed off for a while, so you don't have to worry about anything" You explain while you close the apartment door. You knew your dad, Daniel, would have some words to say about it, but you didn’t care, Robby needed someone, he needed you.

  Robby takes in every detail of the apartment until you're his main focus, your nerves start to take over as he walks up to you. He brings his hand to your cheek, his thumb moves back and forth in slow motions. His eyes move back and forth to yours and your lips.

  He's lost for words, but he manages to speak "you didn't have to do this, I could've figured something out on my own..." Robby says. Every part of him wanted to reject the offer, fearing it was out of pity but he knew by the sweetness in your voice that you truly just wanted to be there for him. Help him.

  "I know, but now you don't have to worry about that" You give him a small smile as you speak.

You don't give him the chance to say anything before you speak again "I want to help you Robby, not because of pity or feeling like I have too, but because I love you an-" Your sentence is cut off by Robby's lips on yours.

Both of his hands are now grasping your face, his lips move against yours with so much love and compassion as he pushes you up against the door. Your right hand goes to his shoulder as your left hand rests on his jaw.

You both make out for a while, it wasn’t any regular heated make out. No…. It was filled with love, warmth, and desperation. This was Robby’s way of saying thank you. You didn’t know what would happen in the future, or where this teenage love would lead you both, but you were more than willing to love him with every fiber in your body.

You were willing to be there for him.

#wattpad #robby keene #cobra kai #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai x reader #x reader #smut #hawk imagine #eli hawk moskowitz #xreader #robbykeene juvie #robbykeenexreadersmut #fluff #fluffy #karatekid #cobrakai

[arvandus]

Cared For (Lucifer x F!Reader)

CW: 18+ content, MINORS DNI! If you are a minor or an ageless blog, do NOT follow me! You WILL BE BLOCKED! Nothing too pearl-clutching here; just some soft loving care and some fingering. 💕 Not proofread, I got shit to do today and this got longer than I thought it would, a;sdflajsd;f. I woke up with this in my brain this morning so here ya go, have a treat.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ "Let's get you home," Lucifer says quietly.

You nod with a sniff, and he leads you to the car with a protective arm over your shoulder and a glare in his eyes - a warning to any who might try to approach and speak to you.

Your silent as he fastens your seatbelt for you, silent as he closes the door. He keeps your hand in his during the drive home, the constant reassurance of his touch the only thing keeping your tears at bay.

He shares your silence with you, resting in it with you like two people hiding under a blanket unwilling to be seen by anyone but each other. He's silent as he helps you out of the car when you get home, silent as he walks you to your room, silent as he runs your bath for you.

Lucifer helps you undress. Carefully, slowly. There's no lust in his touch; not right now. He knows it's not what you need. For now, you need care, tenderness... to be given to without the expectation of reciprocation, of payment.

You close up within yourself once you sit in the hot water, your knees drawn up to your chest and your head bent down to close off the world. He doesn't question it. You're a flower tucking away its petals at midnight, waiting for the sun. When the warmth is in you again, you'll unfurl, your colors bright.

Lucifer rolls up the sleeves of his red dress shirt, his forearms exposed. He washes your back for you, watches as the soap runs down your back in small rivers, like falling stars. He washes your hair, his long fingers shielding your closed eyes as he runs the water through. He feels the brush of your lashes beneath his touch, watches as a soft, long sigh leaves you, the tension within your body unwinding.

But still you're silent, so is he. He's silent as you stand in the tub, silent as he wraps the soft towel around you. You tuck the corner of it in and step out, the small rivers traveling down your legs. He grabs a second towel and dries them for you, pats the tops of your feet. He glances up at you to see your eyes are finally open now, watching him. He feels as if he's standing on your doorstep, and you've finally answered the door.

Your hand cups his face, your thumb brushes his cheek. He leans his face into it, turns his lips until they brush your palm.

Then he's grabbing another clean towel and draping it over your wet hair. It frames you like a cloak, casting your face in shadow. He cups your face in his hands through the soft cotton and kisses your forehead. The first sundrops of warmth begin to filter through, and you close your eyes to it, relishing in it in the way you'd watch the dawn break through your window.

But still you need more, and Lucifer understands this. He's memorized you; every page, every angle. He takes you to the couch in front of the fire. Strong hands pull you gently into his lap, and you curl against him, cradled. Your head rests into the crook of his neck and you allow the scent of him to soothe you, allow the heat of his body to breathe life into you in the way the firelight never could.

The last strings of tension remain under your skin. They're small, remnants of what they were before Lucifer had brought you home, yet they feel significant, like the smallest splinter stuck in your finger.

If you could ask him for just a little bit more...

His hand his resting on your knees and you stare at it, at the painted fingernails and pale skin. His touch his warm, the veins on the back of his palm visible. You recall the feel of them beneath your fingertips, warm memories from a previous time. You take his hand and slowly slide it up to your thigh.

He doesn't question. He trusts you to know yourself.

He hums softly in acquiescence, his blood-red eyes watching you with soft intensity as his hand trails up the inside of your thigh. Your legs part, but not too much; just enough to allow space for him, to feel the pressure of his hand caught between your legs as he finds your center, your core, the place where your love for him resides, trapped between wet petals that smell sweetly of you.

Your lungs shudder as you inhale, your eagerness for his touch painted in the heat of your flesh.

You cling to him, your arm around his neck as you bury your face deeper into the curve below his ear. You can feel his adam's apple bob against your nose as he swallows, can feel the pressure of his cheek against your head. His grip around your toweled waist tightens, and the hardening of his cock beneath you is unmistakable.

But Lucifer is patient. His time will come later. He knows this is for you.

His fingers caress you, slow and gentle, gathering your slickness as if it were honey to be placed on his tongue. He rubs the pads of his digits over your clit and you spasm with a gasp, your thighs opening the slightest bit more. His grip on you tightens again, holding you steady in his lap as his fingers continue their circular motion two, three more times.

Then he dips them into you again, pushing slightly further. Your hand clings to his forearm, and you feel the muscles and tendons tense and flex beneath your touch as his finger curl within you, slow and generous. He pulls them out to tips and pushes in again, his thumb sliding across your swollen nerves.

Your breaths are transformed into soft pants that are delivered like small gifts against the heat of his neck. You want to kiss him, want to feel him surround your senses so you could lose yourself in him. You lift your head slightly and his own dips in response, his nose brushing against yours.

But Lucifer doesn't kiss you, not yet. He stares you through a lustblown gaze as your sweet mouth pants your desire for him against his slightly parted lips.

Your hips begin to rock in his lap, desperate for more. More pressure, more speed, more him, more more more.

But his arm tightens around your waist, and you force your body to stillness. Only then does he give you what you ask, increasing the pace of his fingers for you, pressing harder with his thumb, curling his long digits against his favorite part of you, the part that makes you his.

It beckons every nerve to him, every cell of your body called forth. The air in your lungs is stolen, the blood in your brain abandoning you to celebrate his touch, leaving you lightheaded with need. Every swipe of his fingers, of his thumb against you and within you ties the knot tighter and tighter, until the fabric of your being is on the verge of tearing.

His name is on your tongue, yet it never leaves your lips, a prayer unable to be spoken as the threads break. You moan against him, and now is the time that he captures your lips with his, his tongue diving into yours to steal your lust-born confessions like a thief in the night. Your hips rock into his hand, your thighs clamp closed as his fingers continue to work you through the riptide of your pleasure. Your lips are unable to keep up with his, your head too dumb with pleasure. They fall slack to release unfettered gasps as moans, and so his mouth moves to your jaw, your neck, teeth scraping and mouth sucking.

Finally, your body quiets, loose and soft, the tension finally gone. Lucifer gently pulls his fingers from you and holds you close to him on top of his lap.

"Feel better?" he whispers against your lips. His voice is deep, soft - like a comfortable bed you'll never be able to escape from.

You nod quietly.

He cups your face with his hand and kisses you once, twice, a slow steady pressure of his soft lips against yours. On the third return, your mouth opens for him and his hungry tongue finds you.

Slowly, you feel yourself being tipped backwards, his hand on your back secure until you feel the weight of your body press against the couch cushions. His body follows inch for inch, his mouth never leaving yours, until he's hovering over you, his knee between your parted legs. The tucked corner of your towel finally gives way, and the cotton falls open. Lucifer halts his heavy kisses to watch his palm run the length of your body.

His hand ends at your thigh, and pulls it over his hip as his hard cock presses against your heat, your slick decorating his pants like a wet kiss. You inhale, and push yourself harder against him as your sensitive hardened nipples brush against his shirt.

"Good," he replies with a grin. "Let's keep going."

#lucifer x reader #lucifer x mc #lucifer x you #lucifer x y/n #obey me lucifer #lucifer obey me #om lucifer #lucifer om #obey me #obey me!

[w1ldthoughts]

There’s No Crying In Football

A/n: My first 5+1 fic!

Synopsis: Five times you cried out of immense love and the one time someone else did.

One

“It’s really not that bad. It’s just—”

“I swear if you quote Monty Python again, you’ll be down two fingernails. Let me see it.” You gestured for him to come closer so you could inspect the damage, like you’d suddenly gotten your medical license in the last few hours.

“See? It looked so much worse than it actually is, I’m fine.” Justin tries to reassure you but you were too focused on the tears swimming in your eyes to notice.

Of course in the years you’d been together he had taken hits much worse than this, but for some reason today felt like a gut punch and the tears just continued to flow.

“Come here,” he whispered, running his non-injured hand along your back as you sobbed pitifully into his chest.

“I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I’m crying,” you huff out with a sniffle. He lets out a soft chuckle, telling you not to apologize.

“Would it make you feel better if we just ordered dinner and watch Love is Blind to start off bye-week?”

You nod and tilt your head up to give him a quick peck on the lips.

Two

Two weeks later you were on the couch watching Netflix with Nova at your feet. She’d rarely left your side the last few days which was both sweet and concerning, given the fact that she was usually glued to Justin. You were simply minding your business one minute and the next minute you were crying watching the women argue on Selling Sunset.

“What is wrong with me?” You wondered out loud, trying to get ahold of yourself. Maybe your period was on its way, it usually did make you a little bit more emotional, but usually not emotional enough to cry over petty drama at the Oppenheim Group.

The Clue app on your phone was sure to have the answers you were looking for but when you pulled up the calendar, your heart was beating in your ass.

Your period was six days late.

As fast as you possibly could, you placed an order to be delivered to the house. The last thing you needed right now was to go online and find see headlines saying that Justin Herbert’s wife was spotted at CVS with pregnancy tests in hand. Probably not the best look.

Justin came home an hour later and immediately headed upstairs to look for you.

“Babe?” He knocked. “Since when do you lock the door?” His voice was even but you could tell he was a little perturbed by it.

You wiped your eyes and stood up to let him in.

“What’s going on? Why are you crying? What’s—oh. Are these…” You nodded shakily, your legs suddenly feeling heavy.

“Have you taken them already?”

“No. I was going to but it felt wrong doing this without you. I know you said you wanted to try for a baby but we had a plan and it’s too soon. I mean it’s literally the beginning of the season so that would mean they’d be born around—”

Justin places a warm hand on your shoulder. “Breathe. We’ll figure it out. There’s no one else in the world I want to do this with and yes we had plans but those can change. And if those tests are positive, I’m ready to do this…so long as you are too.”

He let you do your thing and came back in with the timer set on his phone.

Pregnant. All five tests had the same result.

“Well, I guess that explains the crying.” You joked as he kissed you on the side of the head.

“We’re gonna be parents.”

Three

Hosting Thanksgiving at your house while your husband was in the middle of the season had to be top five most stressful things you’ve ever done. Besides the fact that no one but Justin and the two of you had gone through great lengths to keep it that way. You’d secretly ordered all virgin cocktails at the WAGs brunch last week and had been living in Justin’s T-shirts that were the perfect oversized look.

“Can you see anything? Do I look…you know?”

“Pregnant?” He utters with a laugh, “no, you look great. Nothing’s gonna ruin the surprise.”

Your family and the Herberts arrived about an hour later and dinner was served. The thought of having a baby of your own at the table this time next year was both a daunting task and an exciting one.

It was a family tradition to take a group picture at the end of the night so everyone got in front of the camera in their respective poses. You and Justin shared a look just before the flash went off and yelled “everyone say y/n’s pregnant” which silenced the room.

“Wait…are you two being serious? You’re really pregnant?” Holly asks, looking like she’s going to burst with excitement at any moment. She glances back and forth between you and her son, anxiously waiting for a sign of confirmation. Justin simply nodded and both of your moms pulled you in for a hug and immediately let you know that they couldn’t wait to babysit.

After two slices of pumpkin pie, you were ready to call it a night, until you walked into the den and heard Mark talking to Justin.

“I’m so happy for you son. Haven’t seen you this excited since you met her. And I know I don’t even have to tell you this but being a father is going to be one of the biggest and best adventures of your life. You’re going to be great at it. I love you, kiddo. So proud of the man you’ve become.”

“I love you too, dad.”

The crack in his voice may or may not have brought you to tears.

Four

“I have a surprise for you.” Justin beams at you as soon as he spots you walking down the stairs after your nap.

He led you down to sit on the couch and told you to close your eyes.

You ran a hand up and down your bump, a new source of comfort. “Hurry up J, the anticipation is killing me.”

His laugh sent butterflies to your stomach even after all this time. “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

“Are those…baby Air Force Ones? This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” You cried. “They’re so tiny in your big ass hands I can’t take it!”

“I’m glad you like them, I thought they were adorable so I ordered them as soon as I could. And judging by your reaction I’m glad to know you like them too.” He chuckles. “Very surprised you’re not dehydrated at this point. How are you feeling today? Did you have a good nap?”

You could tell the busy schedule of the season was making him feel bad about leaving you on your own the farther along you got in your pregnancy. “Physically I’m fine but emotionally? I feel like I’m in a glass case of emotion.”

You knew he’d like that one. He threw his head back with a small laugh and gave you a celebratory fist bump. “God you are the love of my life. Perfect quote usage.”

You took a bow, stating “thank you, thank you very much.”

“You’re a dork.” He deadpanned, although you both knew he very much loved it.

Five

The final countdown had officially been on since you hit 36 weeks. But with your due date a week away, things were getting very real, very quickly. Luckily for you, Justin was the most prepared person in the world and had been gearing up for this moment since the very beginning it seemed.

“Let’s just go over the list one more time.”

Car seat installed and ready to go? Check.

Clothes for you and him? Check.

Extra phone chargers? Check.

Snacks? Check.

Pillows, birth-plan, toiletries? Check.

Postpartum care products? Check.

He looked so perfect just going over everything again and again, making sure that all of the newborn clothes were washed and there was an ample amount of diapers and wipes and that everything was in order.

“I think you’ve covered all your bases, don’t you think?” You wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him from the back, feeling his body start to relax into your touch.

“Just wanna make sure we have everything you need. That you have everything you need. I know I can’t control what happens in there and when she’s born but I sure as hell can control this part.” He turned around in your arms and placed a kiss on your forehead and then your lips.

There was truly no better feeling than this, being loved by your best friend. “I was going to wait until she was born to give this to you but, I’m thinking now is the perfect time.” Justin raised his eyebrows when you reached over the back of the bookshelf and pulled out a wrapped book. It was a book telling their baby the story of how he become the beloved king of Bolt Nation. A bright eyed kid from Oregon who grew up cheering for the team that he would eventually lead into battle every week. The same man who’s heart now belonged to a little girl he had yet to meet.

His eyes welled up with tears when he finished the last page. “How did you—when did you even have time to do this?”

“I have my ways. You deserve something special too and now our daughter will know just how special her daddy is, to so many people. But especially to the people in this home. We’re so lucky to have you, Justin. So unbelievably lucky.”

“Although I appreciate you saying that, I’m the lucky one. I love you so much.”

Now it was your turn to wipe your tears. “I love you more. You know I’d do anything for you, like not get on Twitter and tell Emmanuel Acho what I really think of him.”

+1

Exhaustion was all the two of you knew. It was like everyday was a constant cycle of changing diapers, dealing with spit up, or feeding your baby. But you couldn’t be happier. Your husband had of course adjusted seamlessly to fatherhood, celebrating the fact that it was the off-season and he could spend as much time at home as he wanted to. Which was lucky because neither of you had been getting much sleep and he couldn’t imagine playing football while running on fumes.

A high-pitched cry jolted you out of your REM cycle and your feet lead you to your baby’s room without your conscious effort. Reaching in to pick her up immediately had her suckling on your shirt, letting you know exactly what she wanted. She really was the perfect mix between the two of you but her almond-like light green eyes were all Justin.

Once she was done nursing and her diaper was checked, you headed back out of the room, meeting Justin in the hallway.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

He tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes but was pretty sure he’d be tired for the next full calendar year. “I heard you get up and I wanted to make sure you guys were okay. My precious girl is in there.”

“You know I used to be your ‘precious girl’,” you reminded him with an eye roll.

“Yes and you’re still up there, champ. Standing firmly at the number two spot.”

God if that wasn’t the cutest thing you’d ever heard, you would’ve smacked the smirk off his face. “This is the thanks I get for birthing your gigantic baby? You sure know how to make a girl feel special.”

“You are the most special babe. Thanks for giving me a baby.” He grabbed your hand and walked with you back to the room, cuddling you back to sleep.

Two hours later, that familiar sound woke you up again. But this time you weren’t moving.

“You better go Justin, your baby’s crying.”

“Haha very funny,” he mused, standing up to stretch. “I’ll grab her and bring her in here, can’t have my girls fighting over me. And hey, at least you’re not the one crying anymore.”

#Justin Herbert #justin herbert imagine #justin herbert x reader #nfl imagine #justin herbert fanfic

[six-white-venus]

the worst trait of me and my family is probably this: we never learned to say the word sorry.

i) my best friend and i, we are no people. knives? maybe. liars? definitely. but people? i’m not so sure.

knives were never forged to be tender (what a shame, what a shame) and we too, fall and slay what we meant to protect. him and i, we go for the throat when we clash. we hurt and bleed and oh, i should be terrified, i should be running for my life, but all i am is tired and a bit lonely and would really like his arms around me.

( “can we please stop fighting now.”

“oh god yes please.”)

because time and time again, this man has held my heart in his hands and cleaned its festering wounds with cotton dipped in alcohol (always the healer, always the lover) and wrapped gauze around them with clinical precision. and i have walked through the maze of his head and tended to his withering garden, have dragged the sun and fresh air and all the oceans to the barren land to make it bloom (always the poet, always the lover).

him and i, we have never needed words because we are knives forged in the same fire and at the end of the day, we both know that he will be the one who wordlessly stitches my broken heart and i will be the one who sings him to sleep.

ii) let me paint you a picture:

blue that fades into red that fades into black that fades into blue that fades into red. loud, clashing and nonsensical. a pit in your stomach that was dug with desperation and blunt fingernails. how do you colour anger that is also pain, grief, hate, love, fear and truth? the smell of the paint is foul and clogs your windpipes. blunt fingernails and blue and black and madness. can you bear to look at what you created without flinching?

that’s what anger looks like on my father. a horror. a mottled bruise. a hellfire.

all his life, my father has been scorned, belittled, beaten, spat on. his mother didn’t love him right because her mother didn’t love her right. my dad loves like he hates. something is fucked in his head and heart and his words fade into black and blue and red and this shitshow always ends with me sobbing, bleeding, dying on the floor. my father watches with his hackles raised and his eyes red and wide and glowing. once wounded, an animal never sheathes its claws. it strikes the ones it loves and walks away with its head held high and hands trembling.

but here’s what happens when the curtains close: he pulls me into his arms and brings me tea. he wipes away my tears with hands that has moved mountains to make me smile. he kisses my forehead and tells me that his mom didn’t love him right. my grief is like anger and indignation and love. i wrap my arms around him and cry all the tears he never had the luxury to. who should say sorry, really? is it him or his mom or his mom’s mom or this stupid fucking world? my father has never said the word sorry. he never needed to. this is what love looks like on us. a horror. a mottled bruise. a hellfire.

iii) despite it all, i am not usually an angry person. i take after my father and my mother, after all. i rage like my mother (quick, loud, fire that burns out almost as quickly as it sparked to life) and fight like my father (aim, shoot, bullseye). my sister does something even mildly upsetting and before i know it, i’m cursing her to be miserable till she dies. not even an hour later i’m draping myself over her shoulder and bugging her till she rolls her eyes and smiles ever so slightly.

(“do you have no shame?”

“yeah no i don’t think so.”)

my family and i, we never learned to say the word sorry. because the word sorry never meant sorry, not to us. because at the end of the day, that’s all it is: a word. and it sticks to the back of my tongue and the dents of my molars and gets tangled in my mouth when i try to spit it out. so i grab it by its throat and thread it into my being. i find it so much easier to hide my pathetic inability to do one thing that doesn’t scream that there's something wrong with me with the truth of another three words:

“i love you”

and they are always echoed back to me, just a few million times more tender, in ways only we can understand.

“yeah, i know.”

“that’s great, but there’s no escaping dishes duty.”

“oh, shut up, you.”

“what’s that for?”

a pause and a hum.

“i love you too.”

#vi is back on their dysfuctionally healthy familial love agenda again #it's like. that one quote #love is a doing word #everything stems from love. everything gets its meaning because they are all doing words #maybe it's the way we've all benn raised/fucked over by the world but #saying sorry feels so.... wrong. hollow. it's simply not enough #i've grown up feeling like nothing i do is enough and that also travels to my way of apologising #we are all damaged in one way or another but we are all capable of so much love #and that's what my family and friends have taught me #it's okay if you're messed up and have no idea how to be a functional person. it's okay to screw up. we can sit and fix it #together #my writing #prose poetry #love #words #writeblr #prose #familial love #love languages #anger

[satoruyes]

Can we not? | osamu miya x gn!reader

| reader comes home to osamu in bed with another, what’s his first reaction? “you bet not touch her”

| tw: cheating, angst, hurt, suggestive, alcohol, happy ending?

ever since you came back from visiting family, osamu seemed a bit.. off. sure he wasn’t the most affectionate person in the world but he never dodged it before or declined sex. besides him acting weird, life just wasn’t at its tip top for you right now. your friends noticed that. so to get you out of the house they all proposed a night out, bar hopping.

you couldn’t really bring yourself to drink. the most you ingested that night was a stale beer. the whole night you had a pit at the bottom of your stomach. something was wrong, yet you couldn’t quite pin point it. after declining you dont know how many offers to dance; you decided to go home.

you told osamu you’d be back around 12am. sure he won’t mind you coming home a little early — if he was even woke that was.

—

you make it back to your apartment complex and quietly shuffle your key into the hole. you walk in and remove your shoes. the house is all but quiet - you hear a woman’s loud whiny voice and assume it’s some show osamu is watching.

you go to the kitchen and quietly make your self a glass of water, barely feeling a buzz from the drink you had. you hear a loud bang coming from the master bedroom and it startles you.

it’s continuous. followed by several loud ‘thwaps’ you start to get a bit nervous, the burning in your chest getting stronger.

you tiptoe down the hall to the shut bedroom door. you take a deep breath and crack the door open. your heart sinks. either osamu found a new position to jerk off in or-

“osamu?” you utter, your voice cracking. osamu jumped up from his current position. “oh fuck-” his eyes are wide and his mouth even wider. you don’t even notice you’re crying til you feel tears drip from your chin.

“y/n, i thought you said you weren’t coming til twelve- i- fuck i um,” he’s babbling on excuses and you can’t even hear him. you look past him and see her. laying in your bed. under your covers.. naked. is she wearing your head scarf? and she’s looking bewildered as if she’s the victim.

wait, you know her. she’s osamu’s new employee. you see her everytime you go to your boyfriends’ onigiri shop. grabbing lunch and leaving with a kiss. she- she knew about me. she..

“y/n, are you listening to me?” he asks grabbing you by your shoulders and shaking you. he must’ve slipped on his underwear while you were in your head. underwear you bought him.

“GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME,” you sob, jerking his hands off of you. he backs up, looking almost shocked. “YOU-

your knees buckle almost causing you almost drop to the floor. you catch yourself and lean against the wall - hyperventilating. is he serious? after all these years? high school sweethearts for what? all those firsts for what? for him to go off and fuck the first thing he found appetizing. what did she have that you didn’t? was the sex better? was the connection sweeter?

“you fucking-,” you leap towards her. she seemed so innocent, helping make your lunch. smiling with you, hugged you once even. had she no shame? osamu jumps infront of you; blocking her.

“don’t you fucking touch her!” he yells.

your vision is complete blurred by tears now. was he really protecting her? from you? you jump back out of his grip. your chest hurts bad. you feel like you could die from a broken heart right now.

“osamu are- y- you serious?” you ask, pulling yourself together. he stares at you, was that pity in his eyes? you sniffle and take their silence as an answer.

“im.. gonna go..” you say, lips quivering. it barely comes out as a whimper. he hears it though. you didn’t even notice you were digging your fingernails into your palms til you stopped.

making the pain more prominent.

yet the physical pain you felt right now was in nowhere comparable to the emotional pain you felt.

#lulawrites #miya osamu #osamu x reader #i cried 2 times writing this #happy ending? #we hate a cheater #stand up #angst #osamu angst #let’s name her heather #i wish i were heather

[its-actually-minicika]

The Harshest Winters (18+!)

Part 3;

Pairing(s): Jacaerys x Reader x bookcanon Aemond;

Warnings: all of them tbh, it's Harshest Winters we're talking about;

Word Count: 10k+

Author's Note: IT'S FINALLY HERE!! I'm honestly overwhelmed by the love this fic got in the span of so little time 😭 I hope you guys enjoy this part as well! Thank you so much for being so patient with me <3

Also, this chapter is FILTHY. I'm talking actual smut for the first time in my life, which makes me both nervous and embarrassed to be posting this lol

I know that the people who read this particular series are already used to the graphic content ahead, but consider this your fair warning :"))

PART 4 IS OUT NOW <3

As night swallows the world of Westeros, four beating hearts must get through the challenges that arise in the absence of sunlight.

Desire is the death of duty - fear pushes against the voice of reason.

Dreams really are the window to the soul sometimes.

One… Two… Three… Four.

Aemond’s breathing came and went in slow and labored pants. Whatever the man was dreaming about must have had quite the effect on him, and the lady scoffed to herself, while pushing down a disdainful huff.

Slowly, yet surely, her head rolled to the side. She could still see him in her periphery - the deep creases that adorned his forehead, a permanent reminder of his relentless character; the way his chest heaved each exhale, as if constantly pained by an unknown affliction.

Good, she thought to herself, At least his dreams should torment him, if his psyche won't allow it.

In… And out. In… Out.

Three weeks had passed since her brazen attempt to escape with Cain. Three weeks, since she left the wounded knight in the cave: to rot or to crawl back by himself.

Back.

Back to where?

Back home? That much was impossible.

Back to the Saltpans? And from there on… what?

Three weeks. Three weeks had passed to account for her life back in Harrenhal. Three weeks of sleeping in the same bed as him, three weeks in which her only waking thought was to grab a pillow and smother him with it as he slept soundly by her side.

Goosebumps crawled over her skin, leaving the lady restless and aggravated. She’d twist and turn more times than she could count - she’d curse herself and her current situation: her weakness, her inability to kill Aemond then and there.

She had to live. She had promised Jace that much, and she would honor her word.

There would be a time for Aemond to meet his end. And it would be by her hand.

Jace.

If he were here, he’d know what to do.

Her thoughts turned sporadic. For a few moments, the girl clenched her fists so hard that her knuckles turned white - squeezing harder as her anger built up. Each of her fingernails bit into the softness of her palm, and she could feel herself draw harsher breaths, in and out: all in a desperate attempt to calm herself down.

Her heart beat loudly, and her body trembled in unquenched rage.

She could still kill him now; Gods, how she wished nothing more adherently than that. And why not kill him - for his death would avenge Jacaerys, Luke… Cain.

Indeed, here she was, laying down next to the Kinslayer, one step away from wrapping her small fingers against his throat and pushing down with an unrivaled force and fury.

Before she could fully process her own actions, (Y/N) slowly rose from her resting place. The wide bed made a deep creaking sound, which echoed throughout the room for a couple of moments.

One, two, three seconds she allowed herself to wait.

The girl remained unmoving, as she took in a sharp breath, and held it in the back of her throat.

Her weary eyes skimmed over Aemond’s sleeping form, and her whole body stiffened in anticipation. When she noticed his lack of a reaction, a soft sigh parted from her rosy lips, and a deep scowl settled over her fair features.

Reason fought with ire and, eventually, the former succeeded in its quiet assertion.

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes, and the lady of Riverrun shut them tightly; it was Jacaerys’ voice that then rang in her ears.

‘You know what your only fault is?’ He let out a roaring laugh while engulfing her back with his stronger arms. She turned around to face him, abruptly so, and her hands came to rest over his broad and shaking chest. 'I remember a boy who once said I had no faults.' The lady laughed with him, whilst rubbing small circles in the cuff of his sparring vest.

He kissed the top of her head with a wistful smile, and glanced at her with a boyish glimmer in his hawk-like eyes. 'Please accept my humblest apologies, my darling love. I merely meant: do you know what the only thing that’s too good about you is?’

(Y/N) let out a soft giggle, mirroring Jace’s look of full, unadulterated love. She furrowed her brows comically, before tracing his jaw with her free hand. ‘Enlighten me, then, My Prince…’

Upon hearing his title cascade from her plump lips, the Prince of Dragonstone dived in to press his forehead onto hers. He took in a shaky breath, and gently cupped her cheek to kiss her. ‘You are far too loyal for your own good. You care too much for the people you let in. It makes you angry and brash - it makes you take too many risks.’

The threat of a sob was forming on her wobbly lip. (Y/N) bit it harshly, and sucked in another breath. Her tight hold replaced the tender meat of her inner palm, with the silky sheets of their shared bedding. A lone tear parted from her shut eye, rolling over her face, and staining her cotton nightdress.

‘It makes me quite jealous - your fearlessness and devotion.’ Jacaerys muttered against her ear, whilst pampering her with chaste, soft kisses. ‘When I make you my Queen, I might just make it so that you can only see and take care of me.’ He jested lightly, eliciting a chuckle from the laying girl.

Her hand reached for his soft, curly locks, and she twirled each strand against her slim fingers. ‘Should you make me your wife, Jace, I don’t think I’d ever part from you again.’

His eyes held a fire in them; the Velaryon prince reached for her tangled hand, and took it in his own, pressing it against his waiting mouth. ‘You will be my wife. My Princess.’ His voice was laced with naught but determination and love. ‘One day, we’ll both be crowned before the masses: and you will be the most beloved Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.’

‘When we marry, you will be mine, as I already am yours.’ He pledged with a final, delicate caress.

With each palpable reminder of him, her jaw clenched tighter and tighter. The suffering that erupted from deep within her chest both fueled and exhausted the lady and, soon enough, the girl found herself laying down again, wetting her pillow with endless rivers of tears.

The chastising fires of sleep licked at her conscious mind, and, although strained by her lover’s swift reminder, the woman fell into a deep sleep.

Oh, and how beautiful the dream was.

Although it wasn’t an exact replica of the way they first met, it more than made up for it with its stilling beauty.

***

He held his hand out to her, a polite smile plastered across his face. Her older brothers gave her a knowing look - there would be no higher honor for a Tully than to be singled out during the banquet of the Crown Prince's sixteenth name day.

Together, they danced not one, not two, not three… but seven dances during that blessed evening.

Her feet were aching and, with the redness of his cheeks and the lightness on his handsome face, the girl guessed she had at least had the same effect on the Prince, as he had on her.

They talked all throughout the night, sharing fond stares and quiet giggles that echoed and bounced off the hard stone walls.

“Why haven’t we met before, My Lady?” Jacaerys questioned with an upward quirk of his brow and a charming smile upon his lips.

“I’m afraid such questions will have to be taken up with my Grandfather, Your Grace.” As she mirrored his contagious grin, the young girl carried on, “I’ve… been at court while I was younger, and remained in the Red Keep for a couple of years, but the quiet of the Riverlands always suited me better.”

“We’re very similar, you and I, Lady Tully.” Jace let out in a long huff, straightening his back against the cold patio of the Royal Gardens. “I… I know that it is my duty, to confer with the other Lords and Ladies and make idle talk, but… I must admit that it can be quite…”

“Straining?” (Y/N) suggested with a quizzical quirk of her brow.

Jacaerys’ face broke into a beaming smile, and the Heir to the Iron Throne nodded affirmatively. “Exactly that, My Lady. I’m afraid, sometimes, that it shows on my face.” He joked half heartedly as he scrunched up his nose - though his posture remained upright and fair.

Her eyes widened in surprise, and the girl shook her head definitively. “I assure you, Your Grace, it couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Jace.”

“... I beg your pardon?”

“Friends and family just call me Jace.”

A knowing look was shared between them, and (Y/N) allowed her eyes to trail downwards, resting on the velvet flowers that adorned the well-kept garden. Her cheeks felt as though they caught on fire, and the lady was sure that her face held a comical rouge to it, thanks to Jacaerys’ insistent staring.

She knew well what came after that - she remembered how she hurried to allow Jace the same courtesy, of calling her by her given name, and how they both laughed at the other’s awkwardness.

And yet…

The Velaryon’s laughter turned into a painful cry. As if possessed, he started shaking his head. Then his limbs. Then his body.

“But dead men do not need names, do they, (Y/N)?”

Her head shot up - blood began pumping in her ears, and her heartbeat hammered against her chest.

“W-What?”

“I am dead, I am dead, I am dead,” He wailed continuously, “Can’t you see it, my love? Can you not see?”

Strong arms came to hold her from behind - wrapped up in algae, with flesh half eaten by the haunting sea.

The air in her lungs filled with a putrid smell.

“Do you see me? Do you? Do you see me, (Y/N)? My face, my eyes, how do they look? Oh, (Y/N), I cannot see down here! It’s so dark!”

Wet and cold rivers of liquid ran down her spine, coming from his parted mouth - water or blood, she couldn’t distinguish. And she was far too scared to turn her head to look.

“I cannot breathe - help me! Why did you let me die?”

A violent shriek escaped her lips. The girl tried to spin and turn - escape his hold, and take him in her arms all the same.

Jacaerys was faster in his attempts; he took her face with his pruney fingers, and twisted her head around.

But instead of brown eyes, she was met with greying hues.

“Why did you let me die?” Cain’s voice echoed Jace’s sentence. “Why did you let me die, My Lady? How could you let me die?”

Blood was raining down on them: it filled her lungs, and painted her blue dress in a sickly purple. It stuck on her eyes and closed shut. It made her limbs impossible to move.

"No… no, no… this is not how it's supposed to go…!"

“(Y/N)! It's all your fault, all your fault…!”

***

A blood-curdling scream regurgitated from her dry throat.

Neither her drenched nightgown, nor the clogged air of the wide chambers managed to calm her down. While still in the limbo between dream and reality, (Y/N) brought a hand to her souring throat, and clawed at her collar for more stability.

Almost immediately after her first shaky sob, Aemond’s body bolted upright, and the One-Eyed Prince brushed off any remaining fragments of his torturous sleep.

With his right arm, he reached for her in an outstretched caress, eyes wide with wonder over her violent reaction - whilst his left instantly grabbed the dagger on the drawer closest to him.

One look about the room confirmed his pending suspicion: she had gone through a nightmare, and a very unpleasant one at that.

Not all our dreams get to turn into nightmares - The dead of night can provide solace for some, as well as great agony for others.

Scattered desires, idle wants, and needs: all met under the velvety silence and gratifying darkness that eats one whole, and mends his subconscious to the most profane of fantasies.

In his dream, Aemond was engaging in a much kinder resolve than the lady next to him.

***

The echo of swift, hurried footsteps allowed a comforting sigh to wash over his parted lips.

The tedious company of his brother and father was long forgotten, the moment her familiar silhouette caught his eye, urging him to turn his head around.

There she stood, ever the vile temptress, wearing an emerald green dress that draped lowly over her shoulders, trailing over her tender bosom, and barely covering the perky mounds of flesh.

She was smiling at him, despite being attached to Jace's arm, and a soft bite over her lower lip was all it took for the young Prince to feel that familiar tightness form in his leather braies.

He couldn't tell who strutted towards who, or how they got to that point. But a tentative hand rose to his face, taking off his eye patch.

A hitch of pleasure escaped from her crimson lips. She took both his hands in hers and, before the masses, placed them right above her clothed, throbbing clit.

"Please…" She pleaded with him, writhing into his reluctant touch, "Kostilus. Kostilus, Aemond."

His hesitation and lack of movement caused a loud whimper to contort from deep within her throat. She gave him a sly smirk, and brought her own hands under her skirts, to lift them and show him her glistening cunt. The evidence of his arousal was obvious, what with his cock brushing against her thigh as they kissed. He took her by the neck with one hand, while resting the other on her cheek.

He let out a low groan, and pushed her hand away to cup her dripping sex. His calloused thumb flicked over her reddened pearl, and a long, slim finger went inside her tight hole.

Aemond clenched his jaw - almost painfully so - and his hips rutted into the air so desperately, that the man was sure her wanton gasps held some amused glimmer in them.

His lilac orb watched her face contort in pleasure. They were all alone now, hidden in the shadows of the Great Hall, belonging to the Red Keep.

… And there he was, seated on the Iron Throne, moving his hips lazily as his intended was bouncing up and down his clothed shaft, rubbing their bodies together with a renowned fever.

His name fell from her lips in a sickeningly sweet way - Aemond could feel his hardness twitch into the hot material, and the Targaryen Prince bit back a guttural moan.

"Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck, that's it. Bona iksos issa sȳz riñītsos." He hissed through gritted teeth.

She was finally his.

His to love, his to cherish, his to fuck and to make love to.

The thought of possessing her fully, unapologetically, wildly, sent a deep shiver down to his unyielding loins.

Aemond was close. Oh so close to reaching his high. But he wanted to make her feel good.

Wordlessly, the One-Eyed Prince stopped her desperate bucking with one hand over her hip and the other, holding down onto the nape of her neck.

The girl was sobbing and shaking. Her voice came out as a meek whisper, and her glassy eyes met with his dilated pupil.

"No, no… please… kostilus, Aemond, don't stop…" She writhed inside his arms, bringing her hand out to caress his scarred cheek.

A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his bemused lips. Aemond hummed at her admission, and tenderly licked her lips.

"Shh," He soothed her gently, "Be still, byka hontes. Issa dōna, byka jorrāelagon."

While speaking, the Targaryen Prince pushed her dress to the side, sliding off her small clothes with an able hand and placing her flush onto the Iron Throne.

He bit the inside of her thigh, and rubbed small circles on the back of her hands.

Like the perfect lover, he entwined her palms with his, entangling their fingers together as he hushed her sweetly.

"Spread your legs for me, issa jorrāelagon. Let me see how wet you are."

The echo of a "Please" got caught in his throat. It was taking everything inside of him not to kneel before his lady and beg her to let him touch her.

Her wild blush and plush, swollen lips made Aemond let out a low curse. He gripped her fingers tighter, and took them in his mouth, to coat them with adorning kisses, one by one.

"You can do it for me, my sweet, pretty girl." He encouraged her through a shallow pant. "Don't you want me to make you feel good?"

A shy 'yes' bounced off the cold walls of the secluded Keep. Aemond hummed in approval, and lowered his head over her sensitive mound, sucking lightly.

With each new whimper, his strokes became more and more sporadic. The Prince aligned his nose over her throbbing clit, and eased his tongue into her sacred depths.

His eye shut tightly at the feeling of her sweet nectar - one of his hands came free from her tight grasp, and he parted her thighs even further apart.

"Good girl, good girl, good girl…" He chanted while latched onto her scorching heat, and, with one final push of his tongue inside her, he took the girl over the edge.

Her cries of bliss shook the very building to the core. Her wild pants brought Aemond close to orgasm, and the male had to bring down a hand to his aching bulge, and clench it tightly, in order to stop himself from spilling in his pants.

It wouldn't take long for his love to wiggle her hips again.

His mouth and chin gleamed with the evidence of her spilled arousal. Aemond let out a rumbled laugh and licked himself clean with the help of two nimble fingers.

"I won't waste a single drop. Not one, single drop of you."

His words made her eyes roll back, and her throat inch with a loud moan. His Lady kneeled before him, and rubbed her cheek over his clothed cock, kissing at its outlines faintly.

Insatiable little mynx.

His eye fluttered shut, groaning in agony at her sensual touch. Aemond swallowed thickly, and he let out a hurting whimper, as the kneeling woman dipped her hand in the tightness of his pants.

Slowly, teasingly, she tested the waters.

The woman brought her hand up to her lover, and parted his swollen lips with the slow stroke of her thumb. Silently, she urged him to coat her skin with the wet of his saliva. Aemond smirked, and licked one long stripe over her spreading palm.

Humming in approval, and never once breaking eye contact, she eased her way down his leather trousers, and freed his cock from the tightness of its cage.

Several beads of sweat streamed down his pleasured face. Droplets of precum rolled down his reddened tip, and Aemond hissed at the contact they made with the base of his shaft.

His lady looked at him with soft, doe-like eyes;

"Syz taoba." She praised him with a mischievous smile. Before he could register the whole of her movements, the woman's tongue darted out, and she licked a slow strip over his twitching manhood.

She laughed at his dazed expression, and began touching him with her silky palm.

"Yes…" He moaned into her hold, bucking his hips to meet her hand halfway. "Tighter. Grip it tighter…" He instructed her through labored breaths, and a harsh groan etched its way from his bitten lips. "Ah, ābrazyrys!"

With each palpable thrust, Aemond moaned louder and louder, until the licks of relief washed over him in a sudden wave of pleasure.

At once, his hips stilled their violent bucking, and he felt the first streaks of cum shoot over his heaving abdomen.

Aemond gasped at her unwavering touch, and a single tear of pure delight rolled down his pale cheek.

She smiled at him. A pure, innocent smile, as if what she'd just done did naught to shake her untouched innocence.

(Y/N) moaned at the sight of him, so ravished and spent by her hand - she licked her lips tentatively, and trailed her fingers over his lower stomach, coating each digit with his warm release.

The cum pooled on the base of her tongue, and she showed him the fullness in her mouth, before swallowing him whole.

Thinking him fully drained, the girl made haste to get up on her feet and press her forehead against his. She giggled excitedly, and kissed over his jaw and neck.

A primal glint swirled deep within him, and Aemond's eye darkened.

He wasn't done with her just yet.

His arms flipped her over, and the pair found themselves in the peace and quiet of his old Quarters. Her body was pushed against the silk bedding, laid in below Aemond's insistent licks and kisses.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, until the only thing you can think of is me."

His voice was shaking with lust and need, and the curve of her waist and breasts did nothing to help his aggravated heart.

His love let out a stimulated groan. Her lips churned into a small pout, and she brought his hand out to her scorching heat, pressing down on it insistently.

His mouth lulled open - he could feel the heat emanating from her maidenhood, and the very scent that made his head swirl with need.

He gritted his teeth and lowered his body to press against hers. He could feel himself grow harder and harder by the second, twitching against her exposed thigh.

The girl let out a burst of snorting laughter, and her legs came to grip him over the bulk of his waist.

Effortlessly, she pushed him into the wide goose pillows, towering over him as she snapped her hips into his.

"I always wanted to mount a dragon. Tonight, I'm going to ride you as you ride Vhagar."

***

The intensity of her scream made the man bolt up in an instant. His thoughts surged with a singular instinct: to protect her.

A hand reached for his dagger. The other, for her shaking form.

"What happened?" His throaty groan echoed through the silent room.

At the sound of his smothering voice, the girl let out a startled scream. She would have fallen from the unmade bed, were it not for Aemond's hands, which caught her beforehand. … His face contorted in pain at her recoiling, at her lack of trust in him. His very presence was unnerving her.

Her numerous shrieks alerted the new guards, who, warned in advance of their master's disposition to anger, hastily opened the door to his chambers - swords unsheathed and shoulders tense.

But, upon glancing at the erratic woman, and the way her hands were pushing Aemond's chest away from her flush form, they assumed this was just another way of coupling, and the oldest of the two bowed his head in embarrassment, before grabbing his brethren by the cape and exiting the room.

Fucking assholes…! The Lady thought to herself. Upkeeping the realm and instigating order only when they see fit.

The pang of embarrassment took a hold of her jaded face. It didn't matter what they thought. But all the same, Cain's words echoed into her ears, slithering into her heart.

' - the walls talk in Harrenhal, my Lady. And they... well, forgive me for being so blunt - speak stories about how the Kinslayer loses sleep by visiting you in your chambers at night.'

Disgust painted its way over her distressed expression. A deep frown creased her forehead, and she clicked her tongue in irritation at Aemond's attempt to soothe her.

"N-Nothing happened." She strained herself to answer. "It doesn't matter. Now let me go."

But his hold didn't falter. His iron grip reigned over her, and (Y/N) could feel how her wrist started to ache from numbness.

Her eyes shot up in pure horror.

"Please, Prince Aemond." She tried once more, though this time sweeter. Her eyes trailed from his face to his clenched fists, and she tried to relax in his hold - at least slightly. Dread settled into the pits of her stomach, as she awaited his answer.

The One-Eyed Prince felt his heart hammer against his chest. A stinging pain ruled over any other voice of reason, and he felt lethal, succumbed to the endless lust and frenzy that he felt for the shaking girl.

And, although he didn’t let go of her bruising arm, he sat down the dagger in his left hand, in favor of touching her lax cheek with his rough fingertips.

Gods, he was still so painfully hard.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, as his grip over her body relaxed with each passing minute. The taste of abhorance was getting harder and harder to ignore - as did his raging hard-on, so adamantly pressed against her covered leg.

The woman darted her tongue out to wet her chapped lips; an action that wasn’t easily ignored by Aemond. His brows furrowed in lust and anger, and the coil in his lower stomach grew tighter by the second.

His hand ghosted over her twisted features, and he held his hand against her, with a fear akin to getting burnt. She scrunched her nose up as he scooted closer: her eye trailed downwards to his huge erection. Fear mixed with the knowledge of her situation, and her free hand came to grip the edge of the mirkwood bed.

“Hey,” She began to say, but took a pause to clench and unclench her jaw. “I think we should go back to sleep.”

Her eyes closed, if only for a second. Aemond’s deep breaths echoed through the quiet room, over her face, and the girl chastised herself for being so idiotic.

Some reply she gave him.

… But there is still a way to get a hold of that damned dagger.

Thoughts laced with uncertainty whirled inside her head. This wasn’t the first time Aemond had stared with hunger at her, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It was simply the way their 'relationship' worked. Simply the way he did.

Before she could muster up to add anything else, the Kinslayer broke the silence. His voice was soft and hitched; His broad arms snaked around her again, and his single eye loomed over her, adorning an emotion that menged perfectly with caution and lust.

“Why do you have this effect on me?” He questioned no one but himself. “You have ruined me.” He uttered, as if her presence and innocence were the strongest of poisons.

“Nyke istan nykeā vala hen gaomilaksir se rigo gō nyke mazilībagon laesi va ao. Se ao… ao… ao mazverdagon issa aylik hae lo nyke daor…”

The last of his words came out strained and angry, the desire to possess her coming out in the roughness of his sentence in High Valyrian.

(Y/N) squinted at him, unsure of what to do and say, except to stay awfully quiet. His cock twitched in his pants at her confused expression, and the woman sat her eyes on the dagger before her.

May his Gods so help him if he tries to do anything to me, she dryly thought to herself.

“I never tried to hurt you in any way.” She spoke decidedly, trying her best to keep a level of strength in her hoarse voice. Her body tensed under his aggravating touch, and the Lady quietly cursed herself for her inability to move further away from him.

Aemond’s face broke into a tight smile, and the Targaryen Prince huffed out in a low breath.

“Quit playing your game with me. You know exactly what you did. Women like you have quite the breeding for it.”

At that moment, anger blinded her. Swift as an arrow, she rose her head up high, and attempted to slap him - hard. But the older man caught her hand within his skilled fingers, and lowered it to his aching heart, keeping it there.

“Ao taenor issa. Aōha elēni, aōha laesi, aōha relgos, aōha maelki - aōha olvie perhas iksos surokvis issa. Issi ao biare? Hmm? Issi ao biare rūsīr skoros ao gōntan naejot issa?”

He could see the tears in her eyes. He could feel the flesh of her skin burn with the roughness of his touch. He could feel her anger and building disdain, and all of it pushed him over the edge all the same.

Aemond grabbed her face with his free hand, and clasped her jaw tightly. He breathed in her warmth, and he cursed himself for it - for the weakness that she caused him, for how easy it was for her to calm him down. “Ao issi nykeā quptenka ābra qilōni insalvak nykeā dārys hen ānogar.” He hissed desperately, lowering himself closer and closer to her face. “I treat you with kindness, and this is how you think to repay me? Vile, spoiled cunt. Gevie līve, ny dōna byka rene.”

To his mind, he was but an animal, caught helplessly in a siren’s grasp - she had lured him in with her beauty, her heart, and he was drowning in her, in her essence, in her being.

All of the things he felt towards her welled up inside of him: the love, the longing, the obsession, the lust, the need, the want. It was all too much.

He breathed heavily into her ear, while stroking at her bottom lip, “Gaomagon ao ūndegon sepār skorkydoso kraj ao issi, issa jorrāelagon? Aemond Mēre-Laes, se kipagīros hen Vhagar sen se Dārys mīsio hen Westeros… aōhon. Isse prūmia, haevisis, se maelki."

His raining assault in High Valyrian aggravated her to no end. Although Jacaerys' knowledge on the language wasn't perfect, either, he had taught the girl enough to get by.

And enough it was, at the very least, to make out the hissed out "beautiful"s, "love"s, and "heart"s that Aemond spewed at her.

The Tully girl spat in his face, biting on the index finger, that was trying to pry open her mouth. “You promised me,” She asserted as she pried herself free of his sickly embrace, “You promised me you wouldn’t touch me until I expressively asked you to.”

Her (y/e/c) eyes clashed with his lone, lilac orb. The woman swallowed thickly, and a droplet of sweat fell over her pounding temple. “So back. Off.”

Half a second goes by - half a heartbeat and half a breath -, until Aemond finally lets go of her, and settles back down onto the cold side of his bed.

For a while, (Y/N) is stuck. She sees how the man she loathes turns his back around, how his shoulders fall back as he’s trying to relax. She focuses on his breathing, and how his erratic breaths quiet down.

“Go to sleep.” He commands her bitterly, “Before I give you a reason to be tired out.”

The ferocity of a thousand curses almost falls from her tightened lips. The woman takes in a deep breath, and lowers herself back onto the drenched sheets.

He had donned the dagger to his fucking waist.

For almost two weeks, Cain had been falling in and out of consciousness.

His clash with Aemond left him weak and crippled - most of all, it left him ashamed.

Ashamed of his lack of diligence. Ashamed for having been unable to protect his Lady.

Finally, ashamed of his weakness and lack of thought, of reason.

If he were awake right now, he'd curse the Old Gods and the New for making him so - for giving him the wound that would incapacitate him forever. He'd have to fight the shivers that came with the rotting of his flesh, he'd have to clench his remaining fist in agony at the notion of the pools of blood he lost: the notion of his wound still going through the process healing, and all that came with it.

His once handsome face was still stained with his blood - dirt and sweat clung to it, like flies on dead meat.

His golden locks looked almost black, covered by the mold and mud that he'd crawled through once he reached outside the cave.

***

"You need to be swifter on your foot, lass!" Ser Allyn Swann instructed him, hitting the boy over the legs once, in taciturn aggression. "You're to be our Lady's sworn protector, are you not? You'll need to do better than that."

"I already am her sworn protector!" Cain yelled after the knight, rubbing a hand over his sweaty forehead. He took in a sharp breath, exhaustion seeping in his bones. Without waiting for an answer, he retook his wide stance and bowed down to his professor. "Again." He urged Ser Swann with a determined look.

The rains of spring had softened the ground, and both the knight and aspiring shield had to be mindful of their footsteps, so as to not land on their tired backs.

Allyn smiled, and shook his head. "Are you now, boy?" He obliged with a reply, "I think you're a seventeen-year-old blighter, who's bitten off more than he can chew."

His able taunting seemed to have worked.

No longer was Cain swinging his sword in circles, measuring his adversary with an aware look. Exactly like a dire wolf would after getting a whiff of fresh prey, the Waters bastard jumped into the leveling field, slashing his wooden blade directly at his opponent's head.

Allyn hummed in disapproval, and back-tracked to the right, faking a swing to his left side, before wiping Cain's feet off the ground with a wonky, but effective swipe.

"Again, Waters?" The knight asked with a click of his tongue. "This is the fifth time you fell for this exact same move. You may be as simple-minded as the Gods allow - but even a fool would learn from his mistakes once he swallowed mud once or twice."

As the boy lowered his gaze in undoubted guilt, his teacher offered him his hand, hoisting him off the field with a low grunt.

"Your mind is elsewhere, Cain. What is it that's bothering you?"

Eyes of the colour of steel clashed with Allyn's brilliant blues. A hoarse sigh left his parted lips, and Cain looked to the sky above them.

"I… I'm not ready." He admitted through gritted teeth. "Lady (Y/N) believes in me, but I'm not ready."

His simple sentence, his raw honesty, moved the greying knight.

He smiled tightly at the boy, resting a hand atop his heaving shoulder, and squeezed strongly.

"You are ready. You haven't the slightest idea of what you can do, should the situation call for it."

"Aye, I can fall straight on my ass. Maybe that'll distract my real opponents!"

"Cain." His professor interrupted him, "Long has it been since I last faced that eight-year-old boy who wanted nothing more than to prove himself."

Ser Swann's words brought a twisted smile to his lips, and (Y/N)'s protector mirrored his tired expression, as he huffed out a breath in disdain.

"I'm afraid I'll fail her." He muttered under his breath, looking in the general direction of his Lady's Quarters. "She believes in me, yes. But what if she's wrong?" A deep frown splits his forehead in three, wide creases. "Sometimes it feels like she must be."

"Only a real knight would ever admit to his weaknesses and less than stellar moments." Allyn encouraged him shortly. His eyes never once left Cain's, and the old Lord nodded his head briskly. "Lady Tully is not the only one who believes in you. Before her, Lord Hunter Redwyne believed in you."

A small chuckle broke Cain's reserved silence.

"If I remember correctly, he made you his steward exactly because he believed in you. After him, of course, went his sons and daughters. When the siege over Arbourtown took place, who was it that fought 100 men all by himself?"

"Hardly 100. It was 66 at best."

"Honesty. Another rare quality to find in a knight."

Cain's frustration welled in his eyes. "It's not honesty - it's a well-known truth!"

"Let me tell you something, Cain. It could have been a hundred men. Or it could have been thirty, or it could have been just one. The unrivaled truth remains: when everyone abandoned their post, you were the only one left standing in the West Wing of that castle."

A hefty silence settled off between the two.

"Plenty of people believed in you: plenty still do. And all of them were right to do so."

Cain's aching fists turned lax once Ser Allyn put an end to his trail of thought. "I…" He bit his cheek in an attempt to talk.

'Thank you.'

"I still have a lot to learn."

"That you do, boy. That you do." Allyn confirmed with a convinced jerk of his head. His eyes glimmered with pride, however, and, as he picked his sword back up, the man smiled at his driven apprentice.

"But I believe in you, and in the fact that you will make her proud."

"... It's nice to talk again like this."

Allyn's expression saddened for a moment, before it regained its familiar vigor.

"As I told you, lass. No matter how far you are, I'll always be somewhere with you. I'll be right here, at the tip of your sword, in your armor."

Ser Cain felt a tear run down his cheek, and the knight rose a hand to wipe it away from his face.

"I don't think I'll ever hold a sword again." He hummed painfully, but the older knight only shook his head.

"You haven't the slightest idea of what you can do, should the situation call for it." He repeated his words again. "Trust me, son. You will hold Faithkeeper again. … But now it's time for you to wake up."

Wake up.

Wake up.

Wake up.

***

"-- Are you waking up?!" The worried voice of a woman rang through the open field.

Cain felt his head jolting with pain - his limbs of a calming numbness, and his lips dried up.

He swallowed thickly, before opening his mouth to say, "Water… I need… water."

"Right on it, soldier." She amusedly said, bringing down her own flask to his waiting mouth.

He drank to his heart’s content, and only when the last droplets of the blessed liquid touched his throat, did Cain Waters stop to breathe.

“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing he said, as the unknown woman checked her poach for any remains of the water. “I didn’t think about the practicality of leaving some for later. … Or about you needing a sip.”

The last of his words greatly perplexed the brown-haired woman - she let out a mirthled laugh, and gently shook her head to the side. “At ease, Commander. We have more where that came from. Drink as much as you need to.”

Her amber eyes trailed over his bandaged hand, and, as he followed her stare with his own, Cain sighed in wallowing dread. His gaze turned curious, however, as he glanced at his shoulder, and wasn’t immediately greeted with the ghastly sight of a chopped-off arm.

A shocked look adorned his features, and the knight brought his left hand to feel the borders of his forming scar.

A painful sting stopped him in his tracks.

“I’d be careful with touching that arm so soon,” She tutted over his brash enthusiasm, “Your stitches are far from being healed. … And it’s not all that good and grand.”

Her sharp eyes softened slightly, and she let out a hardened breath.

“I’m very sorry. But we still had to cut off some of the infected fingers. With time, though, I’m sure you’ll hold your sword again.”

‘You will hold Faithkeeper again.’

Cain hummed in a lowly tone, as his eyes traveled back to the strange woman before him. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, until he finally settled on the least invasive sentence.

“I’m very grateful for your help,” He began carefully, while nibbling at his lower lip. “But who are you? And why would you save me?”

The girl’s eyebrows raised in beguilement, and she jokingly brought her hand to her chest, bowing deeply.

“My name is Mira Florent, of Brightwater Keep. I was a ward not long ago, under the esteemed tutelage of Lady Caswell. For eleven years, I served in Bitterbridge.” Taking in his every reaction with a curious look, Mira quirked her head to the side, and offered the knight a half-earnest smile. “And who might you be?”

“You didn’t answer my other question.” Cain tensed visibly, and the woman raised her hands out in false surrender.

“Indeed, I have not. I’d like to know who it is I’m talking to, as well, before I should waste all my breath away.”

The knight’s deep gaze settled on her downturned nose and inviting smile. He took in a deep breath, and propped his body on his healthy elbow. “I asked my questions first, my Lady.”

“And I demanded for answers, second.” Her voice rang out with a beaming laugh, and the older woman showed him her portrait-perfect grin. “No one here is in any position to make demands. … But please. I am not a Lady. There’s no need for you to address me as such”

Her easy-going attitude and fun behavior were almost enough reason for Cain to return her gracious smiles - still, the royal knight remained impassive, while nodding his head in quiet agreement.

“My name is Cain Waters, m’lady.” A short pause ensued, during which both healer and patient exchanged a diverted look, “Until recently, I served in Riverrun; I answer to the Tullies, the lords of the Riverlands.”

“I knew it!” Mira’s gleeful exclamation set Ser Cain back on his back. “It was fairly obvious by the crest in your armor. The trout lost its head, but the house colors are still as clear as day.”

“Is that why you decided to save me?” The man asked her tentatively.

“Well, that’s why we kept carrying you with us after patching you up, I suppose. But we would have tried to heal you either way.”

“We?” The Waters bastard questioned once again. “There’s more than just you around?”

“You don’t think I carried you all the way here by myself, right?” Her sarcastic question jabbed at his intellect, but her placid smile told the knight to relax, and put an end to his sporadic trail of thought. “It’s just me and my travel partner - he’s the one that wanted us to leave you at a crossroads end, by the way.”

A bemused smirk tugged at the corners of Cain’s chapped lips. “Then you have my full gratitude, m’lady - I have to say, I appreciate you not letting me die. Pray tell, does your companion have a name?”

An arch of her bushy eyebrows was the only telltale sign of Mira’s pending curiosity over Cain's meddlesome nature. She jerked her head to point at a silhouette near the fireplace, and she leaned over on a tree’s bark end.

“He does.” The woman said simply, and her expression turned somber for just a moment. “You take your profiling seriously, Cain Waters - his name is Albar. Albar of nothing, who serves under no one. Albar Stone.”

Cain’s face brightened slowly, as if he’d just been reminded of an old joke.

‘Us bastards always find a way to help one another.’

A rumbling laughter shook him in his laying spot, and the man gingerly shook his head after a passing while. “Another brother. I’ve a feeling we’ll get along just fine.”

Mira’s only reply was to shrug her shoulders, keeping quiet for the first time since they’d met. Her auburn eyes went over Cain’s shoulder, and she took in a deep breath. “You fought the Kinslayer, haven’t you?” She asked whilst playing with a silver pendant.

“You’re wearing the Tully crest - a house that openly pledged for the Blacks. Despite your heavy armor, your wound was of a clean cut. Too clean for a normal blade.” The Florent Lady awaited no confirmation from the laying man, as she went on, “I’ve been well acquainted with the deadly swords forged from Valyrian Steel. And there are only two people who wield such feats of war. Of course, only one of them who terrorizes our home.”

“Aye, that is true.” Cain let out after a low curse. “I regret not being swifter on my foot that day. It would’ve saved us a lot of trouble to slay him then and there.”

“Opportunities arise. And I’ve a feeling there will be another time for you to face him again.”

Cain’s forehead puckered at the last of her words, and his able hand pointed at the empty flask that now rested on her lower hip. “Oh, I would drink to that.” He bitterly laughed in earnest.

Mira’s posture ambled away, and she edged closer to the man’s plodded body. Silently, she got a hold of the bridles of the nearest horse, and offered Cain a lackluster smile. “I’ll hoist you up this saddle and we’ll keep walking towards the Vale.”

The muscles in Cain’s face tightened. His immediate thought went to (Y/N), his Lady, no doubt still stuck with Aemond in Harrenhal - that Gods' forsaken place.

His fist brandished in a tight hold, his head aligned to Mira’s working hands, and the knight tried to stop her musings with a firm palm over her waist.

“Wait -” He tried to reason, “I cannot go there. My Lady is still waiting for me, I cannot just abandon her.”

"Abandon your Lady?" Mira's eyes widened once more. She jumped up from the ground, and straightened her back in disbelief. "You're Lady Tully's personal knight? Is that why you fought the Kinslayer? You're telling me she's still alive?!"

Through an exhale, the male nodded. He cleared his throat with a loud cough, and scrunched his nose up in frustration.

"Indeed, m'lady. So you must understand me - I cannot forsake her. Not when she's still in the jaws of that one-eyed fucker."

Mira wiped the dust off her cotton pants, and grunted in agreement. She let out a tired breath, and clicked her tongue at his persistence.

"Well… you could have returned to Harrenhall, limping on your feet and all, if only you awoken a week ago. But we're less than an hour away from the Eyrie, Ser Cain." His crushed expression and gritted teeth softened the lady's resolve. "I warmly recommend you stick with us. Our road leads to the Arryns: we can drop you off to your Lord and you can take a while to recover."

"You slept for a very long time, Ser Cain. Everything you knew has changed in these last couple of weeks. Getting acquainted to your new situation will do you well."

Alys never dreamt. At least, she never once recalled what her dreams were about.

Such was the way of things for her, and she didn’t mind it - that was, until tonight.

Stilling images of her in his arms, of his soft lips upon the Tully's face made her shake with anger and betrayal well into the first callings of dawn.

Morning came and went, and the afternoon spent itself with her clasping her hands together, in the comfort of her room, thinking on what to do.

Her rattling worry wasn’t as much about her love for him, as it was for the frightening thought that if the Crown Prince didn’t want her anymore, she'd find her death by the sharp end of his sword.

The Rivers witch gulped thickly, and brought her hands over her neck and bump.

Aemond was capable of many things. But he wouldn't risk killing his child. Right?

The Tully girl had to go. The conclusion was a natural reach, and an expected one, at that: it was the only solution to her ticking problem.

A slight arch of her brow sent her thoughts adrift. How would she take care of it all? She gave the haughty Lady the chance to escape, and she failed - miserably. Now, she had no more allies left in Harrenhal, and no access to any amount of privacy.

The memory of Aemond's rage sent a cold shiver down her spine. Not once during her long life, did she witness a sight more fearful to behold, than the one of the One-Eyed Prince when angered. Hundreds died the day of her escape, and thousands more would keep on suffering, if ever she should break free again.

The Tully girl had to go. And then Aemond would be hers again.

Her prayers were answered when, sometime along the laid-in dusk, his footsteps echoed through the long hallway of her keep.

She waited for him in her small framed bed, eagerly aligning her hips to the side, to strike a more seductive pose.

… But when Aemond reached her doorstep, his eye carried a solemn, and resigned expression.

"The maids tell me she won't eat." He told her worriedly, opting for that instead of his usual greeting. He reached her bedside with two wide steps, and wordlessly took a seat while rubbing his temples. "She's punishing me."

Alys staggered a frustrated breath, and tried to calm herself back down. Her left leg moved to tease Aemond's crotch, and she chuckled appealingly.

"Must we worry about her all the time…? She'll eat when she gets really hungry." Alys dismissed his inquiry with a small caress, "In the meantime, I'm sure I could take your mind off things…"

Within a second, Aemond's hand was wrapped softly on her neck. "Stop that." He chastised her cruelly, "I'm not in the mood."

"You never are, as of late." She muttered dryly, but regretted her words instantly, when she felt his long fingers squeeze over her larynx tentatively. "I-I only meant to say that I missed you." She quickly intervened, while entangling her hand with his in a forlorn attempt to redeem herself.

Aemond hummed tiredly, and, as if he finally registered what he was doing, the man let go of her dainty neck.

Quietness washed over them, and Alys' eyes welled with the threat of tears, until Aemond spoke up.

"I want you to keep an eye on her. Become her friend, if you must."

The detachment with which he spoke wounded Alys' pride, but, as she massaged her neck, the woman only sighed. "Befriend her, Aemond?"

"Do whatever you think is right." He uttered once again. "Starting tomorrow, you'll be her maid - you'll make sure she eats when I'm not here; you'll make sure she doesn't think of a way to escape."

Her ears reddened from the deep wound laid upon her enlarged ego. Alys huffed in disbelief, and promptly shook her head. "What…?" She asked her lover. "So you want me to feed her and empty her chamber pot?"

"Don't act as if this work would be beneath you, love." Aemond tutted as he raised up from his taken seat. "I've already made up my mind: you will take care of her while I'm not around. And you will make her like it here."

The urgency in his words muffled out any other attempted protest. Alys' fists were clenched at her sides, and the older woman was biting down on her lower lip. "As you wish, Your Grace." She hissed past her tightened lips, while looking at him desperately.

As she noticed him turn around to leave, the Rivers witch shot up straight. "You won't stay?" She asked Aemond in a strangled tone.

"I have some business to attend to."

Aemond prayed before his dinners. As if that would make them any better.

As if that would help him swallow his guilt, or scatter it over the ghosts that he himself created.

As if that would deter the Gods to forgive him for his sins.

The pair stood quietly at the polished oak table, surrounded by naught but fermented wine and copious amounts of meat. For a while, all seemed well.

The cutlery broke a sound every once in a while, and Aemond's deep breaths turned the room's atmosphere heavy.

Eventually, it all built up to be too much.

"Is the food not to your liking?" His velvety smooth voice asked the girl before his eye.

With her hands still in her lap, now gripping her fingers painfully, Lady Tully replied, "... It's nothing of the sort. I'm just not hungry right now."

Aemond stared blankly into her eyes, until his scorching orb settled on her lips instead. Lustful thoughts of what he dreamt the night before plagued his mind, but the Prince merely shook his head, whilst taking a sip of the wine.

"You haven't eaten anything today." He muttered through a raised eyebrow, and a ghost of a forced smile. "Surely you must be famished."

The muscles on (Y/N)'s face twitched in annoyance. She jerked her foot from under the table, and turned her eyes back to her untouched plate.

"... As I said, I'm not feeling very hungry." She leaned further away, and the firelight of the wide, lit room, danced across her face with glorious shades of red and amber.

"Very well." Aemond asserted quietly, after letting out a hoarse curse in High Valyrian. Soon, the Prince turned his attention back to the illuminated room, without sparing the girl another glance.

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and coughed in the back of his hand a couple of times.

Each time she heard his attempts to clear his throat, the girl clenched her jaw tighter and tighter.

Neither spoke anymore, until Aemond sighed deeply.

"Does…" He began, but closed his mouth once again. His face turned into a sour scowl, his pale cheeks reddened, and the man forced himself to keep going, despite the hardness with which such a question came to him. "Does your wrist hurt you at all?"

A quick reminder to the other night.

The lady's eyes snapped forward, unsure of whether or not she'd heard him correctly. Were she not in this unpleasant situation herself, the woman would have laughed at the Prince's awkwardness; no less his stupid question.

Instead of laughing, she took in a shaky breath, which she exhaled almost immediately, before replying curtly. "It doesn't hurt." Her eyes closed and her brows furrowed in concentration.

Distaste for him, for what she was about to say, filled her weary heart and mouth.

"... Thank you for the inquiry, My Prince, that was very kind of you."

She wanted to scream and shout the moment his daft fingers gripped her own, and the Kinslayer tried to caress her, despite his hand's deep callouses. Still, she remained poised.

She was all alone now, and she had to play it smart.

(Y/N)'s breath caught in her throat, and her shoulders tensed visibly from under her green dress. Slowly, yet surely, she wiggled her hand free from under his palm, and placed it above her thigh once more.

If her movement displeased Aemond, then the Prince didn’t show it. His hand twitched atop the table, and he clenched it momentarily. But just as soon as his action was executed, it was covered by the Targaryen's mellow voice.

"Try to eat something tonight. And whatever it is that you'd like on the morrow, you can tell your maid to bring you."

Maid…?

Confusion made its way across her face. And, not even waiting for her to ask that eager question, Aemond dipped his head lowly and replied.

"The days are hard and long - prisoner or not, My Lady. While in Harrenhal, you are still a royal, and will be treated as such."

(Y/N) felt as if she could do nothing else but laugh. She envisioned her life in Harrenhal drift in a lot of different ways - though no thought of hers deterred her to believe she'd be taken care of by Aemond's older lover.

Of course, she jested lightly to herself. In the end, I am but a prisoner. And Aemond only has one eye.

Her hands were tied. And so were Alys Rivers', who looked none the happier to be rooted at her bedside table, judging by her tight expression.

"We don't have to play his game, you know." The girl hushed in her direction, as she kneeled down to help her change the ruined bed sheets.

Green eyes washed over her smaller form, holding an icy glimmer in them. But, despite her obvious discontent at her words, Alys remained quiet.

"You've known Aemond for longer than I," She kept going in the afternoon. "But we can both agree he has a dangerous character." Her lack of cooperation irked the lady to no end.

She dreaded the silence she was greeted with.

Hopelessly, she watched Alys wipe the last corner of the room - the girl observed how she turned on her heel, bowing at her without sparing her a second glance, and made her way toward the doors of her chambers.

"What do you think will happen once I tell Aemond that you helped Cain plan my escape?" She asked in a neutral tone.

For the first time that day, the Rivers bastard whipped her head around, and kneeled to the floor to gather up the dropped cloth. Despite her neutral smile, her voice was shaking. "You're trying to blackmail me?"

"I'm trying to help myself. ... And help you."

The woman let out a roaring laugh. "I am carrying the child of the dragon, girl. He wouldn't dare hurt me."

"Are you that sure?" The hardened look on (Y/N)'s face let no emotion stand out. Still, her eyes remained honest, truthful in her questions, and the wood witch let out an ample sigh.

"I know you don't want me here." The Lady raised her head in bold admission, "Believe me, I am the last person to be happy with this arrangement. This is your home. This is supposed to be your room and your rightful bed. On that, you'll hear no argument from me."

As her speech came to an abrupt end, Alys furrowed her brows in unexpected shock. She was quick to collect herself, and shield her shaking body by crossing her arms.

"We're more similar than we'd allow ourselves to think, Alys. We both want me gone and far, far away from here."

With a tentative look in her eyes, the Lady of Riverrun approached Alys' heaving body. She took her hands in hers and squeezed them reassuringly.

A strained chuckle parted from the elder's lips. She jerked her hands away and shot her an unfeeling look. "What would you have me do?" She interfered with a cutting voice. "You forget yourself - and I. I'm just a woman in this Keep, the same as you. If you think I hold any power over anyone here, you'd be sorely mistaken."

(Y/N) shook her head, and allowed a crooked smile to grace her tired features. She quirked her eyebrow at the woman's words, and only hummed disprovingly.

"I may not know you, Alys Rivers. But I know you are a smart and conniving woman. You lived all your life in Harrenhal, or so I heard."

Her harsh tone cut through the deadly silence of the room.

"I'm sure you kept at least a secret passage to yourself, and away from Aemond. It's not like us to keep all our eggs in the same basket... So, I want you to teach me all you know about this castle.”

A jocund expression seeped into Alys' pores. She clicked her tongue at (Y/N)'s words, and huffed out a wired breath. “Foolish girl. If anything should go wrong, Aemond will kill us both.”

A small pause, followed by a muttered curse ensued after Alys’ warning. Once her eyes locked on the Lady again, she frowned as she nodded her head.

"You have yourself a deal."

Taglist:

@bellameshipper @ohitsthemaster @kravitzwhore @virginslut08 @hiatuswhore @somemydayy

Translations:

"Bona iksos issa sȳz riñītsos" = That's my good little girl;

"Byka hontes" = Little dove;

"Issa jorrāelagon" = My love;

“Issa dōna, byka jorrāelagon” = My sweet, little love;

"Ābrazyrys" = Wife;

“Nyke istan nykeā vala hen gaomilaksir se rigo gō nyke mazilībagon laesi va ao. Se ao… ao… ao mazverdagon issa aylik hae lo nyke daor…” = I was a man of duty and honor before I set eyes on you. And you… You… You make me feel as if I am no longer…;

“Ao issi nykeā quptenka ābra qilōni insalvak nykeā dārys hen ānogar.” = You are a common woman who enslaved a prince of the blood;

“Ao taenor issa. Aōha elēni, aōha laesi, aōha relgos, aōha maelki - aōha olvie perhas iksos surokvis issa. Issi ao biare? Issi ao biare rūsīr skoros ao gōntan naejot issa?” = You tempted me. Your voice, your eyes, your lips, your soul - your very presence is seducing me. Are you happy? Are you happy with what you did to me?

"Gaomagon ao ūndegon sepār skorkydoso kraj ao issi, issa jorrāelagon? Aemond Mēre-Laes, se kipagīros hen Vhagar sen se Dārys mīsio hen Westeros… aōhon. Isse prūmia, haevisis, se maelki." = Do you see just how powerful you are, my love? Aemond One-Eye, the Rider of Vhagar and the Prince Protector of the Realm… yours. In heart, body, and soul.

"Gevie līve, ny dōna byka rene" = Beautiful witchling, my sweet little slut;

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