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darlingofvalyria · 7 months

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❝Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine. Dragons take.❞

[ Betrayal clouds your judgement, for when Jacaerys' indiscretion takes the form of a child, your anger lands in the palm of the Rogue Prince. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 3,412 ] | Daemon Targaryen x Targaryen Niece!Reader, Jacaerys Velaryon x Manipulative Aunt!Reader | this set in an au inside of in hightower green. | this is able to be read as a oneshot.

contains— canon divergence to the second power - an au of an au - targcest, use of 'bastard', infidelity, profanity, revenge, violence, pureblood Valyrian bullshit - thinking about death as a revenge but no suicide/suicidal ideation- angst, smut - two wrongs apparently make a right - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - nsfw: rough sex, biting, degradation, breeding kink, smidge dacryphilia, creampie - no kinslayers, no kings, no betas.

a/n— special thanks to @ahristata and @hiraethrhapsody for kicking my pursuit of this thread!! i woke up (almost literally) to this line of inquiry, & though writing for daemon is difficult, i had a way, way too much fun with this one m'fraid. Ihad so much fun I started laughing at the absurdity. + comment, reblog & like at will, mi luvs, mwa!

You can't breathe.

You stand there, your daughters by your sides, no more than five or so name days, dutiful as ever, the princess of the realm— the heir's wife, blindsided. Betrayed. Lied to. And you can't show them your grief, your anger, your shock— you smile, not betrayed, not realised, stupid.

Your act of stupidity protects you, for you can just tell that others, sharp-eyed as they are owning of sharper tongues, calculate the similarities between your husband and the child he is cooing at, at the arms of the Warden of the North's sister.

His bastard fucking sister.

You can't blink away as the facts, the threads, make a beautiful web in front of you. The conclusion is unmistakable. Jacaerys' consistent travels to the North, despite the campaigning for his mother's seat had not required the frequent stretches of long travels. How Aemond had remarked that the bastard is doing twice as much work in doing so, "as he should," Aemond murmurs darkly. "He casts a disgusting shadow on the Iron Throne, 'tis the least he can do."

The insistent of personally greeting the delegates from the North, you thinking it is just his wondrously formed friendship with the Lord Stark, had you dressing up and bringing your girls with him. So that your daughters can meet their father's fucking friend, one that occupied his time when he could have been at home, tending to his duties, his heirs.

And the woman who follows after the Wolf, the bastard Snow, his beloved sister. Dyanna had told you beforehand, as Lord Stark adores his only sibling. Their parenthood is unmistakable, dark hair and sharp chins. A Northern Beauty.

And then you stop, as there is a babe in her arms, no more than two name days at least.

And you see Jacaerys in his gaze.

His beautiful, warm brown eyes in the child in her arms, and as he stands there, your Prince of the Realm, too close for comfort, too close for platonic friendship, a familiarity one cannot deny— and that fucking, sweet-edged, tender smile on his face...

The same one he wore when you had given birth to his daughters. Soiled sheets, bloodied babes— it didn't matter. He held them to his arms with the very same smile, thanking you for birthing his babes.

A gut punch, a sharp inhale, an anger that coils and burns and roars.

Your bastard of a husband had fucked another bastard, and made himself a bastard little fucking family.

Life can ever be so cruel as it is humorous.

Daemon could have laughed at the prediction you found yourself in.

He sits to the left of his wife, the Queen who— in enough of itself, the evidence of the turmoil the court is about to get under, amusingly is talking quick with her Lord Hand; Corlys and Rhaenyra had not stopped pointedly looking at her heir, words too fast but unmistakable what the topic is if their gestures, the knot between their eyebrows, and unmistakable sighs and determined noises.

He, on the other hand, is pointedly staring at you.

You, who tries so hard to piece together an armour of stupidity, an air of nonchalance. As if there is no anger in your visage at your husband's attention completely stolen by Wolf's little sister and her son... who looked completely like him. Dark colouring, the First Men blood thick in his nose, his hair, at the curled edges of his baby-cheeked giggles.

When standing so close, faces to each other, there can be no doubt a mirror.

Or the lovesick smile on the mother's face, watching the Prince of the Realm interact with her son.

Together, the trio of them don't hint as much as a bead of Targaryen blood. One is able to pretend they are nothing more than a small... brown haired family.

Daemon presses his lips, trying desperately not to laugh so loudly.

He admired the boy, truly. Rhaenyra loved each child from her bosom with equal fervor, and Daemon was prepared take him as purely one of his own... but after he broke the betrothal with his daughter (though Baela could give lesser of a shit, though mildly dissatisfied as she was to become Queen, and the girl held her duties between canines) to marry a Hightower cunt... he had distanced himself from the boy.

Daemon viewed it as a sign of weakness, for he knew you. You were just like your mother, prodding into softened parts of his family— that green whore with his brother, young as she had been, his good sister Aemma had not been cold in their memories before she had found herself weightily pregnant with new heirs, and then Jacaerys, new to womanly spells, new to cunt, and you had him making vows in the ways of the dragonlords.

Though he can surmise that much of your mother's movements had not entirely been her own... Daemon knew that calculative look you got in your eye. Blink and it's gone, but your gaze sharpens, your mouth curls in a winning, prideful little smirk.

You were Otto Hightower's granddaughter alright, and you had wanted the Heir's Heir.

But now, it seems like, once a vow broken, it didn't really matter if it was a betrothal or a marriage to Jacaerys.

It brings a sick pull of satisfaction in him, that tugs him to look at you. Every time.

You laugh, tither, still evermore the gem of the feast— a feast you organised with the Lord Hand for your husband's absolutely exceptional diplomatic achievements in the North, truly, Daemon is laughing in the sidelines as the jests and songs make themselves — but Daemon is overtly familiar with dragons. And anger. And you simply stink of it. The way your eye twitches, the occasional grind of your jaw to how your fingers dig crescent moons into your palm. He catches blood in one blink then smeared, then gone, in another.

Your hold onto your armour— the Darling of the Realm, curated so painfully by a young, sly girl moving about the cesspit they call a crown's court — is breaking in pieces and tatters at each hour the feast went on.

It snarls. Like a dragon locked in the pits, tugging at reins, wishing to burn cities.

Maybe you aren't just another Hightower cunt after all.

Not purely at least, he thinks in distaste, staring at the dark green of your gown.

It is a childish tantrum, more than anything, for what is your Hightower green will do now? A bastard has been made, worse, a son. And though Jacaerys himself has muddied blood, he is still a Targaryen. His mother is Queen, prepared to make him an Heir to the Iron Throne as he had been legitimised as Laenor's son. A Velaryon. He bears the name, the crest, and the support of its house.

What is stopping him from marrying the Snow Bastard, legitimising the boy as his own, surpassing your own daughters?

Targaryens marry siblings, they also marry multiple wives.

It is a thought that he can see it dancing in your head— raw, enticing rage and bloodlust that tightens his breeches.

It is an interesting thing.

The green is disgusting, but Daemon can appreciate a young, fertile, Valyrian beauty.

Something your mother had ingeniously provided you and your siblings with, reining in her muddied blood to produce unmistakable Valyrian children. And as a smart little tart, you understood what to do with it.

When Daemon first met you, you were just one of the Hightower spawns that his brother had made to further his line. His brother's daughters—apart from Rhaenyra — were quiet things as babes and children. Odd the two of you were, but not really hostile. When you were introduced to him, your fat babe of a twin brother was teary-eyed and clinging to you, a quiet child with round eyes, staring at him inquisitively, as if challenging.

Then and there, Daemon disliked you so.

Even as you grew, the little of what he could see as he paid no mind of Viserys' other children, you grew up a fine royal, a princess of every word and sung note. Mentions of your progressive fight for the small folk, your charitable heart, your sweet nature that even his brother had made a note once or twice—

He thought it had been Otto Hightower who put you up to such machinations. Wouldn't be below him.

The night you bedded Jacaerys Velaryon, he was pleasantly surprised to find out it had been you all along.

And now here you are, betrayed as you had betrayed his daughter, delicious in your righteous anger and ripe (two babes before the year ended, Jace is an inglorious fool) for the taking. And youthful still. Smooth, soft skin, pretty lips and bright-eyed.

All your scheming, going as far as throwing your grandsire to Oldtown, it is obvious no one has wrangled the clever, spoiled little brat out of you.

As he sips his wine, amused and pleasantly hungry, he muses he might do a job or two of being the strong arm to do so.

He snorts, eyes straying back to the little First Men family.

There it is again. The jest that keeps on giving.

It was pride, truly, that kept you for most of the feast. That kept your gritted teeth to yourself, ducking into corners whenever your anger burned at your eyelids, stubbornly brushing stray tears away.

All is not lost, you stubbornly thought. You just had to plot.

But when Jace had taken your daughters, your Daenera and Aemma, gently tugging them to his bastard whore and his actual bastard to meet— finding your eyes, at that very moment as Daenera's precious, pureblooded hand shyly took the hand of her bastard brother, a fool's tender fucking simpleton of a smile on your husband's face —

Something in your head had snapped. A clean break.

And your armour had fallen. Like limestone from a fortress. Caved in ruins at the pool of your feet. Dark, furious loathe unfurled in your chest. Unable to handle it anymore, you had taken your dress and got out of the feast, for you could feel the urge of unsheathing a sword and going on a bloodied massacre, crowns and titles be damned.

You may not have a dragon, but you have its bloodlust.

Just as you are rushing to your chambers, you stop and make a different turn, knowing that if your husband had caught wind of such an ugly expression on your face, he would try and find you, talk to you, and you don't have the patience to cater to him at the moment— you find what you know of is an empty chamber, reserved for guests at the Keep.

It is a simple room with all the usual accruements. Most of the fanfare, the sheets, are in storage.

You start with a candelabra.

Raise it high before you are violently smashing it against the dresser, shrieks and guttural screams out of your mouth as you tear through the room like a typhoon, cursing Jacaerys, the North, and bastards to the Seven Hells.

None will be the wiser, for you had built your network well. Your spiders will pivot guards and strangers from this area, ensuring you a reprieve where your anger and grief can unfurl and manifest.

So you lose yourself, a dragon untethered. You get so into your rage, quiet in your thoughts, that you don't hear an intruder entering until there is a low, amused laugh too close for comfort.

You whirl around, tear-stained and rage-filled, and though the Rogue Prince expects you to fall into stutters, your eyes slit and you grip— when had you picked up a tome? — the tome tighter to your chest, snarling, "Get out."

Instead of surprise, or even offense, Daemon laughs as if you are the most amusing thing to him all night. Jesters and whores alike.

"I shall not." He makes a noncommittal hum around the dark room. "I rather like it here. It seems this chamber holds a much better entertainment than anything beheld at the feast."

You let out a dark, incredulous laughter. "I have no time for your toying, uncle, get out!" You toss the tome with fervour, but he's a warrior and he anticipates your anger, sidestepping easily before he's back to casual prowling.

"I do not have time to play jester for your entertainment," you hiss, unable to stop the hateful tears from spilling, brushing them away harshly as you watch him watch you.

He raises an eyebrow. "I am not asking you to."

"Are you here then for my humiliation? Press a bitter wound while it's still bleeding, is that it? Is that what would make the glory of your night?"

He snorts. "What would make the glory of my night is a warm body and a tight cunt."

Your face scrunches. "You are disgusting."

He barks out a laugh. "Not as disgusting as your brother."

"Aegon is no longer—"

"— or as stupidly naive as your husband."

A sharp intake of breath before you're once more cracking in broken rage and ghastly pain.

"Of course you would notice, who would not, he looks so much like his fucking bastard."

"Watch yourself, girl," he barks. "You are still talking about the Queen's heir."

A beautiful guard dog, you think, you snort. You push past him, gasping into the crisp, cool air, holding onto the balcony for dear life.

"His already diluted blood makes this conversation entirely hilarious to me I'm afraid." You look down and wonder how fast you will fall. How messy would such a death be? How much care there is left in your wake? Will your husband even care, now that he has his heir? Borne out of true love no doubt, despite such bastardly blood— or is that what makes it thrilling for them?

Mangled bone, spread thin blood— if you die such a way, it should be pretty. You hope it haunts the Keep of so many before you.

But if you die now, you will be replaced so easily. So prettily.

And your daughters—who will care for them? Will Jacaerys even care, if his bastards soon no doubt fill your once home, your mother, your brothers— your daughters pushed aside to make way for fucking dogs.

There is no satisfaction in such a plan.

There are many others.

The Rogue Prince makes his presence known by standing close to your back, close enough that you can smell him, that his heat is your own, as he hums, peering below as you have.

"Have you been drinking, zaldrītsos little dragon?" he whispers, tangling his fingers through your hair, running a lone finger down your neck, up and down in a tantalising movement. You can't help it, it feels comforting, leaning close to it despite such a breathy huff out of your lips.

"Since when am I dragon, kepus uncle? Haven't you always likened us muddied blood, filthier than dragonseeds?"

"I see that I am wrong," he says, almost idle as if he isn't devouring you in his gaze. How you feel soft, pliant under one finger after weighted in wine and the ruins of your anger, how you're almost purring and sweet like this, your fire alive but consistent. "Aōha perzys burns jehikagrī. Nyke hae ziry. Your flames burn bright. I like it."

"Hm. You've had sons, don't you uncle?"

"I have," he replies, amused.

"And many a children." You reach for his chin, your thumb rubbing his bottom lip. He's old, sure, but men don't have the same bodily issues as women. You know he could reach your father's age and be able to produce five more brats.

But his shoulders are strong, spry only as a swordsman can be.

And he isn't like he's loyal to Nyra, turning fully to you with a hand caressing your side.

His hand comes for your neck, halting your movement as he tests a squeeze. There is only much hatred as there is lust. And his cock is winning over his mind, for when your free hand, watching him intently, reaches for the hardness straining against his breeches, giving it a stroke, his breath stutters into a groan whilst his hips push into your hand.

"Dragons do not seek permission, niece of mine," he hums darkly. "Dragons take, or do you have too much of your Hightower cunt of a mother that you—"

You curl your hand over his cock until his breath hitches.

"I want a son. Surely you'd rather want for your true blood to sit on the Iron Throne? Your wife would remain Queen, her and her heir none the wiser. Any son of mine would be King regardless." Your voice is barely above whisper, stroking him as your squirm in his hold, his breath heavy by each promise, each tale you spin so tall. "Wouldn't you like that better? I am a Targaryen, as are you. Our blood would be pure."

"I have pureblooded sons, riñītsos little girl."

"But will they be king? With my husband as your wife's heir?" When his hold softens on your throat, you push yourself forward, pressing yourself against him. "Wouldn't you want your family's legacy, your legacy, unsullied with prettier blood?

"I want a son, uncle," you whimper, thickened with need and desire, willing him to bend and fold because men like Daemon are easy, because a loving marriage is one thing, a man who holds his house as his pride in another fist is another. "I want your seed to take root in me."

And it isn't like you're asking him to betray his Queen.

Daemon is surprisingly a soft lover, prone in a way to worshipping you even as you had gotten impatient and tried to get your way. His punishments are quick and precise, a hit on your thigh, a tighter squeeze in your throat, a firm bite in your breast enough to draw blood. He's soft but by choice, almost as if he is amusing you in each caress while one hand is holding you by your hair, fucking you down into the sheets.

His words aren't better, spun in hisses and spits, mocking laughter and groans.

"Do you want my seed, you little whore?"

"What would your husband say now, his pretty wife mewling for another? Or would he even care?"

"Your tears are pretty, if you want my seed, I think you need to be sobbing, hm?"

When he finally spills inside of you with nothing less of a broken, guttural roar, hips chasing the high, meeting your sensitivity once, twice, again— you are shattered in pieces and contradictions, floating and wide awake, pleasured and in pain.

He slaps your face gently after he's cleaned himself up, tucked his flaccid cock back in his breeches as he comes to your eye line. "Come to me again when you want my seed, hm? I shall prioritise your wants for the good of the realm but I dare say—"

He cocks his head with a smirk, feeling stirrings at the sight of your fucked out state, his seed spilling from your pretty hole that he can't help himself as he chases it with a finger, forcefully pushing it back in while your body trembles and twitches.

"— you may be with child soon enough, niece. I shall congratulate you and my son with the happy news."

Your eyes flutter close at the echoes of his disappearing footsteps.

Nine moons later, through a hearty, blood-soaked birth that rocked the keep with your wails of pure pain— much more painful than when your girls had come into the world — a baby boy is born of pure Valyrian colouring.

A fat babe who cried murder in his first seconds of life, and it is Caraxes who snarls and screeches into the high noon sky.

"I shall name him Daemon," you say to your husband beside you as you beheld the babe with a wondrous smile and a full heart.

"After your brother and my father," Jace says, smiling. "That is wonderful, my wife. He does look much like them."

Your smile curls, a finger rubbing your babe's fat cheek. "He does. And he will be strong swordsman." Your lashes flutter to Jace, poisoned vowels in each word that he blinks, startled. "Just like his father."

TAGGED @inkareds @marihoneywk @caterina-caterina @ahristata @xxvelvetxxxx @but-i-write-so-i-must-count @bunbunbl0gs @yazzzmints @bellstwd @hiraethrhapsody @watercolorskyy @fulla02 @menaosama @cookielovesbook-akie

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen fanfiction #daemon fanfic #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #daemon targaryen x you #elle writes !! ꒱ ↷˗ˏˋ🍒#₊˚ପ⊹ hightower green 🕷#-ˋˏ ༻addendums & extras 💮༺ ˎˊ-#🌼━━･❪ requested ❫ ･━━🌻

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murdrdocs · 21 days

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luke sleeps with your tit in his hand but somewhere through the night when he’s already asleep, his thumb starts moving against your nipple like a cat swishing its tail. he does it unconsciously— and by the time you wake up, luke is asleep, breathing softly against the crook of your neck, your nipple is pebbled and you’re even hornier than when you went to bed.

- 🍒

semi-public sex; fingering; sleepy sex; MDNI 18+ w/ LUKE CASTELLAN

you wake up without exactly knowing why. your dream was still in the middle of unfolding its plot, you don’t have to pee nor are you thirsty, but there’s something that woke you up. it takes a second, maybe two, and you’re just about to slip back into sleep whenever you feel it. a gentle swipe against your left nipple, light with barely any pressure applied but it’s there nonetheless.

just the one touch is enough to clear everything up. you can feel the arousal in your lower abdomen, gathered purely from bodily instinct and not necessarily from personal desire.

like a cat swishing its tail. that’s luke’s movements. back and forth. back and forth. over and over again until it makes complete sense for your nipples to be erect and demanding even more of your boyfriends attention.

he has his arm slung over your waist and his hand tucked under your thin tee shirt, allowing him to hold your boobs while he slept without exposing your breasts to the entire hermes cabin. everyone else was asleep, but these kids were tricky and known to sneak out every so often. one thing though, they could keep a secret, as only the eyes in here and a few in your cabin knew about your excursions to in the middle of the night and for early in the morning.

luke was supposed to only be holding your boob to help him sleep, an agreement you’d settled on weeks ago. up until this point, he’d done just that. like your body was his personal favorite stuffed animal, all he has needed to sleep was your breast in one hand and the soft sound of your breaths. with both available to him, he was out like a light.

your whispering of his name and jostling of his body doesn’t do much until the third time, after which he hums with weight that tells you he’s still out.

“stop,” you tell him.

you’re sure he doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong, because he even as he apologizes his thumb continues.

“okay. ‘m sorry, angel,” comes his apology, paired with a kiss behind your ear before he nestles his head back against your neck. but his thumb still swipes back and forth.

you don't mean to, but you whimper. unsurpisingly, this is what gets luke's attention.

he groans behind you as he comes to. there's a moment where he does nothing but breathe, his thumb continuing its pursuit. then it stop.

"oh. shit, my bad." he sounds actually apologetic this time. actually cognizant of the problem he's caused between your thighs. "are you ...?" you nod. "want me to help you out?"

his hand slides from your tit to the waistband of your flimsy shorts, waiting for your permission before he continues downward. he gets you off quick and easily. you remain quiet as his other hand settles over your mouth, muffling the little noises you make while his other hand flicks over your clit and nestles inside of you, massaging your walls with practiced ease even when he's tired.

you have one hand on each of his forearms to anchor you while you finally get the orgasm you need. and once it's all over, you and luke fall asleep with his hand cupping your mound and slung loosely over your throat.

#lukesworld!#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan smut #celeste writes pjo #–𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 🍒

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chrollohearttags · 2 months

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so I ran across this VA’s audio of him basically stealing the listener from her bf and overstimming her and towards the end, when he’s talking her through ✨it✨, he starts speaking German and I—

#SURELY YALL CAN SEE WHERE MY MIND IS ABOUT TO GO #I HAD TO CONTAIN MYSELF BITCH #cherry chats 🍒#brb writing this up right now!#eren x black fem!reader #and when I make him bilingual with a tongue ring and he switches native tongues while eating the—#*dial tone click*

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heartchoi · 10 months

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himbo!yeonjun who doesn't even realize that you’re thirsting over him in broad daylight …

it would be summer, the blazing sun leading yeonjun to wear a loose tank top while you two hang out, showing off his defined arm muscles as he talks to you about some movie he watched recently.

the thing is... you can barely even register what he's talking about. hell, you can't even hear the words leaving his lips, eyes trying their hardest to maintain eye contact with him. but it doesn’t work; your eyes somehow trail down to his biceps like magnets.

there’s something that attracts you to his muscles, but you can’t quite pinpoint it. perhaps he could manhandle you, using his strength to put you into any position he desires; missionary, doggy, mating press, you’re sure he could do it without any trouble. you’re willing to let him put you into any position he likes, all pliant, just for him.

you don’t notice you’re staring until yeonjun waves a large hand in front of your face — damn, even that looks good. his hands would be great for a necklace.

yeonjun has a puzzled look on his face, eyebrows twisted in confusion. “are you okay?” he asks. “is it too hot? do i need to get you some water?” yeonjun questions, slowly becoming worried. you shake your head no as you feel your skin heat up from embarrassment, but yeonjun takes it the wrong way.

“gosh, you look like you’re burning up! i’ll get you some water, i’ll be right back.” he assures you, getting up quickly to find a bottle of water somewhere.

fuck. maybe you’ll have to tell him the real reason sooner or later, he might be willing to try if you’re lucky.

#txt smut #yeonjun smut #txt hard thoughts #yeonjun hard thoughts #i just wanted to write some himbos tbh #and then i remembered … TANK TOP YEONJUN!#i wrote this in one sitting i believe i might be crazy Tbh #🍒.yeonjun

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visionsofmagic · 6 months

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OLDER.

・゜✭・. insp. by the song of “older” by isabel larosa. ➤ kuai liang, bi han, tomas, liu kang.

✧.* mortal kombat 1 version. | fluff, hurt/comfort, age gap, sfw, song lyrics, mentions of death, no gender specification, pet names. | roses’ notes: just find this idea in my mind and wanted to create something out of it including mk1 – maybe will do same versions/design of this for other fandoms like cod, opla, and jjk. ain’t so sure but we’ll se. so, enjoy!

· ― think I need someone older

you were younger, so much younger compared to him – a man bigger than yours in every aspect yet the exact soul you’ve fallen for. older, mature, knowing the points in life you never have thought about. he told you how it would be inappropriate, how you shouldn’t do it – shouldn’t love him, shouldn’t have him – it was all because of you though, he would say.

you’re so beautiful in every way possible, making it impossible to stay still beside delicate and charming body of yours, looking into those shining eyes, seeing the magnificent soul you have through the reflection you have in them – it’s just too much.

fuck it, he thought, fuck if it was immature of him to think about you in ways he shouldn’t but who cares? not him, apparently, not after having you down so badly, begging even without uttering a single word aloud, only looking at him, daring him to fill his mind with another thing that is not you – which is impossible – and all for him.

fuck everyone, he thought again, gripping you by the cheek and neck, closing the gap between your bodies – the next thing you know the taste of his lips on yours, burning as hell even though you had never a glimpse of it – you only knew the feeling flowing through your veins into your soul. a chuckle escapes from you, hands holding him by the neck dearly, afraid of waking up to reality. the only thing you need was him – nothing more, nothing less.

“it was cute how you thought you would not come to me – same begs that I have inside you too. isn’t it, kuai liang?”

“for you? it’s true – will beg aloud if you want me to princess. no giving up from now on. I will give, you will take.”

· ― just a little bit colder

how dare you attempt such a thing would be the question he would ask, first blaming you as if you weren’t the only one who had not-so-mature feelings towards him. no, you weren’t the one and all the internal voices screamed it aloud, into his ears, giving the man a sense of annoyance but he knew – he knew how badly he had fallen for you.

was it the beauty you had that he could never see in any other realms? was it the way your eyes widen at the sight of him, standing beside you, so close as if he had the right? was it how weak he became whenever he thought about you; from head to toe – the face expression he found cute, an odd feeling he discovered with you, smiles he wanted to see more, the closeness he needed have with you – all of them, maybe, maybe more than he could think as a reason why he were on his knees like that which he would hide.

it was annoying. it made him colder than he already was – wasn’t something he wanted in the first place but it was needed, after such proximity that gave him the cold burns through his body. he needed you more than anything – a fact that hit his face heavily, a fact he tried to hide, from others – from you – and mostly from himself but as well as every other secret, it escaped from its cage, expressing it by the actions first, then, words, then – everything.

he was cold, still, even after telling it aloud – however, you got used to it, and he did too – like every other thing he got used to that includes you.

cold as ice, the man’s heart began to burn with the warmness of the love he had for you – and with the one you gave him without hesitation.

“tell me bi han, tell me how you need me. wanna hear it, my cold grandmaster.”

“as if I didn’t tell it enough – but you’re so needy for it – so messy, aren’t you? will say it when you deserve it, pretty brat. now, focus on me only, will show you how cold I can become.”

· ― take the weight off my your shoulders

he would do anything for you – a promise that didn’t say as a bubble, no, it meant �� he meant it into the last word. would walk in fire, would jump from the highest point of all realms, would do anything he could imagine – were if you who wanted, he would do them without a second thought – for his beloved one, he would with such pleasure.

he was the most gentle lover out there – the one who took all the pain, weight, and nightmares out of your shoulders only to give happiness, affection, and calmness in return – should filling up with such care that you forgot about the previous life you had before him. he was there all the time, ready to help you – just one look at him, and he would get it – would rush to your side, take all the weight you carry on your shoulder in an instant, leaving no stress.

he would not want something in return, no, he needed you to be fine – his happiness depends on yours. were you sad, he would be too. were you happy, he was the happiest person alive.

didn’t care how it would be hard to accomplish – he would stay awake until he saw a smile on your pretty face, a genuine one – finally calming down, leaning onto him, embracing the peace.

“like that baby, lean on me, I got you – I always got you. you will only find good feelings with me – no pain, no nightmares – only paradise which I will give to you as much as I can.”

“you’re so cute tomas. I already have paradise I need – the one I want and it’s you, my pretty lover.”

· ― think I need someone older

he was half your age, probably, maybe more than half – it was impossible, forbidden even – how could he feel such emotions towards you? how he could cherish them inside his mind, soul, and heart as if it meant normal to have them after he had you by his side – he needed you as his champion but the cruel world played its trick once again, making him fall for you – harder than before, in the new era he created.

being the creator of it, being the god of fire, yet so blind to see himself fully – see you as a whole.

you loved him in the previous one before you died at the hand of shinnok – he wanted to give you a new one in which you would not only live but have a good one too – but he believed it would be one you would fall for another even though it made his heart ache in great pain than all the physical one he had in his entire life.

yet, here you were; standing in front of him, not saying anything but it wasn’t needed – your eyes spoke more than your mouth, telling him you gave him all you got – all you have, waiting for him to take it – you needed for him to accept it and let it go.

first, he declined it right away by using his actions, keeping you a bit far away from him whenever you came too close, so close that your hot breaths hit his face, sending a jolt of fire to his skin he had never felt before, not with his ability too. the more he kept himself away, the more you got close and the more he felt for you.

by the elder gods, he tried – he tried so much but his strength decreased, his emotions got the best of him and he found himself in a position he carved to see you all days and nights long, touch starved, not caring anything but only you.

“oh, my beloved y/n, how weak you’re making me – I am in a such state that I don’t care about how old I am compared to you, how this is forbidden – it doesn’t matter as long as I can have you this close – oh, the taste of you is worth every norm I have about this forbidden sin.”

“if it’s a sin, why feel so beautiful? don’t care even if it’s a sin that feels euphoric – I find my own heaven on earth when I am beside you, liu kang, my lord.”

♡―

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honeydazai · 2 years

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when you say their dick is too big

feat.: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Zhongli, Itto, Scaramouche, Ayato, Albedo, Xiao

warnings: nsfw content, size difference, dacryphilia, degradation, praise, breeding kink, choking, Itto has a knot and barbs on his cock, Zhongli has two dicks

DILUC stops immediately when you tell him to — hurting you is the last thing he wants —, though he can't help but chuckle when you, teary-eyed, tell him that his dick is too big and that it won't fit. He quickly shushes you with a gentle kiss, his smile warm and loving as he reassures you that it'll be fine, he'll try to be as careful as possible.

Even though he tries to go slow for your comfort, he groans in pleasure when he finally bottoms out inside of you, your hips flush together, and while he had originally planned to give you some time to adjust to his size, he can't help but pick up a fast and hard pace a few moments later, because what you don't know is that your words sent a white hot spike of pleasure up his spine. His size kink is thriving, especially when there's a slight bulge showing through your stomach as he thrusts into you.

“You're alright, dear. It'll fit, don't worry. Ah, fuck—, you feel so tight around me. Archons, you can even see my dick through your stomach — fuck.”

When you complain to KAEYA about his cock being too large to fit inside of you, he genuinely can't help but laugh. You're adorable — really, he's at a loss of words here. There's a smile on his lips as he tells you that you'll be alright, and he doesn't bother to stop pushing into you; giving you time to breathe would only result in you overthinking even more. Besides, he knows you'll be fine.

When he finally pounds into you, his hips slapping against your own with lewd squelching noises accompanying each thrust, you're moaning and keening, your back arching, and there's mocking words and teasing sentences falling from Kaeya's lips before he can stop himself, but, really, who can blame him? Just a moment ago, you were protesting and worrying, and now you're taking his dick like a champ — it's almost ironic, really.

“Ah, look at you, darling. Weren't you just whining about my dick being too big for you? Now you're practically sucking me in. That's adorable. Makes me wonder if that innocent persona of you was but an act, doll.”

CHILDE has got you bent in half in a mating press when you whine about him being too big, his dick being too deep inside of you, and he couldn't deny that your words made his cock twitch inside of you even if he tried. He scoffs, obviously amused, and it's such a huge ego boost that he thrusts into you roughly, his hips flush with yours as he bottoms out in one quick movement that has you gasping and crying out.

There's some half-assed shushing from him as he assures you that it's fine, you'll be alright, but in reality, you're barely able to understand what he's saying with the almost violent pace he has set and he knows it. You're drooling while he pounds into you, saliva dripping down your chin, and Childe isn't shy to mock you for how desperate you look. By the end of it, he makes sure you're literally dripping with his cum.

“Fuck, babe, that's so hot—, you think I'm too big for your tight little hole, hm? Don't you worry, baby, I'll fill you up so good. You'll be fine—, ah, fuck, I promise, just let me make you feel good. Just let me breed you.”

ZHONGLI raises his eyebrows when you complain about his size in a seriously worried tone, but he's quick to shush you despite not understanding why you seem to have trouble taking only one of his cocks. The other one is resting against your abdomen as he slowly but surely continues to push into you, the tip of it dripping precum onto your skin.

While he's constantly praising you for how well you're taking him, he can't help that he enjoys seeing your eyes all glassy with tears, and his thoughts immediately go to how you'd cry and whine under him if he were to fuck you with both dicks, only to fill you up and breed you.

“You're so good for me, darling. You take me so well. In fact, I'm quite certain you'd even be able to take both of my cocks if you'd like to try.”

Honestly, ITTO is used to this kind of reaction. He's a big guy all around, which is why it doesn't come as a surprise when you claw at his back and whimper about him not being able to fit inside of you. Still, while he understands your worries, he's too much into it to stop now; he can't help that he continues to push into you until you're stretched wide around his dick.

He at least has the decency to apologise while thrusting into you, his hips slapping against your ass, even though he gets a massive ego boost from the way you're crying out. His apologies don't make it better — especially because his size isn't the only thing you have to deal with. What's much more difficult to take are the barbs on his cock, as well as his knot once he fills you up, but what can he say; he's an oni through and through and his biology is intent on breeding you.

“Ah, baby, fuck, 'm sorry, I don't wanna hurt you, fuck, I promise, you just feel so good, can't stop, please, babe, I need to fill you up—”

Honestly, SCARAMOUCHE thinks of you as ridiculously naive for even hoping that he'll be merciful when you blabber something about his cock being too big. You're on all fours underneath him, cheek against the ground and ass raised, and he's not above taunting you as he repeats your whiny plea in a mocking, high-pitched voice.

As if inspired by your words, he thrusts into you at once, his pace rougher than it needs to be solely because he wants to see you cry on his cock, your cheeks flushing and your eyes crossing as you clench around him. When he feels particularly mean, he even wraps a hand around your throat, if only to hear your high-pitched keening noises as you choke and whine, your thighs trembling and tears dripping down your cheeks.

“What are you saying? It won't fit? Oh, I'll make it fit, don't you worry. Besides, you're already dripping wet. Fucking slut. This is the only thing you're good for, so shut up and take what I decide to give you.”

While AYATO is quick to coo soothing words at you, his voice a low purr and with his hands gently caressing the curve of your hip, his lips also curl into a smirk. You can't see the way his eyes sparkle with mischief and something more sinister because of your position — your cheek pressed against the pillows, your back arched and ass raised —, but that his polite words are just a facade is obvious in the way his hips snap against yours.

The urge to make you cry just because of his cock makes his movements more hurried and rough, his usual effortless grace bleeding away into impatience and brutal thrusts. His nails dig into your hips as he rocks into you until your thighs are shaking and tears drip down your flushed cheeks, needy noises falling from your lips, and Ayato can't help that he wants nothing more than to truly break you.

“Oh, am I too big for you, love? Are you saying you can't take it? That'd be a shame, I was hoping to have you come on my cock. Ah, there you go — look, it fits. You're such a slut in reality, hm, darling?”

ALBEDO pauses the second you whine about his dick being too big to fit inside of you, his head cocked to the side in a curious manner as his gaze meets your teary eyes. While he's an attentive and observant lover, he also can't deny that his cock twitches inside of you at hearing you say that.

He tells you matter-of-factly that there's no need to worry, that your body is quite literally made for this and that it's obvious in the way your cunt is basically sucking him in, before continuing to push in until he bottoms out, your hips flush together. If you haven't relaxed until then, he's honestly at a loss of what to do, though a feeling of pride spreads through his veins when you finally moan and mewl in pleasure rather than in fear. He just loves being correct.

“Oh? Look at you, dripping wet around my dick. Didn't I tell you you were going to be alright? You're literally made to take my dick, love, and it seems you're a natural at it, too.”

When you first tell him to stop, please, that his dick is never going to fit inside of you, XIAO scoffs, his eyebrows drawn together into a frown. For a moment, he genuinely thinks you're making fun of him, though he quickly stops moving when he notices that there's tears welling up in your eyes.

The last thing he wants is to hurt you, which is why he pauses immediately. It doesn't matter how aroused he is, your comfort is his top priority, which is why he'll only continue once you give him the consent to. Even when he finally bottoms out inside of you, his hips flush with yours and with you mewling underneath him, he checks in on you to make sure you're alright.

“Fuck, I—, please, love, are you alright? Tell me. How are you feeling? May I continue? Fuck, you're so damn tight around me.”

➛ if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

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notes: more genshin filth more genshin filth

tags: @black-rose-29 @ibby-miyoshi-nerd @kaz-zuha @serenareiss

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reiding-writing · 6 months

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reiding-writing masterlist !!

FANFICTION [NOUN]

/fan/ˈfɪkʃn/

fiction written by a fan of, and featuring characters from, a particular TV series, film, etc.

S.REID — CRIMINAL MINDS

★ ANGST ★

/aŋ(k)st/ [GENRE]

A feeling of deep anxiety or dread, typically an unfocused one about the human condition or the state of the world in general.

★ HURT/COMFORT ★

/həːt/ˈkʌmfət/ [GENRE]

receiving comfort from another person after or while suffering injury, illness, or a traumatic experience.

★ FLUFF ★

/fl^f/ [GENRE]

A story that is soft, lighthearted, or happy, usually a gentle scenario between two characters lacking any real narrative.

★ SERIES ★

/ˈs̠ɛrieːs̠/ [NOUN]

A set of books, periodicals, or other documents published in a common format or under a common title.

reblogs are appreciated <3

#reiding-writing masterlist #masterlist #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #red’s masterlists 🍒

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crashandlivewrites · 3 months

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@soapsgf and I were feeling gay so we wrote lesbian fics for each other <3

Pairing: fem!Ghost x fem!reader (or rather, stone top butch Ghost x pillow princess reader)

CW: MDNI 18+ content, NSFW, cunnilingus, mention of a strap, relationship insecurities, Ghost communicating (?!?!), use of daddy one (1) time

Word Count: 2.1k (this was meant to be a drabble oops)

You were cuddled up on the couch late at night in your small flat you shared with your girlfriend, Simone, whenever she was back from deployment. Your hands had slithered their way underneath her jacket and shirt, leeching the warmth from her body as she had one of her muscled arms thrown casually over you, keeping you tucked into her side as her fingers traced mindless patterns over your body.

Playing on the tv was a reality show you enjoyed, yet tonight you weren’t really paying attention to it. Simone had even chimed in a few times, to show her interest in the show for you, but her statements and questions remained unanswered. It wasn’t until something ridiculous happened that would normally have pulled a barking laugh from you that she decided enough was enough.

Switching the tv, she placed a hand over your shoulder, shaking you lightly.

��You gonna tell me what’s been rollin’ in your head since I got home or not, pretty girl?” Her voice startled you, breaking you out of your daydream as you pulled back from her, furrowing your brows.

“What? I’m sorry, wasn’t listening.”

“Clearly.” She gave you a pointed look. “Wanna know what’s on your mind, lovie. You haven’t been right since I got back.”

“Nothing. Just tired. Been a long day.” You tried to dissuade her, waving your hand as you reached over her to take the remote, only to my stopped by her firm fingers on your wrist.

“I’m not stupid, nor blind, love. You haven’t been yourself. You’ve been quiet.”

Cursing inwardly, you looked away from your overly observant girlfriend, trying not to show your discomfort. Of course, she’d noticed the small things that no one else would. Your brows furrowed and you wrung your fingers as you tried to search for the right words. Simone just sat there, a reassuring hand against your shoulder, letting you know she was there to listen. She always was.

“It’s stupid… really, I don’t know why it’s affected me so much.” The hesitancy was evident in your voice, and her eyes narrowed slightly.

“It’s not nothing. It’s got you in a tiff.”

“It’s…” You faltered, eyes flicking around the room as you were unable to look at her. Only when her hand reached out to grip your jaw did you force yourself to meet her gaze and continue. “It’s about sex.”

“What about it?”

“I just… don’t you feel left out?” Her brows knitted together, and she angled her head, signalling for you to continue. “I feel like I’m always just lying there when we have sex. I do nothing. You’re doing everything, Simone, including getting me off but not yourself. Don’t you hate that?”

Her hand went soft on your jaw as her thumb stroked your cheek, eyes boring into yours.

“What stupid video have you seen now?” Blinking, you cocked your head and looked at her in bewilderment.

“How did you—”

“Doesn’t take much. Let me guess, some wanker of a broad on tiktok made a video about how pillow princesses are lazy and should do more work, hmm?” Simone leaned forward, getting into your space as you stared at her, dumbfounded.

“But isn’t it true?”

“I think you’re missing the point of the term, princess.” She elongated the term of endearment as her hand ran down your neck. “I like making you feel good. Just you. Besides, the way you sound when you come, who wouldn’t want to hear that?”

Your face heated and you tried to push her away in protest as she smiled, flashing a toothy grin before running her tongue along her lips. Though her words struck a chord with you, there was still some lingering doubts swimming in your head.

You could count the total amount of times you’d gotten her off with your own mouth or fingers on one hand. The queasiness in your stomach, however, didn’t fade with her reassurance.

“Do you not like me in that way?” Your voice was small and filled with shame, as if you already knew the question was stupid, but you couldn’t stop the feeling from clawing its way up. Simone’s eyes softened and her long fingers ran along the back of your head.

“Lovie, it’s not like that. You know it takes me a lot to want to be in the mood to receive. It’s got nothing to do with not wanting you. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“But your job is stressful! Surely you’d want some release when you come back?”

“You’re my release, princess.” She whispers, voice lowering as she leans in. “The way you’re so obedient for me, how you spread your legs so eagerly, how wet you get when my fingers barely graze your skin… you’re a fucking sight, princess. And you’re mine.”

The drop in her tone sent a rush of arousal through you. Pursing your lips and squeezing your thighs together, you whine in protest.

“I want to please you!”

“You do fuckin’ please me, lovie. The sight of you on our bed, legs spread open, begging for me to touch you like a good little slut. My good little slut. Makes my head spin. Hearin’ you scream my name as you squirt over my face? A fucking godsend.”

Simone was now shuffling over the couch into your space. You felt the sturdy armrest pressing into your body as you leaned back, face heating and heart thumping. True to her words, your legs were unconsciously spreading for her, accomodating her broad frame as she nestled between your thighs, her large hands caressing your pliant one.

“Simmy…” Your voice was barely above a squeak as she cocked her eyebrow up at you, the smirk on her face deadly.

“What is it, my little princess? What do you need?”

“You.” Simone hummed, shaking her head.

“More specific, princess. You know the rules.” Her hands slid up your thin shirt, tweaking at your nipples and drawing a gasping moan from you.

“Mouth… want your mouth Simmy please.”

“My mouth where?” She pressed, squeezing your tits now in her large hands as her mouth descended on the bare skin of your stomach, pressing soft kisses as she waits for you to reply.

Moaning both in delirious pleasure and frustration, you managed to lift your head up and look down at her with a frown.

“You’re so cruel.” You pouted accusingly at her, and she laughed darkly in response, but she didn’t make any further movements. Not able to resist any longer, you tilted your hips up so they were closer to her mouth. “Want your mouth on my pussy and want you to make me come.”

This time, your girlfriend grinned wickedly, adjusting you both so your legs were thrown over her muscled shoulders.

“My good fucking girl, using her words. Gonna reward you for that.” And she did.

Her lips immediately latched onto your clit after pushing your underwear aside, dragging her tongue up your slit as she moaned, fingers digging into the plushness of your thighs. Moaning into your cunt, she moved down, tongue lapping over your wetness as your fingers wound their way into her hair.

She usually buzzed it short whenever she left for the field, then let it grow. Right now, it was just long enough for you to tug at with your fingers as you cried out her name. Simone had always been godly with her mouth, and tonight was no different.

Tonight, she was taking her time with you, pressing soft kisses over your sensitive flesh, her tongue sliding languidly up your cunt, delving into your wet hole and groaning at your taste.

“So fuckin’ wet f’me lovie. Practically dripping on our couch.” Our couch, she says. You grin amidst the pleasure, thinking about how quickly Simone began to call your home hers as well.

Sucking your clit back into her mouth, she reached down so the pads of her fingers were prodding at your soaked entrance. Clutching at her hair, you rolled your hips, eager to feel the delicious stretch as she pressed her long fingers into you. But she didn’t. Instead, she clicked her tongue and pulled back.

“So greedy tonight, princess. What was all that talk about earlier? Wanting to do all the work? No sweets, you belong here, beneath me writhing and moaning like the little slutty princess you are.”

“Simone.” You whined, rolling your hips once more as your cunt throbbed in need.

“Look at you.” She cooed, grinning salaciously as her eyes raked over your body, clothes having been shoved haphazardly out of the way. “Looking like a proper slag now, princess. Cunt all wet and swollen, perfect tits out on display. Should take a photo.”

Your lips parted at the suggestion, the debate waging in your head.

“Is that what you want?” She hummed thoughtfully.

“Probably not. As much as I’d love to show you off and brag to the blokes that you’re a fuckin’ babe, you’re mine, princess. And only I can see you like this.” To back up her words, Simone’s teeth dragged possessively along your inner thigh, wringing out another moan from you.

Returning her attention to your clit, she flicked it with the tip of her tongue, the barest stimulation still sending shivers up your spine and making your thighs clench around her ears. Ghosting her middle finger down your slit, she pressed it inside you, groaning at the ease.

“Fuck lovie… never gonna get over that feeling.” She pressed another in for good measure and curled, making you squeal and grip her hair tightly, holding her face to your cunt as she ravished you.

“Please… oh god please Simmy. ‘m gonna come.” You panted, heat pooling in you. She pulled back, thumbing your clit as she grinned down at you, fingers still plunging into your slick hole.

“Yeah? You gonna be a good girl for me and come, aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over our couch and make it smell like you?” Now it was her turn to moan as she leaned back down, alternating between her tongue and thumb as she spoke.

“Love the way you smell, the way you taste… I’d live off you if I could, sweet girl. My good girl. Mine.”

“Yours, Simmy… always yours.” You managed to get out, head spinning as your fingers tightened. You were spiralling, her attentiveness to you was unparalleled, knowing exactly where to press, flick, and suck.

Unable to contain the feeling, you cried out, one hand flying to grip the couch below you as your back arched and thighs trembled. You could feel your pussy pulsing around her fingers, clenching around them tighter as the coil in your gut tightened. Your body was tantalisingly close, perched on a knife’s edge before the spring snapped and you moaned her name as your eyes fluttered closed, head tipping back.

Simone hummed contentedly into your pussy, lapping gently as she worked you through your release. Once your body had sagged back down onto the couch and your walls had stopped spasming around her fingers, she lowered back down to place a soft kiss on the hood of your clit. Jerking from overstimulation, you whined softly, but giggled as you opened your eyes blearily to look up into her smiling face.

“So fuckin’ pretty, lovie.” She whispered before diving in to claim your mouth, tongue immediately pressing in so you could taste yourself. Pulling back just as quickly, her eyes darkened with lust, she looked down at you, head cocked slightly.

“Got an idea, princess. Since you had all that talk about doing some work in the bedroom, why don’t you get out that strap of mine that makes you scream?”

Drawing your lip into your mouth, you nodded eagerly, quickly getting up on shaky legs as you stumbled to the bedroom. You could hear Simone laughing as you walked, but you didn’t care. Returning, strap in hand, you held it out to her.

It was a mean thing, cruelly thick and curved, large enough to hit that spot inside you that made you cream with ease, and she knew it too. Standing up, Simone loomed over you, shucking off her jacket and pants revealing her hulking frame, she tugged on the strap before sitting back down on the couch, legs spread in a way that made you want to crawl between them and worship her. But she had other plans.

“Want you to ride me, lovie. Ride my cock until you can’t take it anymore and need me to take over. Wanna watch that pretty face fall apart as you realise you can’t come without me, then I’ll plow you into the couch.” Whining softly, you crawled into her lap, positioning yourself over her strap.

“Be a good girl and ride Daddy’s cock, like a pretty little slut.”

#crash writes #cherry 🍒#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #ghost smut #fem!ghost x reader #fem!simon riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty smut

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eliysian · 4 months

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simon doesnt like hot chocolate!

FIRM BELIEVER IN THISSS.

Ghost is practically a fiend over tea, to the point where any other drink just disgusts him. So, when wintertime rolls around and TF141 is sipping on their hot chocolate, he can't help but feel a lil left out! So, the next best option? Tea. Peppermint tea. Where he stands idly in the doorframe, leaning against it with his mask pulled up just above his nose as he sips it. Pulled it back down his face as Soap cranes his neck to stare up at him with a scrunched up nose, “Hell are yu’ drinkin?” Ghost would tip his hand up just slightly, “Tea,” he paused, “Peppermint.” Only for Soap to furrow his brows and chortle, directing his gaze elsewhere with a smirk. “Smells like shit.” “Oh fuck off,” Ghost groaned, earning a low chuckle from Price and a smile from Gaz. — Simon also uses it as a way to introduce you to tea, since you weren’t as fond of it as him. You’d be finishing your mug of hot chocolate, setting it aside as the minty-peppermint smell invades your nose from beside you. You’d lean over, getting a better whiff of it as his eyes catch onto yours. “Y’wanna try it?” He murmurs, holding it out to you. Taking it from his grasp, you place it to your lips and take a small sip, savoring the bitter taste. You hand it back and hum, “S’okay.” You taking sips from his cup quickly turn to you brewing it in the morning for the two of you, attempting to make it quietly but always waking up your sleeping boyfriend because he doesn’t feel your warmth in his arms anymore :( It’s okay though because he always walks softly through the halls, following the hissing of the kettle and wrapping his arms around your torso, nuzzling his face into the side of your temple, pressing lazy kisses to it. He rasps out a ‘good morning’ into your ear, lightly leaning his body forward to get closer to you as he tries to fully wake up. And once he does, you can feel that little smile against your head and that little rumble in his chest as he chuckles. “Knew you’d like the tea, lovie..”

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cherriteaa · 4 months

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Draken x Black Fem Reader

Honestly, I watched the ep with emma and seeing Draken cry like that hurt me soooo bad. So I'm gonna write some sweet cutesy stuff abt Draken being sooo in love with his pretty gf. And Her taking care of him bc he deserves it.

Contents: Suuugary sweet fluff

(not proofread)

I always think it's so cute that they call eachother's gf's in Toman their 'wifey' omg

Draken is def 100% calling you his wife all the time. Some of the members of Toman even call you by his last name just to mess with you. It's become such a routine joke that it's just become standard. Yall are together 24/7 anyways, might as well get used to it.

On the topic of that. He will never ever call you out of your name. Not unless it's a petname or something like that. He thinks guys who call women out their name should be jumped. He won't let any other guy get away with calling you out of your name either.

He's super protective of you. He prefers to keep you in his line of sight when you guys are out with gang members just because he knows there are other gangs who play dirty who can attack at any time. He knows other members of Toman will protect you, but nobody can protect you like he can protect you. He's definitely the type to drape his jacket over your shoulders. Not only does he think it's cute, but it also lets anyone know that you are his.

He's an arm around the shoulders kinda guy. For some reason, holding hands in public gets him a little flustered, but he'll totally put his arm around your shoulders and pull you close.

He tries his best not to let you know when things are getting to him, but you've been around him long enough to notice what it means when he gets quiet, or when he's clenching his jaw more than normal. Please, please, please take care of him. He appreciates it more than he lets on. Especially when you let him sleep in your cute room. He likes to tease you about you unfathomable amount of plushies and pink items, but it's genuinely the most comfortable place he could ever be. He gets the best sleep of his life there, and you think it's so cute. Literally this tiktok .

Sometimes, guys literally just need to be held by their girlfriends. Of course, he isn't the type to ask though. You might notice he'll be a little more touchy, but he's more silent. However, if you join him in your bed and wrap your arms around him, you just might hear him huff a huge sigh before wrapping his arms around you. You're home to him. Play with his hair and watch all the stress and tension melt from his shoulders.

On really bad days, for example when Pah or Kazutora went to jail, he will seek you out and just pull you into a hug, resting his chin on your head. He'll mumble something simple like

"Just needed to hold you."

Otherwise, he's really content with being the big spoon when you cuddle. He's a big fan of rubbing your back when you cuddle. He's also the type to latch onto you when you're cooking, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder while you cook and just resting his eyes. There's just something about you that brings him peace.

He's also the type that gets SO embarrassed when he gets caught staring at you. His friends tease him about it all the time, but he can't help it when you're just being...you. He gets a soft smile on his face and he drifts off in his own little world. If he's feeling bold, he just may walk over to place a kiss to your temple, or wrap his arms around you.

Draken is also a very perceptive man. He absolutely will notice if you got your nails or lashes done. Even if you so much as try dressing a new style, expect some kind of attention drawn to it. He'll grab your hand and admire the new set, or tilt your chin up to look at your eyes and compliment your lashes, or even stepping back to admire your outfit.

As we all know, tokyo rev boys are literally ALWAYS OUT. Which means they often pass shops and things. Occasionally, he might buy a sanrio plushie or cute keychain or trinket to give to you later on. He's very familiar with your obsession with cute things after listening to all your rants.

He's an old-fashion gentleman as always. Opening doors for you, walking so that you are on the inside part of the sidewalk, always making sure you're seated and not him in an area crowded with limited seats, holding the umbrella for you both ect. If he has one helmet and you're riding with him, he's 100% making sure you're wearing his helmet. He thinks you look cute in it anyways.

If you have any younger siblings, he definitely tries to show off just a little. He likes being seen as cool and stuff, and its kind of cute watching him lift heavy stuff or show off his bike to impress them.

HE LEARNED HOW TO DO YOUR HAIR. He watches you do it, and watches youtube videos. He knows the specific products for your specific hairtype, and if you ever need or want help in any part of your hair process, he'll help you. He's so damn good at detangling, even if you're tenderheaded.

He takes your problems seriously. He thinks guys who brush their girlfriend's problems off as insignificant are assholes. He's genuinely there for you always. While he may tease you a little if its not something that causes you a lot of distress, and may add some jokes about 'just beating them up' here and there, he always has really good insight on what to say. You can have deep conversations with him and he likes that about you. He's always in awe of how you can think of things he's never thought of.

Overall, he's such a caring boyfriend. At least he tries to be. He's easily flustered and tries to play some things off as cool, but that man will genuinely move mountains for you. His relationship with you is a comfortable one, thats heavy on you both checking in on eachother and making sure you're ok. Even though he's not the gentlest person ever, he tries his hardest for you.

A/n: Omg I'm so excited to get back to writing again!! I love Toman sm so expect more Tokyo Rev posts.

btw, Kisaki is a TRICK ASS BITCH bro. Like die....now.

as always, please please please reblog and/or comment. I'm restarting my writing blog again, and would love love love to meet mutuals.

My requests are: Open!

#🍒writes #🍒girldinner #Draken x reader #Draken x black reader #ken ryuuguji x reader #ken ryuuguji x you #ken ryuguji x black reaedr #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x you #tokyo revengers x black reader #tokyo rev x you #tokyo rev x black reader #anime #x black reader #black reader #tokyo revengers fluff

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gleasonlovesjasontodd · 3 months

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jason todd a big strong muscular cocky man who has nightmares memories of the joker and the crowbar swinging and hitting him begging for bruce, alfred, dick, someone to save him but no one is coming he is tossing and turning in y’all’s bed breathing heavy sweat dripping down his forehead trying his hardest not to wake you but he needs you he eventually sits up breathing heavy looking around the room feeling the room soon almost you wake up looking over at him wondering why he is up until you see his poor face breathing heavy looking scared and immediately you know what’s wrong come here you mumble your usually cocky boyfriend now scared and shaking lays down on your chest as he hides his face in your neck it’s okay i’m here see feel my hand you say softly rubbing his back and kissing his head your okay jaybird i promise he isn’t here it’s just us you continue rubbing his back knowing it calms him until he falls back asleep you smile at him now being relaxed before giving him one more kiss before you fall back asleep his warm body eventually wrapping around you

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darlingofvalyria · 8 months

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❝I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage. I will not be swept aside.❞

[ The Prince Jacaerys Velaryon should have known his wife better— or at least, her ire, for when his trysts with the bastard Snow reached the Spiders and soon, the ears of his Princess Consort, rage and war drummed for Winterfell, demanding heads.

—Maestre Kevan, Volume IV of The Bastard Eater, passage chapter under 'The Flame that Sung for the North'. ]

[ +18 MDNI ] [ 10,062 ] [ series masterlist ] | jacaerys velaryon x targaryen aunt!reader (aegon's twin sister), one-sided aegon ii x reader, jace x sara snow

contains— canon divergence - manipulative reader, targcest, smut, angst - post-vizzy t death, rhaenyra is queen - mentions of children, pregnancy, childbirth - allusions to infidelity & character death(s) - targaryen madness, revenge, domestic violence (not jace), unhinge behaviour, intense use of 'bastard', profanity, gaslighting, guilt-tripping - this is basically gone girl, you gone girl jace - dark fic - mentions of depression (aegon ii), allusions to suicide (not reader) - nsfw: oral (f receiving), breeding kink, creampie - no kings, no martyrs, no betas.

a/n— i didn't think i was going to do the sara snow thing, but herewe are. also i just wanted an excuse to go absolutely ape shit. reader gets very intense, like thoroughly unhinged. this is literally me supporting women's wrongs. it is also quite insane that this reached 10k and it's still just the first part lmaooo + comment, reblog & like at will!

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! THAT GODSDAMNED, WHORE-FUCKING STRONG HALF BREED!"

Your shrieks echo stone and shadow, interrupted only by the things you pick up and hurl. Anything your hands grab, you throw and spit obscenities against, rage and tears ruin your pretty visage. The fury swept past your cherub features, a dragon breaking through the Hightower seams, upending fire and roar from the pits of your being.

"HOW DARE HE?! I GAVE HIM AN HEIR! I BROUGHT HIM PEACE! I BETRAYED—" you roar, pulling your pearl dagger— a gift from your Strong Bastard of a Husband — and throwing it to your vanity mirror, glass shards exploding. "— MY KIN!"

"DAUGHTER, PLEASE!"

Arms wound across your torso—hardened and chain-mail — as you fight against your bounds before a pain flashes to your cheek. Your rage quiets, hard breaths from your lungs. You turn your tear-stained anger to your mother and her palm, fright and terror on her regale visage.

Death of a spouse becomes the Queen Dowager in her pale blue robe and unbound spirals of auburn hair. Peace had begotten a realm that is balanced on the lineage you had produced for the Queen, her heir, and your own, as the new Princess of Dragonstone. With Otto Hightower for evermore banished to Oldtown, Kings Landing had been brought to a flowering kindness.

Queen Rhaenyra's ascension had been a wondrous affair, fit the for the first crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Not a Queen Consort, not a Queen Regent. An heir who rose for the crown always meant to be hers.

But the calamity that brewed in her ascension... no. You paved the peace. T'was you who wrangled the Great Houses that proved allyship to your twin brother's banner, you who blessed her with tranquility of a rule that will be known for ages that will precede you all.

And now her son... her son dared to destroy everything.

A conversation floats above your head, by your Queen Mother and her sworn shield, the Ser Cole, but you barely hear anything past the ringing in your head.

The Targaryen Madness the sheep so call it, an idle voice, faint and familiar, whispers in the niches of your brain. It has infected you so. It breathes, fuelled by the air wrought by your husband's betrayal. It sings, sweet love. It sings.

"—your grace, I urge to hold her—"

"—she is my daughter, Ser Cole, I am not in danger. Release her."

Justice, the voice shrieks? Screams? But it is so soft in your head, a wail of a memory, a woman or a man? must be had. No dragon falls in such disgrace.

The tight wound over your torso is unleashed but the knight is not far, tensed to cage you, when your mother grasps your elbows as you grab hers, nails digging into the thick fabric of her hem that she still winces, your grip steel-tight.

"My darling, please. I cannot help you if you do not speak what ails you." She brushes her hand desperately across your face, smearing your tears, trying to find the daughter she bore past the savagery and madness that beholds you now. "What has happened?"

You draw a tightened, harsh breath to your lungs, rattling your bones that you quiver in your attempt for sanity.

"I am being shamed, mother," you whisper. Stark, violet eyes meeting the worried round, brown of hers. "The Strong bastard is whoring himself to another, a Northern bastard."

A cackle falls your lips as alarmed gazes are exchanged above your head.

"Y-You cannot say such things aloud, sweet girl," your mother hushes your madness, pulling you close to her chest as she shoots a glance at the door.

Criston checks outside, but only your maids linger. Dyanna presses a finger against her lips, catching the knight's eye, and the rest scatter, surely to make sure that no one that need not know of their mistress' words is within reach. A shiver still runs his spine. He will never get used to the quiet, almost non-verbal way your connection worked and reached. Your Spiders weave webs all around, even as their mistress sunders with rage.

"Mayhaps you are mistaken, for sure the prince is loyal, and he adores you—"

You pull back against her, teeth bared. She flinches and Ser Cole steps forward, wary. "It is the third missive now that I have received. Did you think I would not have confirmed twice— thrice? I didn't believe it the first time! But three people have now confirmed that all this time, in the guise of rallying his mother's cause in the North, he is spending ample time with the Lord Stark's bastard sister. His bastard fucking sister!"

Your mother's horror catches that of Ser Criston's, but your fury is your own, you are a dragon trapped in the ruin of your own making, of the webs you had spun so cleverly to get to this point, and you cannot stop.

"I am the Heir's Wife. I bore the Heir his lineage, my blood spilled the birthing bed for it." A cry leaves your lips as your grief and rage pools like ichor from your chest to the floor. Alicent is torn away from you— your nails had gone through her robe and she had cried in pain, a mimick of your own, a mother to a daughter to a mother to a daughter, a cycle, an Ouroboros — and you fall to the floor, grasping at your chest.

"I will not be swept aside. I will not be ignored."

A gasp falls from your lips as your mind moves to a quiet, still place. The tremble fades, your rage and grief whirls, collects, as you push it all back inside your chest.

Your madness must be sharpened for it be used as a sword.

And you cannot let him be happy in another's arms.

If you cannot drag them to the Hells, sweet dragon, the idle voice hums, hisses? Screeches. Your ancestors— all of those who have succumbed to dreamy madness — appears in the corners of your vision like soldiers. Awaiting for you to join them. Awaiting the blood that you will spill.

Then you must raise the Hells unto Winterfell.

"...my daughter?" Alicent calls, hesitant. Cole hovers but does not approach, standing guard in protection of the Dowager. It breaks her heart to see you this way, a young woman still, much older than she was when she married but only because you had always sought your future. You had always had a hardened scale, far stronger than she.

Even when you made your entrance to the world— the unmeasurable pain of bringing not one, but two heirs into the world, her firstborns, all at once — you had never cried. The maestres, maids, they worried for you, as your twin brother had not stopped crying, so alive and red, raw from the wound of being fresh.

But you... you had not made a sound.

The entire weight of your being— your mind, your emotions — even then, you wrangled them close to your very centre, never letting them stray too far from the edges of your fingertips. As if any release must be made with a perused thought. An incentive of reason.

Even then, you plotted every step you took.

Now, Alicent watches as her firstborn daughter suctions all her emotions— that Targaryen madness that plagued the blood of her husband, his ancestors — and made her ploy.

Against the husband that dared make a fool of her.

The silence beckons nightmare. Old fear flickers inside the Queen Dowager.

"Where are my daughters?"

"What?"

"My daughters," you repeat, a hair's breadth louder than the first time you spoke. Your eyes flutter upward. The deadened gaze curled Alicent's heart in fear. "Where are they?"

"In the nursery, with the twins and Maelor. Helaena and Aegon are watching them."

You offer your hand up mutely, and Cole exchanges one last, lingering look with the Dowager, before offering his own. You stand up, thank him softly, and brush and clean up your face to the best of your ability. An utter calmness over your visage.

"Tell no one of what I had told you," you say, fixing your hair and rubbing the red from your cheeks. One minute there is madness, the next there is nothing. There is only a girl. A woman. A princess. "No one knows apart the three of us, and if you ever decide, Ser Criston, that nigh is the glorious time for you to betray my mother or I, know that the last thing thing oyu will fear is the Stranger's hand when I am through with you."

Your mother shouts your name, horrified. "What are you thinking? What are you plotting?"

You cup Alicent's face, smiling ever sweet. "Your innocence will keep you safe, mother. All I ask, for the heart you keep for your children, that you keep this between sealed lips and tilted chin. You know nothing, yes?"

"... Yes. Nothing."

You place a tender kiss on your mother's head. "Keep Daenera and Aemma safe for me. Aegon and I are flying to Dragonstone promptly. Sweet Helaena does ever so get overwhelmed by watching all of the children by herself."

"D-Dragonstone?"

Your sweet smile touched with poison, stretches. "It is high time I take a dragon for myself, don't you think so?"

While an insecure obsession had fraught your younger brother about claiming a dragon, you had met it with indifference.

For how can you not mourn the loss of Aemond's sight, staring in quiet horror the entire time as the maestre did his best to salvage the muck mess of blood and nerve endings, before the old man had shaken his head, and you turned to the small bowl that contained your brother's eye, unable to look at anything else.

Not even when your mother's rage was met with apathy and anger, her demands for justice nothing more than a woman's insanity, a mother's grief that must be swept away, tucked under a chin and a sadness she will never get rid of.

"Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

Your soft-hearted, darling, baby brother. None of his words had thawed the freezing of your heart, the grief under the swell of your breastbone.

Your own mourning was kept between teeth and tongue, as you had slept with your siblings that night. The four of you, tucked under the wing of the other, Aemond close to your chest as possible, as quiet, hot tears ran down your face. Every moan of pain or whimper he made in his sleep tore at each new vein inside of you.

"Dragons are the symbol of our House's power," Aegon had once said, windswept hair you tried to tame with your fingers, smelling fresh of Sunfyre and winds.

"And yet, there were no eggs in our child beds." He stiffened while you smiled sadly, curling your twin's hair away form his face, making him presentable and dusting the bout of sand that managed to find his leathers. You had been scolded long before by your grandsire of how you coddle Aegon, how you defend him, mother him more than your mother ever could, but you cannot stop. You were meant to care for him, tethered you once were inside your mother's womb together, you hold him steady now.

Whenever he was lost, whenever his sadness overtook him, wrung your brother dry of life, you bat the Stranger's hand and bring him back.

"But we have proved them wrong," he insisted. "All of us, even Aemond with Vhagar— the war queen, Visenya's dragon — we have claimed ours. Daeron all the way Oldtown has Tessarion, even Helaena has Dreamfyre. And yet you insist..."

You wound your arms over his torso, keeping him close in a silly hug where you sway and dance him around. A laugh escaped him while you inhaled the scent of smoke, soot, and that grime stench of beast.

Aegon on his good days lacked the bottle-edge of wine, of cheap salts from the waft of the soiled, Silk Streets.

This was your brother. No one else.

"I fare better without one," you whispered in his ear. "I appear innocent, sweet almost, without a beast in my command. They look at me with nothing but pity and the urge to protect me. Our father likes me like this, his poor, lovely daughter without a dragon of her own, listening so intently to his histories of Old Valyria. Our sister is eased, as one daughter is plagued by dreams and struggles with the real world, while the other cannot even claim a dragon of her own. Poor princess, Hightower blood must have thickened in her veins. She too, is no threat."

You pulled back, smiling at him. "They like me better like this. Pitiful, compliant, nothing but a sweet and pretty flower that sways in the Spring breeze. A beautiful decoration but no more."

He rubbed a thumb on your arm, a worry knot on his forehead. Aegon adored you but he struggled to piece together where your plot lies. You are a web-spinner, forever dancing out of reach, catching prey and lengthening your intricacies. "Is that why you hide your training with Aemond alone? Ser Criston is mother's sworn shield, he would not mind—"

"I will not place my secrecies to a knight with a soiled cloaked," you snorted. "No matter how tall he stands beside our mother. I trust no one but my kin. And I know that no matter how heavy you drink, sweet Aeg of mine, my secrets are your own."

He took your hand, kissing the back of it, stare impregnable. "As your blood is my own, our fire is one flame. I go where you tell me to."

You kissed his cheek, a reward, laughing. He smiles proudly at the sound. At this time, you dangled yourself to your brother as bait as the pressure from your grandsire to make him King started rising. You had been given notice that he had been talking to House Lannister, Wylde, even some Riverland lords.

You did not mind becoming Aegon's second wife. Just as his namesake, he will have his Rhaenys and Visenya. Unlike the Conqueror however, he would adore his Visenya more than a true flower. Helaena would enjoy that far better.

"And if I tell you to jump?" you half-purred.

"I will ask you how high."

Memories and choices break and tide as you scramble for hold on the rocky cliff face. Dragonmont in the dark is a behemoth beast, a screech or two breaking like lightning crackles, or the familiar drum beat of wings before the silence consumes once more. The stench of fire, of beasts and carcasses helps cloak the darkened night.

"Udligon ñuha brōzagon, Answer my call," you hiss into fraudulent emptiness, hands gripping rocky edges until your blood beads, "you fucking lizards."

"Have you gone mad!?"Aegon shouted, trying to pace with your run to the dragonpit.

A rocky laugh broke out from your being, not deigning that with a reply. Aegon huffed angrily.

"Alright, tell me this then. How are you so sure I'm not just about to put you on a bleeding volcano to die? We claim your dragon in the morn, sister. First thing before we break our fast. I'm sure by then, Vermithor or—"

You whipped your head around, pulling halt. "I leave tonight to claim my dragon. Whether it is you and Sunfyre who gets me there, or Aemond and Vhagar, is no matter to me. I will claim one tonight. It is up to you to decide now if we tell Aemond or not."

Aemond, whose anger is wounded tight, the barest excuse for war always at the edge of his hum. The misstep at Storm's End had cost him everything. Had cost your mother everything. Queen still, Alicent Hightower had bent the knee and offered her life in exchange for mercy. Before Rhaenyra passed judgement, Viserys I had passed.

It didn't matter that you had ensured a higher dosage from the Harrenhal witch in his usual milk of the poppy. Your spiders moving with ease through the silent channels you had established long before your own flowering.

The Red Keep had scrambled, the Heir with it. It was enough time for Lucerys to have come out of the red, confirmed to live through the worst of it without as much as a broken bone. Arrax however, had been badly maimed, and would no longer take flight. But he and his rider would live. Aemond would live. Alicent would have her son. Rhaenyea will have hers, and the crown.

Kevan had done his duty unto you while you settled the storms in Dragonstone. You rewarded him handsomely.

Aegon sighed. He too, would like your honour avenged, but not for the sake of war. "As you wish, sister. I hope you know what you're doing and I am not about to send you to your death."

Just like what you did to your mother, you reached forward and cupped his face. If before, your touch stills his heart and floods his cavities with warmth, a flash of fear strikes the twin son at the eerie smile on your face.

"Skoros morghot vestri? What do we say to the god of death?"

Aegon blinked. "Tubī daor. Not today."

You smiled. "Trust me, sweet Aeg. It is not my death the Stranger will take. Not until the fjords of the North are at my mercy."

"Iksan kesīr sir naejot māzigon ñuha sikagon pakto! I am here now to claim my birth right!" Your scream echoes and falls, repeating back to you. There is a hum, like an electric current that sizzles and pops inside your blood and marrow, and you scramble higher and higher on the rock. Your blood does not sing for the dragon lairs, but above. Up and up, jagged edges cut your skin and dress, the wind whipping with sea mist, but nothing, no one, can clamour you as you reach the peak.

At first you see nothing but darkness and hollow sounds. But you let your eyes adjust, a hiss breaking out of your dry lips as you stumble. You look down. What you first thought were rocks and wayward bones of cattle is bigger.

Whale? No.

Dragon. Dragon bone.

You look and will every sense that your eyes do not. The smell that is drowned— iron. Bones bigger than a person. Than cows and whales. Bones of fearsome beasts. Darkness moves, taking form, more than shadow. Scales hewn rough and jagged, as if stone themselves. Midnight black moving with the gentlest of sighs.

As soon as you realise what— or who — is in front of you, the eyes open with an intelligent gleam. Your heart jolts at the emerald irises that gaze back at you, slitting at the appearance of a human.

'The stench of death follows him', the voice of an old keeper hums into your ear. You no longer remember who told this to you, but the words ring true in your memory. 'Scales of midnight, as if hewn from darkness and death. A harbinger, your grace, an omen of the darkest nightmares.'

"Rytsas. Hello." You smile, ever sweet, ever charming.

This is a thread you had never felt before. Not one of your own making, but something older. A golden thread that led the eyes of Daenys the Dreamer. That spun the ties of Aegon the Conqueror. The voices that herded your madness had gone quiet in the mad rush to get here, but now their presence thickens. Words you cannot hear, nor understand, flood the silence as dragon met rider for the first time.

Keepers and historians have called him he, but every bone in your body tells you that the being before you is a she.

And wouldn't that make sense? A cannibalistic being is a woman?

She opens her maw, only ever slightly, smoke and fire crackling out of it. Molten lava in the belly of her insides tease the cool, night air and warms you.

Her version of a smile. Hello, she seem to say.

"Māzīs. Come," you say, giggling. "Dohaerās. Serve."

That night, you took your first flight.

That night, the Cannibal took her first flight with her first— and only — rider as well.

❝ . . . It is said that the formerly named "The Cannibal" had been entranced by the hunger of his new— first and evermore — rider. Prince Aegon the Elder who had escorted his twin sister that very night with Sunfyre, had looked up in alarm and fright to a maddened screech. Excitement and laughter pouring out from the newly bonded Dragon and Rider had soon turned fear into awe.

Gaelithox, she had been named as they had ridden until dawn broke by the rider who loved her 'till the end of their days, was said to have seen a mirror in Her Grace. The fathomless hunger for blood and organ from the same bodies of their kin. For Gaelithox ever hungers and satisfies for the same meat as her, at the height of her grief and ire that fuelled the Queen Consort to climb Dragonmont by hand, she too hungered for the throats of her traitorous blood.

Gaelithox will only have one rider in her whole life, as she found no same twin soul as akin in the Bastard Eater Queen. Their bond moved as if two bodies beheld one soul.

She shied from humans, and oft found too rough with other dragons. Vhagar was an exception, oft seen acting as an elder sister to the Queen's dragon when neither royal rode them and played in the skies. Smaller dragons were forbidden to approach her however, nor was she allowed in the dragonpit after almost devouring the flightless Arrax.

She died two moons after the Queen's death, delivering her final flames for her rider and would never more breathe her infamous green flames akin to Wildfire, ordered by the Crowned Heir, Princess Daenera Velaryon. It is said that the princess attempted to bond with the cannibalistic dragon but it refused.

The dragon spent her last moons in heartbreak, oft seen in Dragonstone and the Red Keep, circling her rider's most favourite places. Her final resting place is at the very top of Dragonmont from whence the Queen claimed her. It is said that the Queen's crown, the one the King Jacaerys had gifted her after the birth of their first sons, the Princes Laenor and Gaemon, is said to be placed there, as well as a portion of her ashes.

It is said that the King and the Queen's twin brother, the Prince Aegon, personally made the trek in remembrance.

It is widely suspected that Aelyx, Princess Daella's dragon, the youngest child of the King and Queen, may have been Gaelithox's only existing hatchling for he too is made of rough, midnight scales. The dragon that bred with her remains to be unknown. ❞

—Maestre Kevan Noratz, Volume X of The Life and Lies of the Emerald Flame, passage chapter under 'The Time of Hunger: Gaelithox'.

You leave Gaelithox to a mournful goodbye on Dragonstone, pressing your forehead against her hard, scaly head, promising to come back, of exchanging her diet for fat, juicy whales, for more wind-whipped rides, before riding back on Sunfyre with Aegon. The younger dragon would not rise from the beaches in fear of the cannibalistic elder, but you made ensuring promises to teach Gaelithox not to chew your dearest brother's dragon.

You had gone most of your life without the feeling of a bond beneath you, warm and alive and wild, and the roar and stench that though new, felt so familiar in your ribcage— you will fly again. And with your brothers beside you. With Helaena and her lovely Dreamfyre.

To think they had taken this from you too, to placate them. To play into their hands like a mewling kitten.

No more.

It is paces before fast is about to break when you both touch back down to Kings Landing. The Keep busying with its occupants, servants and maids bolstering with quickened feet to ensure the lords and royals are awakened with full, poached meals, dresses and coats readied for their lords and ladies, a new, glorious day under the Reign of the Black Queen.

"What now?" Aegon asks, trying to keep with your pace but he is fatigued, failing to stop his yawns. The excitement of last night had come upon him like a fog, and he is missing his bed. Hells, he is missing the bed he stays with his wife if it meant he would get a full night's sleep in the hours of the day.

"Now, we speak nothing of what happened."

He turns to you, frowning. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." You beam, nodding in favour of soldiers and maids who bow in reverence to the Crown Princess. You know you smell of dragon and night, and you need a bath. And to talk to Dyanna before you seek your daughters. "I will need time and people. The board must still be set for me to perfectly execute what I have in store."

"Alright." He yawns again. "I'll be in my quarters, passed out, if you need me. Please do not need me until sup."

You laugh breathlessly, grabbing his hand and giving it a wet kiss. "I will give you your rest, be assured. Kirimvose, dōna lēkia, Thank you, sweet brother."

The words are simple, said in a quiet murmur heavy with love and meaning. Aegon presses a loving kiss to your head, unable to stop himself winding an arm around you.

"Syt ao, va moriot, ñuha prūmia. For you, always, my heart."

As you break to each other's chambers— his, to sleep, you, already meeting Yna and requesting for a bath — you don't notice the lurker that watched the intimate moment between twins, humming in amusement before it moves to follow you.

Back in your quarters— your marriage quarters as Jacaerys had requested that you forgo having your own, not wishing to part with you — the maids are already busying themselves airing the room, moving to follow your usual routine. The only thing breaking it is the tub now in the centre.

"Thank you," you say to Yna as she picks out the pins from your hair, shrugging off your dress in the process as soon as the maids had untangled the lace behind you.

"Call for Dyanna," you tell them as they bow and leave, the door clicking softly behind them. Plans must be made. Bath for now.

With the world stifled for a second, left with only you and your thoughts, you plunge your body under too-hot water, sighing against the aches and pains in your body. Dragon-riding is a new endeavour to your muscles, and though enjoyable, was still too new.

You sigh as tears fall from your eyes, blinking exhaustedly against soft, humming daylight. You had always known that love, as it is, is a maiden's folly. A foolish, hapless play meant to fool young girls into thinking the world is kind; a pretty place.

It was an even farther thought from you, a princess of the realm. At a young age, it has been drilled to you that your womb is a rare commodity. Your body has never been your own, a piece meant to be moved in a bigger game that you are used for, not play.

You weren't stupid.

If there's a few things Otto Hightower had ever granted you, apart from gifting you his keen prowess in moving power beneath your fingertips, in hungering for more, for better— it is understanding what each person is, who they can be, how you can move them. A flatter, a flair, a push. As a man, there is much to be desired about your grandsire; he used people, used family to pursue power, but you can't truly fault him for that as you were the same.

You just took better care of the people under your wing.

And for Jace, you had banished him.

The worst part, you knew there was a good, fat chance you would care for the princeling. He was a kind man, a sweet man, and with a guiding hand, you could forge yourself the best husband for yourself as much as you can mould a great king and a wonderful father. Women's hands are ever carved to mould and prod men. We stand behind, a presence or a hand, an echo of power.

But your Jace had surpassed it all, and in the moons leading up to your present day, to giving him his heirs, two beautiful daughters, the promised full Valyrian colouring in the silver hair in Daenera, your eldest, the wide, violet gaze in Aemma— the name of his mother's mother, a request of him that you had kindly, graciously fucking agreed to — of course there is a part of you, the girlish, tender heart that you long thought you had buried to get here, would fall for the brown-eyed, wondrous man.

You sink deeper into the tub, sighing as you let yourself unravel—

When you feel it. A presence in your room. It's soft. Silent. Not a lot would feel as such, but as paranoid as you are, as you keep your spiders clean and pretty with your dewy-eyed webs— you know better.

Your mind runs with ideas on who it might be, and come to a few people. No true name rises. The Red Keep is flooded with spies and traitors. You test your luck, sitting up on the tub, raising an arm over the lip of it and flicking water with your fingertips.

"If you are here to kill me, I'm afraid it will be a lost cause."

He laughs, sardonic and edged and familiar, jetting a tingle down your spine.

Well. There's getting a calm bath.

"Perceptive as always, niece," he says, heavy footfalls approaching now that he has been caught. "I'm just here to say hello."

You raise your eyes, mouth curled but unsmiling at the man who acts as the biggest thorn to your plots. Daemon Targaryen has never fallen through your webs, on guard against your flatter, your push, or your flair. Of course, taking the position of his daughter might have forever burnt that road, but you would think he'd ease up just a little bit when his wife, the Queen, had warmed to you considerably.

Unlike your mother, you had never been hostile to your bitch of an elder sister. Just like your plots for Aegon and Jacaerys, and nodding along to thread your father had started but abandoned, foolishly thinking the realm would follow without him fully ensuring your sister's claim to the throne— you carefully maintained a polite farce with Rhaenyra.

Ultimately, this became a boon to you, as she had responded positively to your abrupt marriage to her son, even reminding her deranged guard dog of their own marriage. The cream to your lemon cake had been when you birthed Aemma, the Queen's most favourite grandchild thus far. When she was a babe, Rhaenyra was never far; almost, always holding your daughter, cooing at her cheeks, remarking her likeness to her namesake with pure fondness.

But Daemon Targaryen knew, in the deepness of his marrow, that there is something wrong with you.

"Hello," you answer primly. He laughs, leaning against the passage to your open balcony. "We could have had this elating greeting at fast, if you wish to break it with me and my own."

He scoffs, unable to hide his disdain at the thought. It breaks his stare of your naked visage. Men. "I would rather jump to the fighting pits, good daughter."

"How rude. Is that all?" You meet his gaze steadily, tilting your head. "If it is not obvious yet, good father, I am bathing."

An amused smirk. "I can see that." Lecherous fucking geezer. "No matter. I just have a... curious thought, a wonder I suspect you may be able to answer. See. Truly odd it is, for the keepers to alert me this morning that Sunfyre had taken a ride past the Hour of Owl." Your heart thuds in your ribcage and you do your best to keep your expression mildly irritated. "Not with one, drunken rider, but with another. It had taken them hours, only coming back when morning had already presented in the air."

He steps forward, slow, menacing, until he reaches the edge of your tub and crouches. Your gazes are still unmatched in height, defiant as yours might be.

"The distinct smell wafts them, a Keeper said, and one suspects that though one dragon left last night, two might have come back this morning for he had seen another fly away." His fingers dips into the water, swirling the steam without breaking eye contact. "I wonder if you know anything about it, darling niece of mine."

The mocking emphasis is not lost on you. If the Queen is the Realm's Delight, you were Darling of the Realm. A sweet, merry girl, the secondborn daughter of Viserys I who frequently fought for the plight of the small folk, who gathered friends of all kinds of lords and ladies no matter the standing of their houses to her own, visiting far lands and charming every person in any room. Who made any feast brighter, always sparkling, always the darling.

Less of a dragon, more of a fairytale.

You sit up, leaning, baring your breasts completely to him as you pull yourself up on the ledge he is crouched from. He leans back, only slightly, as you smile demurely. Sweet. Tart. On the edge of pulling his head and hitting it against the copper tub.

"I am unsure of what you suspect, or is accusing me of, kepus, uncle," you purr and there's a twitch in his mouth, a widen in his irises— men are so fucking simple — "I had been feeling down last night, as my husband, as you know, is beyond my reach at the moment as he rallies alliances for the good of the realm. My brother had simply offered to take me out riding, trying to quell my loneliness with an excitable flight I had never been afforded."

You tilt your head. "Even if there had been a dragon binded to my own, why why would I not regale the realm with news of my success? I have longed for a dragon of my own, but alas, I have not quite succeeded where most of the family have." You pout. His eyes flicker. "Mayhaps I am more Hightower than I am Targaryen."

A huff leaves his lips, the amusement in his smile arching to his dark, dark gaze. Before you can react, his hand had comes forward to hold your chin in a tight grip, your jaw aching soon enough at the fingers that dig against your skin, wanting to bruise, to break.

Though a tremble passes your body, you keep his stare, gritting your teeth as the pad of his thumb brushes your lips. Moments and desires thrum between a charged hatred.

The lust is twisted from wanting to fuck you to wanting to kill you. The line is not simple. Maybe that is your fate together.

But he can't. You are well too ingrained in his family now, loved by the people he cared about. You are untouchable. For now. This is a warning, waiting for you to stutter, to show your hand. Any show of your true intentions... he is more than happy to swing Dark Sister across your throat.

He releases you without another word, standing up and leaving through the front door, the door clicking shut.

You sink back into the bath, letting the water engulf you.

Your daughters are moons apart in birth, and there are only a few differences between them that people oft remarked they could be twins. Daenera is taller, spindly. Built like Aemond when he was younger. Her hair is spun moon and eyes of mullish blue. It reminds you of Daeron's eyes. You had named Daenera yourself, a gruelling birth that took the entire night. You promised Jacaerys he could name the second. He had chosen Aemma for a girl, Laenor for a boy.

Not a few moons later, you were with child again. Your husband pinked at the cheeks at the chiding from his family. When she cried into the afternoon sun—Aemma was born mid day, during a council meeting — he pain did not stop the laugh that came out of your mouth from the horrified expression from the Master of Coin as your water broke.

Aemma had a sweetheart face, cheeks much fatter than her older sister's, with a yellowish tinge to her hair, curlier too, reminding you of Aegon. And Aemma laughed more, her deep, violet eyes always half closed as she exploded in giggles and bright, sunshine happiness.

Sons they might not be, but you had given heirs for the throne. And for them, you would do anything to keep their futures intact. Bond with a dragon, face the Rogue Prince, upheave Winterfell. Anything.

You flounce to the nursery where you know the two would be, smiling sweetly at every person you pass as they bow in reverence. Most wore sights of confusion, their greedy eyes and wagging tongues drinking in the deep, emerald glisten of your gown.

It's an old dress, one you keep in the corner of your collection. It isn't as if you had forgo the colours of your mother's house, but playing court meant every movement, even the clothes you wear, can be meaningful. And since your marriage, your Jace liked you in Velaryon colours.

"A goddess come to bless," he gasped against your collarbone, keeping your legs high on his waist as he rutted into you before his teeth sunk on your skin. As newlyweds go, there is not a lot of teasing to be had for your husband to curl against you in a darkened alcove. Merely wearing his favourite colour on your skin has him panting like a dog. His favourite dress is a seafoam blue that dragged longer against the ground in a soft, almost-gossamer material with a silver belt.

Enticing him never took long, but you enjoyed the dance presented. You enjoyed the dark hunger that filled him until he grabbed you to take you because he just had to take you.

The fresh wound slices deeper as you imagine all the things Jacaerys is doing to the so called Sara Snow. The emerald green of your gown shimmers with your anger.

"Fucking bastards," you can't help but say aloud, nodding at the guards posted on the nursery as you hear the squeals of your daughter and the calm, even voice of your brother.

"Muña! Mother!" Aemma squeals, untangling herself from being pressed against Aegon's side as the children— Daenera and Jaehaera — cuddle around him, before running to you. Helaena is on the floor, entertaining baby Maelor. Your mother, hands twisting against her own, stands vigil by the window, staring far ahead.

You catch your secondborn, giggling as you pressed kiss after kiss on her face.

"I see everyone has started without me. Where is Jaehaerys?"

"You were late, sodjisto, aunt," Jaehaera grins gummily. Jahaera is only a year older than Daenera. Your daughters, five and a half and five respectively. "Jaehaerys is with kepus, uncle. They are training."

"Smart girl." You meet your brother's gaze, whose eyes had notably been staring at your dress, mouth turned down. "Why don't you three play with Helaena? I shall speak about Name Day gifts for your Uncle Joffrey for a bit, hm?"

As Aemma shrieks something about cakes, and Daenera dutifully kissing your cheek in greeting before she takes Jaehaera's hand, you turn to your brother and mother.

"Aemond?" you ask softly, keeping your voice out of earshot. Alicent shakes her head. You nod. "Good. We don't want him inciting a war before I have mine properly planned."

As the Dowager draws in a sharp inhale, Aegon grabs your hands, the worry pulled taunt in his eyebrows. "Are you seriously contemplating war, sister? Isn't there a better way to punish them?"

"What punishment does a man regale in?" you hiss, stepping close to him. "Or the Queen's heir for the bloody matter? When Aemond nearly killed Lucerys, and he confronted me as if I had ordered Vhagar to tear through his brother, I thought I had put to bed any doubts in our marriage. It seems that men stray, regardless. My daughters may be his heir now, but what is to say that bastard wildling he's found himself cock deep in produces a son? Will he shame me with a mistress? Or will he shame me with a second wife?"

Your mother's lips tightens, her fingers paling at how tight she is gripping her nerves.

"Bastard or not, if he takes her to wife, I will be nothing. Make that babe a son, and the realm will rally for it. Daenera is his heir. My daughters will not be forgone. I will not be pushed aside. This is mercy, brother," you say softly, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "My last one. It requires time, moons, to unfurl. It requires seeding doubt and unfathomable inadequacy. Better if Aemond is none the wiser, Helaena the same. But I will need both of you for this to work. It is the only time I will ever ask. For me. For my daughters."

"And you will punish Winterfell with a war?" your mother asks, frown pulled deep. "That is the plan?"

"I will not. I won't do such a thing so blatant, mother, you know me better than that. But this is my last mercy, and it will be the last. For the next time he offends me so, I do not care if Rhaenyra feeds me to Syrax. I will put a dagger through his heart, heir or not."

The Prince Jacaerys comes back not a week later. Though he comes back to the same castle with the same occupants— your shiny new threads gleam. The stage has been set, a play ready to act. You had sent more spiders in the North, keeping a close eye to every blasphemy your husband has been enjoying in the absence of his duties, and as the rage in you quietly grew with each new whisper, your determination hardens.

You mark each indescretion. You keep a tally.

You count for each fall your blow will land on him.

Vermax lands with a screech and a heavy thump, your husband leaping off him with a grin on his face, matching the one you own, waving your arm joyously with Aemma in your arm and Daenera beside you, holding to your skirt as she grinned at her father.

Aemma wiggles under your hold, and you let Jace get close enough before you set her down, laughing, "Okay, okay!" Her laughter carries through as she scrambles like a bull to her father. A squeal peals out of her as Jace picks her up just in time and tosses her in the air.

"Want to meet kepa, father, sweet girl?" you whisper to Daenera, running a hand down her hair before she nods, breaking out into her own sprint, hugging her father as he greets them with laughter and kisses.

You let them have their time, and this, at least, eases your heart truthfully. A kind reminder that Jace adores his daughters.

You stay at the edge of the entrance, your too-wide grin softens into a smile. You were dramatic, nothing new about that, but even in the pale, pearl blue of your dress in silky, Myrish lace, the emeralds in your heavy, golden belt winks. Green ribbons twisted in your hair alongside fresh flowers. When the trio of your family treks toward you, silver-haired babes clinging to your dark haired prince, you serve a wink at the girls and they untangle themselves from their father while you stepped forward.

A choreographed dance, not giving him time to think. To pause.

Every step is calculated, every item on your body— the silk, the small seahorse that locks your dress behind you, the tint on your lips to the oil in your hair and body — is made to perform. You engulf him in you as if you want to suffocate his senses, your arms wrapping around him with sweet kisses pressing on his face, his neck.

Most in the dragonpit looked away, others, scandalously amazed and enchanted, watch as the princess is undeniably enthralled with her lord husband.

His laughter rumbles across his body, infecting your own, smelling of dragonback and crisp winds. You wonder if your nose is more heightened, you would be able to smell his whore in him, but you don't. It's just him. Your Jace.

Your body moulds against his as his arms tightens around you. When you lean back, you sweetly press a chaste kiss on his lips, grinning.

"What is this?" he huffs a laugh, meeting your doeful gaze. Your fingers curl around his chin, his cheek, idly tapping and touching as if you are committing so much newness to memory.

"Kostagon iā ābrazȳrys daor jaelagon zirȳla valzȳrys? Can a wife not want her husband?" you ask softly, pressing a few more kisses before sucking the last one just under his ear. His body shudders. You hide your smirk. "Skori ēza issare qrīdrughagon tolī bōsa? When he has been away too long?"

A yearning look tints your gaze from under your lashes, and you have to stifle the winning smirk as guilt pinches his face.

"My apologies, my wife. I did not mean to be away from you for long. From the girls." As his eyes flick to his daughters, your mask momentarily sharpens into clear distaste. The urge to dig your fingers into his eyes until he is bleeding and screaming under you is one you tamper with great distress.

Did not mean...

Did not mean to have a dalliance with another woman?

Did not mean to fall into bed with a fucking bastard, you insidious cunt, while I await here with your heirs?

Your anger thrums, nestled deep in your heart, it breathes. You school your face the moment he turns back to you, bringing your hands to his lips, kissing each finger with reverent tenderness. His brown eyes smoulder, rubbing your bare— irises widening — back.

"If you wish it, I can be on my knees for my apologies, my princess."

Your mouth curls. "I'm afraid that might have to be quite later, my prince."

"Huh?"

"The Dowager Queen hoped to congratulate you on your successful campaigning. Reaching as far as the North so frequently, we planned a feast for your return." Eyes shinning, you cup his face. You hope the guilt eats him raw from the inside out. Like worms. Like termites. Hungry, hungry, hungry. "We have never been more proud of you, I have never been more proud of you."

You laugh brightly, ignoring the way he squeezed you just a bit harder that mere second the same time his eyes tightened. "The moment I told the girls of it, they had begged to dance with you." Then you bit your lip, frowning slightly. "I... I understand if you are tired, 'tis a long journey after all, I did try to tell them you might want to rest, we can sneak you—"

"No, no, my heart, of course I would be happy to, I— I want nothing more." He brings you close, face disappearing into your neck. "Thank you. I love you."

You hum, carding your fingers through his hair. "As I love you."

For the rest of the feast, you dance just at the edges of his fingertips, ensuring that you permeated his sights and senses despite it. A game. A dance. When he thanks revelries who congratulate him, who ask him of his adventures, you proudly stand beside him, dutiful as the wife that you are, spearing him with compliments as much as you can. Hands squeezing his arm, your oils swallowing him with your smell.

When dinner came, you take chances massaging his thigh, sliding a salacious grin that had him blushing, ever so sweet, green— making you wonder what kind of fucking bastards do that he finds your attention so swallowing.

You don't let up.

Whenever he, in turn made a move, you sidestep, flutter a smirk, a wink; always escaping, letting him grow frustrated as the night went on.

Your one respite from taunting him had been when he danced with his daughters, making a gallant show of asking them, even Jaehaera. Giggles and spins, the ladies of the court fawn and coo.

Even now, you're making him to be the perfect man. The endearing husband, the wondrous father, the brilliant prince, the perfect lord.

To execute your plan, it must be made with a surgical precision. A slice that guts him to his knees, that breaks his spirit and quenches the whispering, wicked madness nestling with your ire. On another cheek, he must remain upright and upstanding, as to keep your daughters' future in perfect order.

You catch the domineering gaze of Daemon Targaryen, idle as he is, on the side of his distracted Queen, talking to a highborn lady. You don't look away as you toast him your cup of Arbour Red before you pucker your lips for a taste. Your eyes move to where your husband is already looking, flushed red and sweaty from all the dancing, your girls, preening and giggling around him.

You tilt your chin at him, a challenge in your gaze, before you slowly pull your lips away from your wine, stained red.

His throat bobs.

It will be a long, arduous game. Full of pitfalls and tightened webbing. One trip can kill you. But once the machinations are in order, once everything and everyone is in their proper places... oh, you cannot wait for the dance the dragons will make.

A flutter, a simpered footstep. Then a rustle of a dress as one bows.

"My lady," Dyanna greets behind you.

"Hm?"

"The spiders in the ice have met the pup in the snow."

"And?"

"The pup is not suspicious, in fact, they might go as far as to say that the pup is lonely. Though others largely understand her existence... no one likes a bastard."

You snort. "No, they don't, do they?"

"The wolf cares for the pup though, and is largely protective of his only sister."

"Hm. Complicated, but not impossible. Have Meera change the tone of my missive. A softer edge. Sweet but not overtly. Ensure the prerogative of politeness. Then have it sent to the Rookery. The proper channels."

You sigh, taking the edge of your braid and twisting through the ribbons your maid tangled between them. Tonight, you had elected Targaryen colours. A black dress akin to scales and a low, exposed back and dipping front, held together in red ribbons and silver chains. One that might be too on the nose, but the constant, feverish stares from your husband made it worth it.

"We have to ensure a good relationship with the Warden of the North, don't you think so?" You have not looked away from your husband since your maid came, and as he whispered something in Daenera's ear, nodding off to her grandmother with Aemma towed, he turned towards you, one stride after another.

"Precisely what I thought, milady."

"Go," you order her for the last time, giving her your cup, just before Jacaerys reaches you.

Game, set.

Worshipping you has always been something Jace excelled at. At the least, his cock was much larger than most, and without the preparation of his tongue and mouth, it burned. At most, he oft found himself holding your shaking thighs, your head and shoulders left on the bed as he feasted on you like a man starved, hungered for your nectar, the sounds you make, and the shaking of your body as you reached your peak on his tongue.

"J-Jace, please, I—" Your breath stutters, a hiccup escaping your mouth, but he is not letting up. On his knees as only a lordling can with his back straight, he is holding your thighs, your lower back, eating your cunny for the third time of the night.

As soon as he had reached you, he grasped your waist, whispering against your hair in a rumbled groan, "You are torturing me so, my wife. We leave. Now."

"Now?" you echoed, amused. "This is a feast in your honour."

"My honour is already hanging by a thread. The revelry will go on without us. I want to have my fill of you."

And fill he had. He didn't even wait to get you out of your dress before he had pushed your skirt upward, gone on his knees, and got his tongue inside of you.

Now, you are overwhelmed, overstimulated as you are hazy, gripping the wrecked sheets as your peak reached you once more. A strangled, breathy cry of his name falls between your lips as your back arched impossibly so, and instead of letting up, this seemed to fuel him harder, the muscle of his mouth working harder inside of your cunt, hands digging into your flesh to keep you steady.

It builds with a stimulation unending, and just as you're on the throes of your last high, it builds again, quick and fast this time, shuddering gasps of, "o-oh gods, g-gods, Jace!" is the last thing you are able to shout before your fourth peak breaks against the shudders of your last one, your wetness exploding, and you start crying before he lets up.

Your blubber becomes laughter, and he is soft as he lies you down, massaging your thighs as you twitched. He hovers above you, running gentle hands across your arms, kneading through skin, before he reaches your face. He's still in most of his clothes, his long white shirt and breeches, but his mouth is covered in your wetness before he wipes it, obscene in the prettiness of his face and messy locks from where you had tugged and grabbed.

He presses a gentle kiss to your cheek, so close to your body, all too tangled in your soul, and can feel his hard cock upright and wanting against your belly, but he pays it no mind. Concern mars his features as he brushes down your hair.

"Are you alright, my love? Too much?"

You shake your head, brushing your hand down his chest. "N-no, I am well. I just never did that before."

He smiles, kissing your closed eyelids before he brings you close to his chest, cuddling you deep. "You deserve all the pleasure I can give you," he says against your hair. "I have been gone far too long. Consider it my apology."

You hum, eyes open. "Apology for what? You were doing your duty, nothing more, ñuha zaldrīzes, my dragon." You feel him stiffen as you keep your voice soft, caring. "I understand duty far better than you. It is what I love most about you."

You look up, taking his chin between your fingertips as you stared at those warm, brown eyes. "You, who carries your honour like a shield and your duty like a sword. I feel as if the gods had blessed me a husband far better than I should have had for I know I do not deserve you."

"H-how can you say that? You are—" He swallows. "— You are the most excellent woman. The mother of my children. You... You are the one I do not deserve."

Your head falls back against his chest, gripping his shirt. Only by your teeth had you stop yourself from screaming.

You curdle, you keep, you poise.

"My love?"

But you pay him no mind, pushing him on his back as you straddle him, your hands working quick to unlace his breeches until his cock slaps against his stomach, end red and swollen. A sharp hiss falls from his lips as your hand tugs on it once. Twice.

He calls your name, spits it really, eyes blown with lust as he holds your waist, unsure if he should lift you off him or grind you against his aching cock.

"I want you inside me," you whimper, plead, feeling his cock twitch at your words, your false, yearning gaze. He mistakes the burned tears of anger in your eyes as unbridled want. "I have gone so long without your warmth, your cock, swelling inside me, your seed nestling deep, taking root—"

"Yes," he gasps, fingers digging into your doughy sides, pulling you up, moving you around whilst you grabbed his length and directed inside your wet, hot cunt inch by inch, filling you so thickly you can feel him in your throat. It takes time, patience and grit, but you're wet enough and you're determined. Once he's fully inside of you through a choked moan of your own, his neck arches, head thrown back. "Fuck! Yes, y-yes, there you are, my g-good fucking girl."

You move slow at first, taking him, bracing one hand on his knee, almost testing the feel him of back in the familiar contours of your cunt. Veins pop between each groan and choke that shudders through him whilst praise, your name, the possessive titles— my love, my wife, my princess — is spit in between.

When the heat tightens in your belly, you shift positions, placing both palms on his chest, and riding him without abandon, bouncing up and down as you watch with a sharp eye as his release builds. His hips move on their own, fucking up in you as you meet his thrusts with equal vigour, and it's delicious. It's heated. You grind your swollen folds against his mon and your cries make him thrust up harder into you, calling your name, denting your doughy hips.

You don't stop, your pleasure at the back of your mind, wanting him to unravel, to break— a final cry of your name dissolving into a choked moan, spilling his seed deep inside, the continuous snap of his hips digging it deeper into your womb.

But your last peak is still tightening, so you press a quick kiss on his chest, a bite really, before you continue to chase your own high, a hiss slipping his lips but moving your hips with his iron-grip, stutters of, "d-do it, reach your high, f-fuck! fuck!"— Your head throws back, nails digging his skin as your cunt clenches his cock in a vice grip, forcing his hips to snap up once more, twice, until you fall, slumping against him.

When he kisses the top of your head, murmuring words you ignore, you close your eyes.

Your plan is in motion. The missive will be sent to the Lord Stark, in pursuit of an innocent friendship. The spiders you have placed on the Northern bastard are set, and a dragon flies in Dragonstone with your bond in its blood.

Your Jace is home. He will fall in love with you all over again. His wonderful daughters and darling princess, he will regret the events that have transpired in the cold. In his head, he will make promises to do better, to be better, that whatever happened is a blip. A mistake that will not happen again. but you know, he will trip. He will wander once more.

But you will make sure that the next time he does so, he will regret it for the rest of his days.

Because it is not you who will burn Winterfell to the ground.

It will be him.

Your plan moves, your web is perfect.

Now, the spider waits for the idiot fucking flies to feed on.

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murdrdocs · 1 month

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consider this…… seven minutes in heaven w luke - 🍒

explicit sexual content; MDNI

before luke found himself in a desired position, he thought the games suggested by the others to be nothing but trivial and worthless. he couldn’t find any benefits in playing seven minutes in heaven, especially when his time slots up until now have been filled with nothing but tense silence and awkward small talk.

now, with his hands linked in your belt loops and his lips pressed against yours, he doesn’t see how he could’ve been upset about this at all.

there’s something primal to the way he kisses you. he’s never done it before, kissed you, but he lets go like he knows your lips better than his own. his inhibitions are gone, likely a factor of knowing and understanding that this is his one true chance to know you in ways as intimate as the situation calls for. gone is the distanced longing. it has been replaced by intense wanting. by the little monster that lives deep under luke’s skin, begging to crawl up to the surface and jump into your skin only to act as a magnet and pull luke right in on its heels.

he unabashedly presses his crotch up against yours and rocks, attempting to alleviate some of the discomfort as best as he can. he kisses you with more fervor whenever you start to reciprocate his motions, knocking your own hips into his between every hot press of slippery lips against slippery lips.

you’re close, but not nearly close enough, and for once, luke feels the heat of the summer. here, in the deserted artemis cabin with only four minutes left, luke feels the humidity permeating through his shirt and sinking onto his skin. he’s aware of his curls sticking to his forehead and the flush of his skin, a characteristic he’s only felt when training or when he’s fisting his cock alone at night.

both situations made him feel similarly to how he feels now, but now it’s different. now there’s a stone in his lower abdomen, knocking around his insides and trying to find its way out, a path that leads south. now, he has something to work his adrenaline out on, someone to give his adrenaline to. he tries to get rid of the substance through his lips, clumsily moving them over yours, forcibly slipping his tongue into yours, ignoring the almost painful way your teeth clack together from his enthusiasm.

still, it isn’t enough. there surely can’t be more than three minutes left, but luke needs more. he undos his hands from your belt loops and place them over the backside of your shorts, grabbing two fistfuls and then pulling you closer. he tries to take a step towards you, but you’re as close as you can get. there’s a wall just behind you, so luke walks you back to it. he sticks his head in the crook of your neck, and pushes his hips into yours again and again and again.

by the time his movements are beginning to stutter and he's dampening the fabric of his briefs, there’s three knocks on the door. the warning given to straighten yourselves up and come out.

but luke isn’t done. he’s twitching, going through the aftershocks of possibly his most embarrassing orgasm yet, and then you take over for him.

your hands tangle in his hair, you trail them down to his lower back and pull his hips closer to yours instead of letting them pull away, and yell out, “five more minutes!”

#this is just me yappin btw #lukesworld!#luke castellan x reader #celeste writes pjo #–𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 🍒

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chrollohearttags · 9 months

Text

unwrapped • r. braun

surprising your husband on his birthday turns out to be much more than you’d expect.

content warning and themes: p!rn without plot, hard dom!reiner, (retired football player rei) black!fem reader, (plus size descriptors) extremely rough sex, bondage, reader wearing butt p!ug, anal play, spit kink, throat training, heavy degradation (calls reader bitch, slut, whore), squirting, daddy kink, hair pulling, pet names, (mama, poundcake, pretty girl, papa, sweet girl), gagging, pet play, breeding kink go brr, heavy overstimulation, slapping, y’all might need a sedative after reading this.

📝: I would apologize for how filthy this is going to be but I shall not. I started this last year for Rei’s birthday but I put it off but now I’m doubling back. So happiest of birthdays to my handsome baby father. The only Leo man I’d ever give a chance.

word count: 5.5K

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"So this is all for me, huh? Wow..."

it was the exact reaction that you would expect from your husband of four years..shocked, surprised and completely taken aback by your rather unique gift. For a better lack of terms. You knew him better than anyone and although he appeared intimated or not too intrigued by the sight before him, you knew his mind was churning; ablaze with extremely salacious thoughts and desires at the moment. August first..a day that he’d normally let pass without so much as a single bit of acknowledgement but tonight, you had plans to make your man’s day extra special.

Reiner Braun, although wealthy and having amassed millions as a football star during his days as a quarterback, as well as with his many business ventures nowadays, was a man of simplicity. He preferred things to be quiet, peaceful..without too much flare. Rather than lavish parties and big events, he was out working hard, assuring that his business was functioning well, even on his special day so you decided to stay at home, 'tending to other affairs'. Used to your antics, he didn’t question it too much but while he was away, you were putting together one hell of a present..one he'd soon never forget. Standing in the doorway of the foyer, a few inches taller from the Giuseppe heels on your feet and the coat that had been covering the grandiose bombshell had fallen to the floor..allowing that khaki trench coat to pool at your ankles, you’d be revealed to be sporting sexy red lingerie, akin to that of a glazed candy apple on your smooth, brown complexion. Thick thighs and ass stretching against the thin lace fabric and mere seconds from bursting out. All the more reason to rip it off! However, that wasn’t all in store..tiny nipple clamps latched on to your perky breasts, a collar laced around your throat and decorated with a heart charm. Along with a paddle sitting on the mantle.

Little did he know, more awaited him in the bedroom..that was if he exercised the restraint to not ravage you right here!

His face was flush but burning beet red and his chest was heaving pretty fast but he had to maintain his composure. “I—uh..I don’t know what to say..”

although the two of you made love many times a week, and it was a far cry from vanilla..this by far took the cake! All of this was a sudden change. You just looked so..submissive and innocent. As if you were begging to be wrecked! "Well don't just stand there and look at me, come get your present.." the words garnering a big smile from his handsome face..mumbling something underneath his breath as he stepped forward and extended his arms out to grab ahold of you. Towering above your shorter yet thicker frame, examining you..big strong hands groping your body as he sucked his teeth profusely.

"Happy birthday, papa. What do you think?"

honestly, it was hard for him to think at all right now! Seeing you so dressed up in such slutty and salacious attire, all for him. "..I think..I’m the luckiest man alive.” Garnering a slight chuckle from you both. Cupping your face between his hands, Reiner leaned down to give you a deep, searing kiss. One indicative of how hot his desire and lust for you were burning right now. But alas, there was one more stipulation to his gift..you had but only one request for your husband: "You know how you've been saying you wanted to try all of those things you saw in those videos?..well, here's your chance. I want you to treat me like your little whore tonight..do whatever you want to me."

reaching behind your back, you’d hand him the final piece of this rather interesting ensemble and that was a leash! Red, covered in latex and what he’d be using to maneuver you around at his leisure. Something he’d probably never have suggested on his lonesome. You see, Reiner was an incredibly bashful man..despite his outwardly appearance and intimidating presence, he became flustered quite quickly. You honestly thought it was the most adorable thing you had ever seen. As you had done several times prior in the past, one night, the two of you were lying in bed, looking at some rather explicit videos..hoping to spice things up in the bedroom. As you’d come to discover, masturbating together became one of your favorite activities as of late. There was something about holding hands with your man as he guided you through your orgasm that made it ten times better.

However, there was one scene in particular that not only resonated with your beloved Reiner but stuck with him. As if the scene were permanently implanted in his memory. The woman, resembling your exact body type and look; a cute little lady..brown skin, thick with a little pudgy tummy, thighs that rubbed together and an ass that clapped with each movement, sporting an apron with nothing underneath as she ‘cleaned’ the house, waiting for the arrival of her doting husband. She had baked him a cake, which she’d then go on to allow him to lick off of her backside. You could visibly see his cock twitching at the sight of her. Not because he was more attracted but because she resembled you. It was only when the man arrived home, resembling Rei’s build and stature, along with his hair color did things get even more interesting. He’d then proceed to strip down, place the tie around her neck before ushering her to her knees and fucking her face. They’d wind up going rounds in that house..from the kitchen to the tall staircase to her riding him on the floor with her heels on. It was so filthy and disgusting and he couldn't stop thinking about it! Witnessing her be pounded, seeing her cry from the pleasure and get overstimulated until she couldn't spill another drop.

That night, he came so hard; twice in fact from that video alone, spilling warm, seeping nut all over his fingers..loud, lewd groans filling the room and it was then that your wheels began to churn. Reiner would never admit it, out of fear of rejection or even scaring or hurting you but he was into hardcore sex..dominating, controlling and even breaking his precious (y/n) had come across his mind constantly. Pumping you full of dick while you all but tried to push him back, pulling on your hair and neck as you begged for more, and especially being called daddy and sir..he had craved it. Practically salivating at the thought!

But now, there was no need to be afraid because you were all but throwing out the proposition. It was up to him to take it. Bringing his fingertips to your chained nipples, he'd rub them gently, garnering an adorable smile and lip biting from you.

"..whatever I want, right? Huh.."

"That's right…treat me however you want. Don’t hold back.” With that confirmation, he didn't want to waste another second unwrapping his present. Fixated on your supple breasts, Reiner groped them in his palms before shoving that tongue between your plump, red painted lips. He was completely enamored with your body and it was certain now that you wouldn't have any issue getting him to loosen up. Eventually, he'd end up shuffling you over to a nearby wall where he caressed and squeezed every inch of that perfect frame… faint moans escaping his throat whilst he continued feeding you those soft kisses. In a split second, you’d brought your hands up to undo his shirt and pants but he was quick to push them away, giving you strict instructions to place them by your side. "Don't fucking move...just let me handle it." You had never heard him speak with such a sharp, commanding tone. All but hissing the orders at you. It was so fucking sexy! So you’d do exactly that, and stood still as he moved those lips down to your neck, collarbone and eventually those perky nipples that had become his point of hyperfixation at the moment.

"Mmm...how cute.."

Intermittently flicking those clamps and chains to watch you tense up. Squeezing your thighs together, (y/n) released a very audible moan in response. Even shutting your eyes in hopes to feign off the sensation but it was of no use. It felt too good! But alas, he was merely getting started and soon, you’d come to find out just what this man was capable of when given free reign. Taking those callus fingertips, Reiner traced them even further south..finally leaving your tits, he’d make a trail down the center of your tummy; just lightly grazing the skin until he reached the elastic waistline of your panties. To which he’d make haste in shoving those digits in. Outlining the thin, lace material before sinking them inside of your warm heat. Eliciting a cry from you that in turn, made his cock thump behind the confines of those designer slacks. You’d even absentmindedly begin to rut yourself on those fingerpads.."Tell me, angel..is this really what you want? Because I don't plan on taking it easy..just so you know." You were full and well aware of that fact. Even so, you wanted him to use you to his full desire. Release every single debaucherous thought that plagued his mind onto you and let it out. Once he finished, you wanted to be broken..mind, body and spirit.

“I told you, baby..I'm your slut, do whatever you want to me. I can take it..promise.”

Hell, if anything, you just wanted him to stop all of this teasing and fuck you senseless already! Without another moment of hesitation, Reiner smirked and shoved two digits deep within that tight, quivering entrance and made certain you impaled yourself on them. Granted, this was nothing more than a mere warm up for the pounding that little pussy was about to take after all! Working them in and out, he'd make certain your head remained positioned straight forward, as he didn’t want those beautiful, brown eyes shifting anywhere except on him. Only seconds in, you had soaked his hand down to the wrist..letting those juices leak down to the Tom Ford button up and matching cuff links. You were already coming undone so he could only imagine what the remainder of the night would entail.

"Well, poundcake. Don't say I didn't give you fair warning..” mumbling into a low growl that seeped to your ears. “Because I plan on going all night..breaking this slutty little body for everything it has. That sweet cum, those pretty little moans and everything else I fucking want. My little whore, you said? From now on..you don't move, speak or breathe without my permission, understood?" This new side of him had you going crazy! Frothing all over the seat of those panties and whimpering for him like a helpless puppy. Finally, his fingering would come to an abrupt halt which left your needy cunt spasming on thin air. Once he removed them, he'd bring them up, only to shove them into your mouth roughly. “Lick them clean. Taste yourself and don’t leave a single drop.” The force of his thrashing around between your jaws causes you to emit a slight gag when he takes them to the back of your throat.

"And you answer me with only daddy or sir, got it?"

you weren’t exactly sure what was coming but all you could know for certain was that you had seemingly awoken one hell of a monster! Had you truly bitten off more than you could chew?

"Yes, daddy..."

those round doe eyes fixated on him with such an innocent glare. It was then that you’d find yourself gasping sharply as he clenched your jaw. A faint smile cracking through his lips..almost devious in a way. But just as quickly, he’d place a couple kisses atop your forehead and a few pats to your chubby cheek. "Good girl..now let's get these off." In a sudden swift movement, he'd rip that latex lingerie from your body as if it were constructed of nothing more than sheets of paper. Each article and layer falling to the flooring and pooling around you guys’ feet. Leaving you only with the corset piece, fishnets and leash around your neck. And of course those tall, clear heels. Next were his own and without so much as single care for the cost, Reiner tore the button down from his skin. Revealing those chiseled abs, all while unbuckling his pants in the process. That bulge in them had grown excessively large and honestly, he had no more restraint to tease you. He wanted some action himself! So once he freed that hard dick from its confines and bridged the gap between your bodies, he’d hoist your legs within his grasp and place your back against the wall for quick leverage, as to execute his next move. “This is gonna be fun..”

Seconds later, he was instructing you to wrap your arms around his neck for support and them around his waist. Even though he was more than culpable of supporting you with his own strength. Parting those legs, he’d expose your dripping slit and freshly waxed, fat pussy to the cool air; aligning himself with your soaking slit.

"Ooh..baby, what am I going to do with you?..."

That voice dropped to a low growl as he teased that sensitive tip against your folds. Drumming up more of that silky slick that was drooling out of that cunt. Slowly but surely, he'd ease it inside and stuff you full of that dick. The initial sensation makes you both writhe in pleasure. Before your moans could even fully escape your mouth, he'd meet them with his own and resume those deep kisses. Swarming the inside of your jaws with sloppy pecks and an exchange of saliva..even spitting into it to further lubricate. Whereas he'd be whimpering into the crook of your neck, moaning your name as a sign of pure submission, this was a whole other side to Reiner. One you had never seen but wish had awoken sooner.

"Fuck!..so good."

there was a certain intensity in his eyes, one that scared and aroused you simultaneously..fucking you into a state of trembling with only a few strokes in as you dripped down his shaft. But this angle and the way he so precisely penetrated your g-spot, you’d find yourself clawing your nails into his back whilst he impaled you on his dick. All eight and a half inches of thick girth stretching you open..akin to a piece of elastic. "That's right, you don't need to do anything else..just hold onto me and let me pound that little pussy." Your body gliding up and down the wall; jolted with every thrust and meeting his every movement. It was almost as if you were weightless within his arms. “Shit! Right there…” Your nails ripping into his shoulder blades, holding on with all the strength you had but it was of no use. He had rendered you practically useless and dumb. Nothing more than a mere flashlight for his pleasure.

"Look at you..taking this fucking dick like a good whore. You liked being fucked all rough, don't you? Answer me.”

"Yes, daddy! Give me more, please. Fuck my pussy!” Meanwhile, your little cunny could barely contain him, no matter how far he delved and how deep he pressed, it kept slipping out of that wetness. Just from those few minutes alone, those walls had been beaten sore and throbbed profusely. However, that wasn't going to stop him from fucking you senseless or making you clamp down on his shaft. Those balls rested idly against your bubbly asscheeks after slapping against them..plus,hearing you beg only further fueled his desire.

sounds of smacking skin and loud cries erupted throughout the foyer. Although he loved the noises that pretty little pussy made each time he slammed inside of it, he came to an abrupt halt. "Get on the floor, right now." Whether it was his own lack of restraint or the fact that he truly did want to take you beyond your limits today, Reiner stopped abruptly before placing you to your feet.

that long cock still erect and dripping with your juices; the tip glowing red from how sensitive it was. One hard brush and he would probably begin spurting cum. He’d stroke the shaft whilst reaching for the leash and eventually the top of your head. With an extended palm, Reiner reached over and laid a few smacks to your cheek. Instructing you to stick your tongue out and glance up at him. “Good girl..sit there on your knees until I tell you otherwise.” He needed a few seconds to decide his next move. Seeing you in such a state had his mental all fucked up. Having this much power to use you at his disposal and seeing you lose every bit of your morals just to please him made this man absolutely feral.

panting heavily, Reiner ripped the shirt off entirely. He’d then proceed to undo and coil the red necktie around his knuckles. It seemed as if his lightbulb was flashing and he had constructed a rather interesting idea. "..hands up over your head, sweetheart. Don't make me fucking wait."

Without fuss or haste, you’d raise your arms up to the wall and await his instructions. You were positioned on your knees with them spread apart to where he could visibly see that little slit drooling with slickness. That clit protruding out and waiting to be rubbed. You’d give anything to have it touched at the moment but you’d have to wait. Emitting a loud gulp, you’d hope that your lovely husband would feel compelled to somewhat tone it down and have mercy but it would seem that you had ignited quite a dormant spark inside of him. The gentle, attentive man that had always handled you with care was no more, at least for the time being. Finally, he’d retrieve that leash placed on the mantle and once he clipped it on, he’d clutch it with a vice grip. "I'm going to enjoy fucking that cute little face of yours..those lips always look so pretty wrapped around my dick. Open wide.” Tilting your head back on his command. Just seconds later, he'd lean down and spit into your quivering mouth; the sensation making you throb and melt within his grasp. That saliva trailed between your lips, down to your tongue and in turn, earned him the cutest expression with a bright smile. "Thank you, daddy."

the name causes a direct reaction from your shaft; throbbing upon hearing your voice. He couldn’t help it when you were being so gracious and eager to serve him. This was already the best birthday ever and it had only begun! Stretching those jaws, Reiner would depress your tongue with a couple fingers; as would a doctor to a patient and watch that uvula jump and the back of your mouth gape and flex as it awaited the chance to be filled. That was more than enough room and he’d waste no time in filling that empty oral cavity. “Perfect, don’t move.” With that, you’d find your empty mouth stuffed full of that swollen member. Pumped and fucked without any regard to your esophagus or breathing. Reiner would just ever so carelessly buck his hips forward as if you were nothing more than a mere sex doll. That was until you started seeping strings of clear fluid all over his shaft and tip, bringing out vibrations with your gagging and moaning. Keeping one hand on your bound wrists to keep them in place and the other on his leash, Reiner maneuvered you like a well oiled machine. Letting every liquid you emitted drip onto those marble floors. Thrusting with full force as he rutted those hips..so desperately trying to maintain his pace because you felt that damn good. Because you were not at liberty to do so, he’d alternate between his dick and those full, swollen balls; stuffing your mouth with them in exchange for jerking himself.

“That’s right. Clean me up, bitch…taste that pretty pussy and keep those eyes on me when you do it.”

he’d feed your heavy slaps to the face as his tip rested in the side of your jaw..pressing into your skin. He had zero remorse at the moment and if being used in this manner is what you wanted, he was more than happy to oblige! When his hand no longer sufficed, he’d pop that cock back into your mouth and continue relentlessly fucking your skull until that forehead pressed to his abs and you were rendered breathless. Perhaps what was most impressive to him was how you took it without so much as gagging or showing resistance. Not to mention that you battled those lashes at him while you did so. If he wasn’t careful, you’d have him spurting cum all down your throat. But he had plans to fill you up so he’d refrain. Where you were rendered unable to be vocal, Reiner certainly filled that void and let out the loudest, grovely grunts. Meanwhile, strings of saliva were pooling from the corners of your mouth and your face had a dumbed out expression..exactly as he wanted it. “It’s like you don’t even need to breathe, baby. I love you..I love how nasty you get for me..” that deep voice resonating throughout your body. But for how warm and inviting those silk like jaws felt, he was becoming rather greedy. He needed to explore more of that perfect figure…from this pretty mouth, to that dripping core and especially, that big round ass. Which had quite the surprise waiting for him. “C’mere, mama. I’m not done with you..not yet.”

reluctantly pulling out, Reiner suddenly tugged your head around with a firm grasp, returning the favor of that sloppy head with an equally messy makeout session. It was apparent by the smile on your face that you were enjoying this just as much! That’s when he’d lower your hands, untying them and command you to plant those palms to the floor, where you were made to crawl towards him. Resembling that of a cute little pup or a sexy lynx, your husband began stepping backwards before waving a finger towards you. He was leading you to the staircase, hoping to reenact that infamous scene that inspired this entire ordeal. Even then, on your hands and knees, you were enticing him. Finally, you’d find yourself stationed against those stairs, where Reiner would fling you up to the railing and raise your leg so that he could finally get inside of you. That’s when he’d find a hidden gem…literally and figuratively. A heart shaped, jeweled anal plug stuffed between those thick cheeks that were glistening with baby oil you had previously doused yourself in. Making it look even better..lighting up with excitement, Reiner would start to smirk and chuckle, spreading them apart as he watched that tight bundle of nerves flex around that metal. “Oh my gosh..” mumbling in a low growl, admiring the beautiful view. For now though, he needed some of that soaking core.

“…pretty pussy’s so fat..I know she’s wet f’r me, baby. Go ahead, bend over…” biting and licking his lips with a faint smirk. He couldn’t believe how blessed he was to have the finest woman on the planet! Balancing on those heels, (y/n) looked back whilst arching that back..bouncing in the process so that he could get a clear view of those plump lips. “Yes, just like that, baby..it looks so good.” “Thank you, daddy.” Getting more and more aroused each time you uttered that name. Placing his thumb atop that plug, he’d push it in a little further as his index teased that protruding clit, that caused you to whimper in response. “That feel good, poundcake? Ya’ like when I touch on that clit? You can answer..”

and of course, it was a given how you felt.

“Yes sir, so fucking good…please fuck me—“ but just like that, he’d halt you in your tracks by tugging on your leash and spanking your ass to silence you. “Hey, I didn't give you permission to start begging, not yet at least..” Just then, he’d place a hand in the center of your back before grabbing himself at the base and slapping that cock up against those clammy folds. He wanted to keep you waiting..punish you for your unauthorized outburst the fact was, he lacked resolve himself so seconds later..

“No…I need you to take this dick. All of it..and maybe..just maybe if you ask nicely..” you’d find yourself impaled on him and stuffed full, causing your face to go wide with shock. “I’ll let you come.” A result of both holes being filled to the brim. He didn’t even give you a chance to recuperate or adjust..he’d go full throttle. Thrusting into you once more after already abusing that little cunt once before. Needless to say, you probably wouldn’t be moving for a day or so after this but it’d be well worth it! You loved the sensation..the thrill and rush that came with being used like this. Every day could be his birthday if he treated you like this! Deep strokes made home inside of your core as his pace increased. That leg draped over the sides began to shake uncontrollably but as a way to quell you, he’d gently rub it. He was trying to have a bit of balance amid the chaos; a touch of subtlety with his rough treatment. Your body was already sore with pain and pleasure. Marked up by both his lips and hands..all signs of how obsessed he was with you. Going deeper and deeper, reaching that fated g-spot, Reiner tugged your head back and yet again spat into your mouth, trying to maintain some semblance of control. Because truthfully, he was reaching his peak. He knew the second he resumed fucking you, he’d lose his mind and rhythm. Suddenly, his thrusts would become sporadic and he’d start hammering into your spot; clapping that flesh against his pelvis and filling that million dollar mansion with raunchy noises. Getting as raw and unhinged as you two pleased. It was a private party and he’d enjoy every single second of it.

“Harder! Please..I’m so—“ although you were breaking the rules, you couldn’t help yourself as that climax grew near. You had been holding back..restraining yourself from releasing all over him but right now, you couldn’t be vexed!

“Can I come, daddy? Please, can I come for you?!”

Crying with your eyes squeezed shut and tears streaming down your face. Your body was set ablaze…burning with desire and right now, he wanted to add the fuel! Spreading that ass apart, your husband kept thrusting, grinding those hips to the hilt as he buried every inch until that tip began to kiss your cervix. That aching warmth was all but stretched. However, it wouldn’t be the only orifice to be pounded into oblivion. “Since you've been so good..let it go. Right now. Come on this fucking dick..you little slut.” And the second he gave you the green light, it were as if the floodgates opened and a shower of your sweet squirt littered the porcelain steps. He had never seen a thing like it! At that moment, you couldn’t stop. Just an absolute wreck of orgasmic bliss. “F-fuck! Oh fuck, oh fuck—“ banging your previously bound hands against the stairwell. There was no time to recuperate or for either of you to gather your bearings because Reiner was pulsating something fierce and there was nowhere he’d allow that seed to end up other than your womb. Only seconds later, you’d find yourself impaled again and his hard erection thrashing around inside of you.

“What? You thought we were finished? What did I say, pound cake? Not yet..” unable to even compute a reaction, you’d end frozen for a full minute..stuck from that post climatic high. He didn’t have time to wait for your recovery. Not even a full minute later, you felt the grasp on your hips tighten; nails clawing into that soft flesh as Reiner’s breath caught in the back of his throat. “Shit!—coming..FUCK!” Shouting out with all his might. It was then that hot strings of creamy semen began to pour into that needy womb. And not in the form of a few droplets..no, you were being knotted with thick ropes. Ensuring that not one drop would seep out. However, if you thought that would be enough to soothe his salacious appetite and stop him, you’d be wrong. Because he had one more opening to explore before calling it quits. Even though you looked terribly spent and hell, he was getting a little lightheaded himself, he couldn’t stop until you both collapsed. Keeping that back bent to an angle and that leg outstretched, (y/n) felt that plug be removed from your second entrance and hear the metal plop to the floor…only to find that he had..replaced it with something else. But that much was obvious when you all but collapsed from that cock stretching you open. With his face flushed red, Reiner would let out a somewhat maniacal laugh. It was apparent that he was running off of pure adrenaline and addiction. Unable to cease until he claimed every inch of it and unraveled you.

“Take it…don’t tell me that little plug was just for show now. You were getting it ready f’r me. So I could fuck every part of this little body.” Practically hissing at you whilst tugging you back into hard, sporadic strokes. He still had a bit left in the chamber, surprisingly but he wasn’t going to maintain that pace for long because you were way too tight; clutching him at every movement. Even with the help of that toy, you weren’t quite conformed to his shape. Even so, he made it his mission to conquer it and break you as he had promised. He was well on his way because now, you were full blown fucked to tears…crying and pleading for him to come in you once more. He had gotten his point across and you loved the pain far too much to want him to stop. But you knew your body couldn’t withstand this brutal fucking. “P—please..come—ahh..” letting out a shrill whimper and pathetic cries. Your nails barely even graze the wood that you had a vice grip on earlier. Despite the fact that you had initiated this, he knew you’d never know when to quit and seeing as how that spasming bundle of nerves was determined to drain him dry, he’d grant you permission one last time to let go..

“On three..together. You know what to do..”

and like that, the two of you ascended to the highest peak together. Howling to the ceiling and shrieking each other's names as you spilled another puddle and poured the remainder of that nut into you..

“F-fuck..you’re so full..so goddamn full of my nut.”

“Yes, come in this ass, daddy..thank you so much.”

reaching back to stroke the side of his face before collapsing to your knees, where you trembled violently. All a result of the insane lovemaking that had just transpired. As one final act of submission, you’d run your tongue along his thigh, swiping up any remnant of those juices you let out all over him, before sticking your tongue out like an obedient dog. How could he possibly ask for a better gift than this?! Grasping your chin, Reiner leaned down with tears of his own plaguing his hazel eyes and shoved his tongue in your mouth. As if he didn’t want to let go. “Thank you, baby..thank you for the best fucking gift ever..”

and there was no way this day could ever be outclassed for as long as he lived!

.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*: .･*:｡.･*:｡.･

@angelktski @crazychaoticizzy @daisynik7 @spaceforher

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