#Have Dragon Will Travel Part Two | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blindmagdalena · 5 months

Text

All That Glitters

18+ 15.7k words. Dragon!Homelander x F!Reader fantasy au, messy world building, referenced cannibalism, handfeeding, super dubious consent, sexual coercion, monster anatomy, size difference, cunnilingus, breeding kink, dirty talk, marathon sex, mating bond/bite, knotting, tongue baths, virgins, scent kink, overstimulation, body betrayal, fairy tale schmoop. AO3 Link!

Summary: In a world where the only currencies that matter are gold and blood, the gods are lavished with both. Your regions god is a fearsome beast said to reign hellfire from the skies should his appetite not be satiated. When the demand for human sacrifices increases, you make the choice to volunteer yourself, determined to bring an end to the bloodshed, and ascend into the jaws that await you in the old stone tower deep in the woods.

illustration by the ever incredible @anon-nee, who was instrumental to the writing of this fic. see the full piece here! originally written for Monsterlander Mania, but obviously spiraled wildly out of control.

For as long as you can remember, there have always been sacrifices.

Such a thing is not unique to your village. Gods–and the creatures worshiped as such–throughout the world demand all manner of recompense for protecting the lands of those who idolize them. If the slaughter of a single lamb ensures green pastures in which the herd may thrive, few ever think twice before they lift the blade.

Not all townships worship for benevolence, however. Yours has always worshiped for mercy.

For generations, stories of hellfire raining from the sky have been passed by your people. A great, terrible beast with wings as wide as ten men were tall once patrolled the skies above you, wielding power so devastating that not even ballistae firing bolts the size of tree trunks could fell it.

It had a hundred names, each more terrible than the last. Scourge of the Skies, the Red Death, Flame’s Maw, and perhaps most unfortunately, the Devourer. Named as such for the countless lives it began to claim when treasures were deemed an insufficient tribute. Sacrifices were initially sparse, required only every dozen or so seasons. As time went on, the Devourer grew greedier and greedier, with the timespan between sacrifices shortening.

By the time you offer yourself to the council, there has been a sacrifice every month for over a year.

The wagon hardly jostles on this well-trodden road. You imagine it used to be a rougher ride, but with the increase in frequency of travel, it has smoothed. The thought worsens the feeling of icy weight in your stomach. One might think the exquisite fabrics you’re dressed in would bring some measure of comfort–softer than anything you’ve worn before–but the extravagance of them only serves to further alienate you from yourself.

You have become a thing. A finely adorned offering, and the fabric makes your skin crawl for it.

The tree cover breaks, revealing a monolithic stone tower that stands so tall, it splits the sky in two.

The Tower of the Seven. It’s been generations since anyone knew exactly what it was named for, but legend speaks of mythic creatures that were once held in such reverence, this tower was built in their honor. It served as both a temple and home to these venerated beings.

The years have not been kind to it. The stone pillars have become wild with overgrowth, and the air about this place reeks of stale, old death.

It stands now as a graveyard.

Even the horses refuse to venture much further than the threshold of the treeline, forcing you and your attendants out of the wagon to tread the remainder of the trek on foot. The men who walk with you carry short swords, but they serve no practical purpose, their edges having long since dulled. They are not here to protect you, they are as much a part of the ceremony as your fine clothes.

You shield your eyes as you look up at the staggering height of the tower, but swiftly drop your gaze. Best not to think of what awaits you.

On paper, sacrifice seems a simple thing. Slitting one’s throat upon an altar, floating a burning pyre across the river, or feeding the tribute a concoction of sleeping death and burying them into eternal slumber. Murder can be a righteous thing in the hands of a believer, or so they say.

For you, and those who have come before you, martyrdom is not as effortless as lying down and dying for the cause. The tower presents a trial to you. You must willingly climb the hundreds upon hundreds of large stone steps in order to prove yourself a worthy tribute.

Why you must prove your flesh worthy of consumption is beyond you. You’ve never heard of a farmer who sends his cattle to run laps before the slaughter. It seems a petty thing to demand. Perhaps the Devourer has grown indolent and slovenly in its feasting.

It’s easy to dream up nightmarish images of such an awful creature. A legless winged wyrm with a ribbed body, fat and slimy like an oversized earthworm. It would have an enormous maw with hundreds upon hundreds of jagged teeth, its breath reeking of charred flesh and sulfur. Such a wicked beast would stink like the layers of hell.

Somehow, tormenting yourself like this is an oddly calming distraction. The more nightmarish it becomes in your mind, the less real all of this feels. It’s just a bad dream.

No one speaks as you reach the base of the tower. There’s nothing left to say. You’re one of a dozen in the last year alone these men have ferried to their death. It almost seems cruel to expect eye contact, let alone sympathy. For that reason, it catches you off guard when one of the older of the three, a man named Hector with a thick set of troubled brows furrowed above kind but bloodshot, watery eyes puts his hand on your shoulder, offering a light squeeze.

The last sacrifice had been his own daughter.

In his gaze you find grief and gratitude in equal measure. Neither brings comfort. You return a small nod and move your eyes back to the ordeal that awaits you.

The tower is like an optical illusion: the proportions make it seem a reasonable size at a distance, but the closer you walk to it, the more mythical a thing it becomes. The archways curve high above your head, sized for creatures of legend, and the head of the building disappears completely into the sky.

In the center of it, a spiraling stone staircase beckons you. The masonry is exquisitely smooth despite the age of it, carved in an era when magic was a hundred times more prolific than it is now. It’s wide and open, the steps so large that you’ll be taking them one at a time. Worse than that, however, is the complete absence of any kind of protective railing.

If you sway, you very well may fall to your death.

At the center of the spiral stands a pile of debris. As you approach, a rustling catches your attention and you freeze, eying the pile warily. The head of a creature suddenly pops up, startling your heart into a thunder, but after a beat you recognize it for what it is: a small fox, its muzzle dirty. The two of you stare at one another for a long moment before one of the men behind you calls out, “Shoo, shoo now.”

Everyone keeps hushed, as if terrified of disturbing what is yet unseen.

Moving closer, you anticipate you might see a dead rabbit, or perhaps a chicken. Anything would have been a more welcome sight than the gnarled half-eaten body of a woman dressed just like you piled amongst the debris. You gasp, both hands flying over your mouth as you stumble a few steps backwards.

For a horrifying moment, you swear you see your own face in the rotten remnants staring back at you with black, empty eye sockets. It’s the hair that gives away the delusion, however, and with a chill down your spine you recognize the sacrifice who came before you; Hector’s daughter.

“Nadja,” the man groans morosely, the weight of grief in his voice palpable. You move away, towards the stairs, and watch with a morbid sort of fascination as the man weeps over the corpse of his daughter, touching her hair and her clothes, the only parts of her not twisted and rotted with death, the body left for maggots and scavengers. It’s sick, nothing like the beautiful and noble gesture sacrifice is always said to be. You look up at the dizzying height of the spiral staircase, following the line of it until the stone disappears into darkness. Did she fall, or was she cast away, having somehow proven herself unworthy?

In a strange sense, watching the men wrap her body in cloth to be carried home feels very much like playing the part of voyeur to your own demise. You stand at a distance, hand braced upon the stone, unable to shake the dread that you’re witnessing a vision of the future. Your future.

No. You will not be left for the insects and carrion-feeders. You turn your back to the sound of Hector’s weeping and, without another world, determinedly begin your ascent one large stone step at a time. Although you feel the men’s eyes heavily upon you, they remain silent, as if already grieving you.

Do not, you think brazenly, skin flushed with unexpected fires that bring your blood to a boil. Do not dare mourn what isn’t dead.

Those flames burn hot enough to carry you easily up the first several floors, indignantly stomping your way. You’ve heard stories of this tower all your life, but nothing could have prepared you for the true scale of it. Most of it is in a terrible state of decay, full of overgrowth and rot that, centuries ago, may have been wood and cloth.

You stop for a breath beneath the remains of what looks to have once been a vibrant mural. You can see trace evidence of beautiful paints, but whatever it depicts has been brutally clawed from the stonework. You lift a hand up high to trace one of the deep gouges in the stone; the marks are spread too far apart for your fingers to reach, but you can make out five distinct patterns nonetheless, like drag marks from a hand three or four times the size of your own.

Beyond the ruined mural, there are statues, too. You pass a grand monument of a woman who stands over seven heads tall wielding a sword of equal might, the statue adorned with steel bracers. You think she might have been beautiful in the same way a frightening storm is, but the head of the statue is long since gone.

On the next floor, you see upon the ground the ruins of a statue of a mermaid–at least, you thought it was. Upon further inspection, however, you see that the statue depicts a man. He has the lower body of a fish and strange indentations along his ribs, just beneath his bare carved chest. He, too, is headless, torso split horizontally, stone strewn across the floor.

This temple must have belonged to these lost figures, their monuments as desecrated as the rest of the tower. Whoever the Seven was, the world has since forgotten.

You wonder if the Devourer did this, defiled this temple to erase whatever history of heroes came before its tyranny.

Ultimately, you only find six statues. None of them have managed to keep their heads, and some are in worse shape than others. You imagine the seventh might have been destroyed entirely. It’s easier to imagine how or why these things might be than it is to focus on how badly your body aches, how you started this venture with the morning sun barely upon you, and yet you barely feel any closer to your destination as the darkness of night encroaches.

Every limb screams for rest. You stop occasionally, but you feel you must not sleep. Was poor Nadja pitched to her death for sleeping through her trial? You’d rather not find out. You’re not even sure if you would wake with the same angry conviction that drives you forward now, climbing step after unforgiving step. It’s gotten colder the higher you’ve gone, too. There’s a chance if you slept amidst the stone, you would turn to it yourself.

“Grant me strength,” you whisper to whomever may be listening. Be they fae or devil, benevolent or malevolent, it would be a boon to know there was some manner of being on your side.

You lean on the wall far from the edge as you ascend the spiral, too nervous of a fall to look over the edge and gauge your progress. A brisk wind chill has begun howling through the tower, whipping your clothing about and biting at your skin. You hug one arm tightly across your chest, bracing against the cold. At this rate, you’ll make for a crunchy meal not just for your bones, but for the frost you arrive covered in.

Your foot slides on something on the step that shifts and clatters. You nearly fall, heart hammering in your chest as you manage to catch yourself. Looking down, you’re shocked to see a pile of shining gold coins spilling down the steps amongst the debris. There is enough wealth discarded on these steps to see a dozen families fed for years and years to come.

You must be getting close. Carefully, despite the tremble running through your body, you shuffle your way through the mess, kicking it aside when you need to clear more of a path. The sound of rubble and gold and the like falling off the edge of the steps makes you flinch, the prolonged clattering of it serving as a reminder of just how agonizingly high you’ve managed to climb.

The familiar flicker of fire light draws a gasp of relief from you, tears gathered in your eyes from the sheer pain of moving your body forward. You can see shadows dancing across the walls, beckoning you from the cold with the barest hint of a warm draft. You’re practically crawling up the steps now, every part of you aching horribly. The tremble in your body is so severe, you worry you would fall to your death if you continued trying to walk through the hoard of treasures that have spilled down the steps.

You practically sob with relief when you reach the final step, limbs quaking beneath you as you haul yourself up onto the top floor and away from the awful railless edge of the spiraling stairs. You bury your face in the fold of your arms. The mixture of relief and exhaustion is so intense, the rest of the world falls away briefly, and the only thing that matters is catching your breath while you all but dry heave on the floor.

“I’ll be damned. I didn’t think you were going to make it,” purrs a resonant, honied voice, snapping you immediately back to reality. You shoot into an upright position so suddenly your head spins, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear your blurry vision.

Before you rests an enormous circular hall lit with dozens upon dozens of torches. The walls are lined with beautiful arched windows, and the interior is piled nearly to the vaulted ceiling with obscene amounts of coin, weapons, artifacts and similar treasure. Your gaze drifts towards the center of it all, where the source of the voice awaits you.

As it turns out, The Devourer is no oversized earthworm.

Reclined upon a magnificently carved marble throne, you behold a creature made of equal parts man and beast. Even sitting, his stature easily brings him heads taller than you. He is adorned exquisitely in gold embellishments–jewelry and piercings alike–and rich navy slacks, serving as a fine centerpiece to the lavish, untidy wealth that surrounds him. He wears a crown fit for a king, the jewel of it a radiant blue that matches his sharp predatory gaze. His lips spread into a wolfish grin. You’re utterly bewitched by the flash of his fangs.

“Rise,” he orders you, gesturing with a clawed hand that’s easily the size of your head. His rings shine beautifully in the firelight. “And speak.”

Shakily, you fight to climb to your feet. Worm or not, this man–this creature has been preying upon your people for generations. You remind yourself of the countless lives lost, of the mourning families, of Nadja’s desecrated corpse and the sound of her father weeping over the rotten remains of her. You steel yourself.

“You who the people know as Scourge of the Skies, Red Death,” you begin, blinking rapidly. Your head began swimming the second you stood. You’ve never been so worn out in your life, and though there are flames here that offer a slight degree of warmth, the cold has sunk deep into your bones. As you speak, your vision gradually begins to tunnel. “Flame’s… Maw… and the Devourer,” you address, fighting desperately to stay focused even as he fades in and out of clarity. “I’ve come to pay my village tribute, and to… to…”

The darkness at the edges of your vision thickens. Your words feel heavy and slurred on your tongue. You sway, feeling your own head slosh like a bucket of water, and before you know it, you’re pitching forward, and the world goes black.

That was anticlimactic.

There was a time he would have been met with awe. Reverence. He didn’t expect you to simply black out.

Scourge, Red Death, Flame’s Maw… Maw. He’s always despised that word in particular, and the ugly imagery it evokes. Just a handful out of hundreds of names he’s been called over the years–if you can call them that. Many border on insults, if not are so outright. The most tolerable name he can remember is Homelander.

They called him that in celebration, he recalls. Those were the last of the days he had any care left for them.

He blows a smoky little raspberry as he stands, hands clasping behind his back beneath his wings. His tail sways idly as he approaches, tentatively intrigued by your splayed form. It’s rare that a sacrifice makes it all the way to the top at all, let alone in a single day. The last one only made it halfway before she decided falling to her death was a kinder fate than him.

Truth be told, he should have reigned hell upon their little village for her insolence. Fortunately for them, her display filled him with far more apathy than it did fury. He crouches down near enough to touch, though he hesitates, hand ghosting just over your body. He tilts his head to the side. Your breaths are shallow in your sleep, a slight wheeze to each one. Your body is clearly overexerted.

Delicately, he slips his hand under your cheek to turn your face to him, examining your features. You’re prettier like this, the tension drained from your expression and replaced with peace. Certainly not the worst tribute he’s been offered. You were at least determined to reach him.

The corner of his mouth twitches.

He won’t kill you. Not yet.

Homelander lifts you up into his arms, supporting your comparatively slight form with ease. You feel as frail as any mortal might, but the weight of you in his arms strikes him with a peculiar sense of melancholy. He takes pause, more closely observing the shape of you cradled in his arms, head lolled against his chest. You fit there nicely, small as you are. He can almost pretend you’ve simply fallen asleep in the crook of his arm; somewhere you’ve always belonged.

It’s an intriguing little fantasy. He hasn’t felt the need to indulge in one of those in a long while. He keeps his eyes on you as he walks you to the collection of pelts gathered on the far side of the room, where he lays you down atop them.

What had you been intending to say before you passed out? Your departing words spin round and round in his mind while he looks you over, lowering himself until he’s on his hands and knees above you. Tributes used to come richly adorned in jewelry and glittering things, but such pageantry has long since vanished. He’s surrounded by enough of it that the absence doesn’t bother him anymore.

The glitter of gold hardly catches his eye these days. He doesn’t call for sacrifices to add to his wealth. He only seeks to quell his boredom. Perhaps you will prove useful for this, at least for a time.

Pressing his clawed thumb lightly to your chin, he tilts your head away and leans in, nosing up the line of your throat, lips barely ghosting your soft flesh. He inhales the salt-sweet smell of you, a mixture of sweat, the dusty stone steps you’ve scaled, and the sweet herbal oil bath your kind always receives before you’re sent to him. The blend is strangely intoxicating on you.

It makes him wonder if you taste as good as you smell. Parting his lips, his split tongue spills past them and drags a slow serpentine pattern from your neck to your jaw. Mmm, fuck. You taste better than you smell, the rich oil you were bathed in still clinging to your skin beneath the salty tang of your sweat.

It would be too easy to devour you. He groans quietly at the thought, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He’s known few things more intimate than sinking his sharp teeth into warm, pliant flesh. The feel of a pulse slowing against his tongue. The metallic rush of blood down the back of his throat. He hasn’t craved human flesh the way he does right now in years, yet something in the scent of you has ignited that primal aspect of him. Salivating already, he swallows it away and draws back.

Not yet. He still wants to hear what you were going to say.

It makes him smile to see the goosebumps that have erupted on every inch of your exposed skin. He cocks his head to the side and trails his index claw down the center of your chest, dragging down the pretty white fabric of your sacrificial dress, stopping just shy of the swell of your breasts. More goosebumps there, too.

None of it compares to the sound that you make. In your sleep, your brows furrow, and you exhale a noise somewhere between pain and sheer exhaustion, your small hand brushing his as you adjust against the pile of plush fur pelts. His gaze drops sharply, hand lifting tentatively. After a beat, he sets it down lightly atop yours. Captivated, he watches your whole body respond to his touch, turning and curling in towards him like a flora bending to the light of the sun.

Fascinated by your innate reactivity to him, Homelander lowers himself onto his side next to you. After a beat of hesitation, he encircles your wrist with his thumb and index finger and brings your palm flat to the warmth of his bare chest. A tantalizing shiver rolls through your unconscious form. Just as he had anticipated–hoped?–you follow the feel of him, moving completely onto your side and into him, breathing out a shuddering little exhale while the fire that runs through his veins warms you.

It isn’t enough to stop you shivering, though. Shifting, he spreads out his wing and curls that over you, blocking the draft that spills in from the surrounding windows. Only then does the tension in your body begin to ease, warmth chasing out the chill from your bones.

Homelander smirks, feeling inexplicably accomplished over this mundane little feat. He’s never particularly cared for the comfort of his tributes before; they’ve never served as anything more than playthings and meals. You should be no different. He knows you would be a delectable thing on his tongue, warm and wet down his throat, yet the thought of you in pieces–cold and unmoving–instantly vanishes his appetite.

He wants you in a new way entirely. Against him, with him. He wants to taste more of you, drag his tongue along the plains of your body and see how else you’ll react to him. He wants to find the places that quicken your breath. Would you sing your pleasure for him? He’s barely heard your voice, but already he can imagine it vividly.

You would. You will.

He’s begun to pant at the thought alone, smoke wafting from his mouth, his eyes softly aglow with crimson light. The smell of you has filled his senses so thoroughly he feels intoxicated by it, and between his thighs, his cock has begun to throb. He leans closer and nestles into your hair, inhaling deeply, a rumble leaving him on a warm exhale.

His entire body has taken on the heavy pulse of his heart, alight with the most visceral feeling he’s had in centuries. This is more than hunger, more than carnality–you mean something. Never before has he felt compelled to find pleasure in the frail body of a human, yet his blood sings it voicelessly in the back of his mind, his every instinct screaming one word again and again and again.

Mate.

Homelander had given up on the concept of a mate a long time ago, given that he’s… abnormal. Sterile. As an unnatural creature, there could not be a natural match for him. Someone who would call to his very blood and set it aflame. Yet here you are, seeking him as desperately as he once sought you. Is that why you were able to accomplish what so few before you had, pushing your body so clearly beyond your limits?

A low, possessive rumble leaves him. Reckless.

He pets your hair, testing the texture with his fingers awhile before letting his hand roam down the back of your neck, between your shoulders, up over your hip, down your leg. You’re no longer cool to the touch or shivering. He flattens his palm to your back and closes his eyes briefly. He’s never heard of a dragon bonding to a human before. He wonders if you’ll feel it too, recognize it for what it is, or if your mortality will make you oblivious to the depths of it.

It takes every ounce of his restraint not to shake you awake to find out.

Instead, he patiently learns the cadence of your heart. He commits your scent to memory, weeding out the natural musk of your skin beneath the herbs and oils you’ve been lathered in. Soon enough he’ll be able to pick you out of a crowd by the thump of your pulse alone, track you down from miles away with nothing but the barest whiff of you.

Not that he’d ever let you get so far from him now that he has you.

All you’re missing now is his scent. Leaning down, he licks a line adjacent to the one he had prior, and then another, mindful of his horns. The sweet taste of you makes him moan. He spends hours with you tucked in against him, idling away the time by learning your body as well as teaching you his. He nuzzles his cheek lightly against yours just so that he can turn and taste that same spot, something deep and primal in him appeased by tasting himself on your skin.

“My mate,” he half sighs, half growls.

He can’t wait to meet you.

Consciousness comes back to you in a gradual slew of sensation. Your fingers twitch, flexing in what feels like a lush, thick pelt of fur beneath you. Your whole body is pleasantly warm, as if you’ve fallen asleep in front of a crackling hearth, the cold of those awful stone stairs a distant memory.

The stairs…

Your eyes snap wide open, your spine going stiff. You’re laying on your back. Something wet and hot is dragging along the exposed skin of your shoulder–your dress pulled askew–in repetitive swipes. Looking down, all you can see is a mess of flaxen colored hair and one long, angular horn, the tip of it adorned in gold. The press of what you can only imagine to be a tongue is unnaturally smooth, as hot as settled coal against your skin. The beast gives a growl, and sharp teeth graze your skin. Your throat feels tight, the scream that bubbles up locked behind the tension of your jaw.

Oh gods, you think, beginning to shake. He’s eating me!

“Good morning,” purrs a familiar voice, the words vibrating against your skin. He lifts his head from your shoulder, though he doesn’t go far. You half expect to see his maw bloodied with your entrails from all the horror stories you’ve been told, but his grin is as clean as it was the first moment you beheld him. Up close, he’s even larger than you had initially realized. His face is well defined, with strong cheekbones decorated with smooth red scales that ascend into his hairline, where a golden crown sits neatly behind his horns. “Mmm, someone got their beauty sleep,” he says, the words a low, pleased rumble. You’re speechless, watching in bewilderment as he cups your face, hand so large it covers most of your neck, too. “You were out for hours.”

Your eyes dart to your shoulder, where your dress has been tugged down, but your skin appears unmarred. Around you, one of his enormous wings is curved over, shielding you both from the light and the cold beyond. You can’t move your legs, and with a glance, you understand why: his enormous tail is draped across both of them, pinning you in place. You look back at him, eyes wide in fear and confusion. You wonder if he’s been with you like this through the entire night. “You’re… You’re not eating me?”

The broad smile he flashes makes your heart skip a beat. His eyes, though sharp and a shade of blue you’ve only ever seen in the sky, are disarmingly human. Beautiful, even. They crinkle at the corners with what almost looks like fondness.

“No.”

“Why not?” You ask instantly, adrenaline making your voice sharp. “Not that I wish for you to eat me,” you say just as quickly. “But do you not–were you not–” He cuts you off with a noise that you belatedly realize is a laugh, the resonance in his chest so unearthly it gives every sound he makes an inhuman quality. “No, I was not eating you,” he says, sounding far too amused for your liking. “Tasting you, yes. And you do taste divine,” he says, leaning in again. You push your head back into the furs as much as you can, but he moves to the side, bringing his lips to your ear. “I knew my mate would.” Mate?!

Your hands fly up to his chest–gods, he’s as warm as hearth stones–as if to push him back, but you may as well attempt to push an oak tree aside. “What?”

He draws back, glancing down at your hands pressed to the bare skin of his chest before his gaze returns to yours, eyes narrowed in distinct pleasure. “Mate,” he says again, deliberately drawing the word out. “Dragons bond only once in a lifetime. Usually to another dragon. Clearly exceptions can be made, and you, precious little thing that you are… appear to be mine.”

His eyes fall shut, he leans in, and with a lurch of your stomach you realize he means to kiss you, his lips pursed and rapidly approaching. Your own lips part and a noise wholly outside of your control escapes you; a scream so shrill and sudden that it knocks even him back in surprise.

Blinking several times, he gives you a quick once over, visibly expecting to see you wounded and bloody somewhere. He looks back to your face when he finds nothing amiss. “What?”

“I can’t–I don’t know you,” you blurt out, equal parts flustered and alarmed. You can feel yourself burning up, and it isn’t just from the heat of him against you.

“So?” He dismisses, smiling with an array of sharp pearly teeth. “I’m your mate.”

“Humans don’t have those,” you counter, squirming under the weight of his tail. It’s like he’s draped several sacks of grain across your legs. “My lord Devourer, I–”

He scoffs, tail lifting as he shifts, bringing himself up onto his hands and knees over you, his wing unfurling and allowing the sun to spill in, washing you both in its light. “Homelander. If you must use one of those silly names, use Homelander. I’d prefer beloved, though,” he says with a sly lilt to his mouth.

A shiver rolls down your spine. Along with light, brisk morning air has slipped in between your bodies.

“Homelander,” you repeat, a name you’ve never heard before. It’s a great deal less menacing than the others, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has been eating your townsman for as long as anyone can remember. “I–”

He takes hold of your jaw with just his index finger and thumb, the rest of his fingers curling lightly over your throat. “You talk too much,” he tells you, eyes hooded and hungry. “Are you going to scream every time I try to kiss you?”

“Maybe,” you choke out, fists clenched tightly in the furs beneath you. He leans closer, tilting his head, his nose barely brushing the tip of yours. “I’ve never been kissed by a dragon before. Like I said, we don’t have m-mmm!”

It happens so swiftly you don’t have time to gather the air to scream. He presses his lips firmly to yours, making a noise so close to a moan that, despite the relative chasteness of the kiss itself, you flush with the indecency of it. It feels… hot. The heat of him is nearly too much to handle, like touching your lips to a hot mug of tea, but there is something intoxicating about it. He uses that heat to mold you to him, pulling you closer, his body sinking down against yours.

You’re too dumbstruck by the whole of the situation to struggle–not that it would accomplish much–which leaves you to simply experience it. His lips are tentative against yours, not harsh or demanding. He coaxes yours with his as if to dance, luring you into something that almost feels good.

Your heart hammers in your chest, his warmth pooling in your belly and spreading slowly through the rest of your body like boiled water poured into a lukewarm tub. He’s immovable, inescapable, and to your dismay, not entirely awful.

“I want to claim you,” he all but growls against your lips, his other hand clawing slowly down your side, tugging at your dress.

Your heart leaps painfully against your ribs. “Homelander,” you say, though he’s hardly paying you any mind, kissing your cheek now, your jaw, carving a wicked trail with his lips while his hand dips lower and lower, seeking the bottom hem of your dress. Heart racing, you breathlessly cry, “Beloved!”

That gives him pause. He rears back to look down at you, head slightly cocked, eyes bright and attentive. Your breaths are shallow, pulse pounding in your throat. You swallow dryly. “I’m thirsty,” you tell him, which is no lie. Your throat is so dry it almost hurts to speak. “Horribly. And hungry, I’ve not eaten since yesterday’s breakfast. You mean for me to survive, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he says, expression twisting like he finds offense in your words. “You’ll want for nothing.”

“Then please. Water?” You push, praying that he is more man than beast.

He regards you quietly, eyes subtly darting back and forth. There’s a petulant kind of impatience to his gaze that catches you off-guard, like a boy who’s been told he has to wait before he gets to play with his new favorite toy. “Water,” he echoes eventually. You nod. He startles you when he exhales a little plume of smoke from his nose, reluctantly lifting himself off of you. The chill of his absence is immediate. “Don’t move,” he says, suddenly looking displaced. You’ve caught him by surprise. Perhaps you’ll survive this yet.

You watch him rise to his full height, standing easily eight feet tall. You sit up, pulling the furs over your legs to combat the cold seeping in. The muscles of his back give a mesmerizing flex as he stretches his wings out, the span of them just as jaw-dropping as his height. He wears furs over his shoulders held in place with thick leather straps that cross over his back and chest, emphasizing his musculature as well as the crimson plating that covers his body. Spines run down the length of his back, transitioning down into a tail that’s even longer than he is tall. It moves along the ground in zigzags, almost like a serpent. You don’t realize how intensely you’re staring until you look back up and realize he’s looking at you over his shoulder, those piercing blue eyes keenly set on yours.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smirk. Something about his expression makes you feel like you’ve been caught doing something naughty. You drop your gaze. “Back in a jiffy,” he says. You look up just in time to see him step off the ledge, those brilliant red wings fanning out behind him. He disappears so suddenly that you can’t help but gasp, sitting up on your knees. You hear the beat of wings against the air, and then a second later see him lift back up into the skyline, twisting in the air before gliding back down out of sight.

You sit in stunned silence, listening to the fading thrum of his wings. It doesn’t feel real. You don’t know if this is some kind of twisted game he pulls with every sacrifice, or if you’re truly somehow different. You weren’t entirely expecting him to listen to you, but he did. He’s gone, presumably to fetch you food and water. You don’t know how, but you just commanded the Devourer to not only let you go, but bring you a meal.

In hindsight, you’re a little concerned that it was never specified what kind of meal. As far as you’re aware, he primarily eats people.

Adjusting your gown, you haul yourself up to your feet, crossing your arms in a vain attempt to protect the heat of his body lingering on your skin. When that doesn’t work, you pick up one of the several fur pelts strewn on the floor and drape it over your shoulders, sighing in relief. The pelt still holds some residual warmth; a boon over the lovely but ineffective fabric of your ceremonial gown.

In the light of day, you can make out a great deal more detail throughout the lair. The floor to ceiling archways deter you from venturing too far beyond the center, but still there is plenty to investigate. For example, the throne catches your eye immediately. The size of it makes you feel like a child again, navigating a world not built for you. The masonry of it is exceptionally smooth beneath your fingers, save for a handful of deep, jagged gouges that marr the arm rest. Tilting your head, you realize that you recognize these marks: they match those that you’d seen on the ruined murals.

You trace them with your fingers, connecting them now to the draconic claws that, just moments ago, had so delicately followed the curve of your body. He could so easily tear you apart, and yet in that moment you had never known a gentler touch. You pull your hand back beneath the pelt, feeling a shiver roll through you that has little to do with the morning chill.

Mate. That word sticks in your brain like a wad of gummy tree sap.

Circling the throne, you carefully step around the glimmering mess of gold, silver and jewels that litter the stone floor. There’s so much of it that it doesn’t even look real, stacked over itself like forgotten hay bales left to rot. There is more wealth here than you’ve seen in your life. A single satchel of it would keep you comfortable for the rest of your life, and yet here it serves as little more than clutter. As far as you can tell, it means nothing here.

The Devourer stopped seeking material treasure generations ago.

As you explore, part of you expects to find the corpses of all those who have come before you. Dozens upon dozens of bodies stacked up in varying states of consumption or decay, or maybe a monument built of their bones. You find no such construct, though. In fact, nothing about this place seems put together. You can’t imagine the madness that living like this for a week would induce in you, let alone decades.

To the east, movement catches your attention, startling your heart into your throat. It looks like a silhouetted figure at first, but your brain catches up quickly, and you approach the gently billowing fabric. It’s draped over a statue, giving it the illusion of a person, and your curiosity gets the best of you as you tug the drape down off of it.

You suck in a sharp breath. Once again, you find yourself faced with a legend given form– a painstakingly and intricately carved statue in the Devourer’s perfect likeness. It comes as no surprise that this is the only in-tact statue you’ve seen, but what you don’t understand is why it’s even here. If the Devourer was a usurper, some vicious interloper, why would there be a monument to him in the same vein as all the others?

The plaque beneath it reads: Homelander. Son of the Skies, Protector of the Earth.

Devourer, Scourge, Flame’s Maw–these names are all you have ever known, and yet this is the name carved in stone. He was once worshiped not out of fear, but reverence that you can see in every gentle curve of stone.

What happened?

Shuffling closer to the statue, the discarded fabric gathers at your feet. It’s not quite to scale, but it’s a handsome likeness nonetheless. It’s certainly been cared for more than anything else in this place. You wonder if it’s just vanity or if it’s something less obvious. You trace the smooth stonework, letting yourself get a better look at this version of him that’s less likely to eat you.

Objectively speaking, it’s a handsome visage. The resemblance is uncanny, clearly the work of an intensely skilled mason. His jaw is strong, eyes set forward in unerring determination. Tentatively, you touch the lips of the statue. He’d been so certain that he wanted to kiss you. Just the thought of his closeness and heat makes your stomach erupt in a flutter of butterflies.

Mate.

“I thought I told you not to move.”

You barely hear the full sentence, your own scream ringing loudly in your ears. You move to spin around, but your foot catches on the pile of fabric you had dropped to the ground and suddenly your whole body is pitching backwards, the back of your skull destined for the smooth, unyielding stone behind you. Fortunately for your brain matter, your descent is halted just shy of contact, one familiar clawed hand cupping the back of your neck while the other lands at your back, steadying you.

Homelander stands over you, a curious quirk to his brow. With his hand at the small of your back, his claws press lightly through the fabric, effortlessly upholding your weight. He holds you as if you’ve been caught mid dip in a dance.

“Gods, you scared me,” you say, eyes wide. “I didn’t hear you.” You had been so certain you would hear his return based on the sound of his wings when he’d left, but his approach had been terrifyingly silent.

“Yes, I know. It makes me a very effective hunter,” he says, dipping down to nuzzle at your neck, taking advantage of how the pelt has slipped off of your shoulder. He inhales the smell of you, prickling goosebumps all over your body. “I missed you.”

“You’ve barely been gone,” you reply impulsively, awkwardly trying to adjust yourself out of this arch he has you in. No use. His size makes him impossible to maneuver around, and your foot is still tangled up in the fabric that he’s currently standing on.

He gives another one of those rumbling sighs, drawing back to look at you. “You’re supposed to say that you missed me, too,” he chastises you, and though his tone seems light, you’re sure you see a flicker of impatience or irritation in his gaze. Maybe both. Despite how fearsome the sum total of his features make him, you’re once again caught off guard by his eyes. Though the color of them is icy, there’s a distinctly human warmth to them that grounds you in his gaze.

Still, the last thing you want to do is make him angry.

“Oh,” you croak quietly, realizing he’s actually waiting for you to say it, staring down expectantly while he holds you. “I… missed you, too,” you return stiltedly, unsure your hesitant delivery will be satisfactory. Shockingly, his expression lightens, lips curving into a smile. He lifts you off of your feet, untangling you from the mess beneath you and turning around to set you back down on relatively clear flooring.

“Good,” he purrs, stroking his hand down the back of your head like he’s petting an animal. He seems determined to touch you, but entirely unaware of how to. He cups the base of your skull and tightens the gap between your bodies, enticing you with his warmth as much as he terrifies you with the hunger in his eyes.

You put your hands to his chest, soaking up the heat of him as you vainly try to maintain an ounce of personal space. “Ah, the–the statue, it’s beautiful. Why do you cover it up?” You ask, the words leaving you in a flustered tumble.

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder, looking at the statue like he’s only just remembered it exists. “Oh, that. Mmm. Don’t always like what he has to say,” he replies, fitting his hand over top of yours, pressing it to his chest. You blink. What in the world does that mean? “You humans chill so quickly. I’ll have to light the hearth next time I leave you,” he says, earning a yelp from you as he abruptly lifts you up into his arms, tail slithering audibly along the floor as he carries you back to what you suppose for all intents and purposes is his nest. His touch instantly warms you to your core, making the fur you wrapped yourself in seem like a thin sheet in comparison. Despite your apprehension, you can’t help the way the tension in your body naturally eases with his warmth. Upon returning to the collection of pelts, you see the fruits of his labor.

Literal fruits, in fact.

Homelander has returned with a small bounty consisting of apples, two melons, and even a handful of peaches, all of it held in a beautiful–albeit aged–woven basket. You don’t get the chance to eat those often; the trees they fall from grow high on the surrounding mountains, and the farmers in your village are content enough with the established agriculture that no one bothers to grow them.

In addition, a tall golden pitcher stands filled to the brim with water. You’re once again hyper aware of just how incredibly thirsty you are, lips dry, throat parched. It’s the only thing you care about, clambering towards it the second Homelander sets you back on your feet.

The pitcher is heavy. It appears made of solid gold and it’s three times the size of any you’ve ever seen before. You don’t lift it so much as you just tip it back slightly, sighing loudly as you drink back the crisp, clear water. You sputter as the flow abruptly increases, water spilling from the corners of your mouth. Homelander has lifted the pitcher to help you drink, holding it one handed as if it’s no more than a drinking cup, his other hand settled upon your waist. He looks thoroughly pleased with himself, eyes half-lidded, lips gently curved upwards. Once you’ve drunk your fill, you push against his hold and he relents quickly, unnerving you with just how attentive he really is. He sets the pitcher back down and watches you wipe your chin dry.

“Thank the gods,” you sigh habitually, finally not feeling as though there’s grit in your throat with every word.

“I’d prefer you thanked me,” he says coyly, his gaze drifting down to where the water has wet your gown. The fabric clings to your skin, sheer where liquid has touched it.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Thank you, Homelander,” you correct. It’s taking every ounce of your fortitude to speak in full sentences with the way he’s staring at you, let alone the idle way his thumb is stroking your hip. No one has ever touched you with this mixture of ease and clear intent, the weight of his hand practically thrumming against you. The magnitude of him is a difficult thing to parse both in terms of his sheer size and the legend he represents. You don’t know how to reconcile him with the monster you grew up dreading.

No one warned you that monsters could be warm and handle you gently.

“Time to eat,” he says, setting the pitcher back down. He takes hold of both of your hips and pulls you down with him as he sits cross-legged on the pelts, the circle of his legs large enough that you fit perfectly inside it, your own legs hanging out over his crossed calves. His tail loops around as well, encircling him and draping over your legs. The underside of his tail is not unlike the belly of a snake, with large overlapping scales that layer down the length of it. It’s just as warm as the rest of him, and feels like an unnaturally soft stone that’s been baking in the sun.

Reaching over, Homelander plucks one of the peaches from the assortment. It looked perfectly average in the basket, but between his fingers it looks almost comically small. With a deftness that you wouldn’t expect from a creature of his size, he begins to slice through the peach with his blackened claws, delicately cutting out a wedge that he does not hand you, but he instead brings it directly to your lips.

You stare for a moment, struck by the rich red center of the fruit, how the juice of it drips onto his hand in sweet smelling rivulets. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and he quirks a brow, nodding towards the slice of fruit. You decide that of all the potential battles you have in front of you, this one in particular isn’t worth fighting, and you part your lips, watching him as you do.

His own lips mimic yours, falling apart in quiet entrancement. He slides the wedge between your teeth and watches with rapt fascination as you bite down on it, holding his gaze in an exchange that feels so unexpectedly raw and intimate, your pulse ticks up a notch. You swear he notices it by the way his head tilts ever so slightly, almost as if he’s listening.

“Good?” He asks, voice little more than a rumble.

Gods above and below, it is good. Despite the preternatural heat of his hand, the succulent flesh of the peach retains the morning chill, sweet and cool on your tongue. It’s perfectly ripe, yielding easily to the cut of your teeth and flooding richly across your tongue as you chew. He feeds it to you until it disappears, pressing the last of it in with his thumb, which then follows the line of your bottom lip, smearing the sweet juice on it. You nod and lick your lips, tongue narrowly missing his thumb, and what that does to his expression makes your stomach flip.

He’s quick to cut another slice to offer you. You repeat this process in silence, the air thick with tension that feels so palpable you’re sure you could swim through it. The sounds of the world have narrowed entirely to the sound of his claw cutting through the delicate flesh of the fruit and the tip lightly scraping the pit inside it. His hands have a sticky shine to them by the time he’s tossing the pit back into the basket, stripped as clean as a bone.

You chew your final bite, jaw slowing as you watch him take his fingers into his own mouth. He’s unabashed in the way he slurps the nectar off his digits, tongue slipping between them. That’s when you realize that his tongue splits down the middle, dexterously sliding over his fingers to lap up every drop of juice. Not only that, but you spot a flash of gold; the same kind of piercing he has on his ears. Watching him stirs something hot in you, a radiating heat that lights a flickering pulse between your thighs. You audibly gulp the last of your bite, tensing subtly when Homelander looks at you.

Slowly, his lips curl into a devious smile. “See something you like?”

You flush, fighting the urge to look away. Don’t play into it. Change the subject. “What happened to your last mate?”

His expression shifts to something slightly more incredulous. “There wasn’t one. You’re my first, my last, my only. Dragons only bond once,” he says, that split tongue rolling along his sharp teeth, that gold tongue piercing clicking against them. You wonder where else he’s decorated himself with gold.

Wait, what did he say? Your gaze snaps back up from his mouth to his eyes, which are once more set into that self-satisfied slant. He’s closer to you now, and nearing by the second.

My first, my last, my only.

“But I am no dragon,” you say, leaning away subtly, though there isn’t far to go. He’s got you trapped nicely in place, like a butterfly beneath pins. “How could such a bond form?”

“I’m as mystified as you are,” he says, his hand sliding up the small of your back. “I didn’t think a bond was even possible for me. Apparently there’s something different about you,” he says, and you notice a brief twitch of his lip, a flicker that looks just a touch like disdain. It disappears as quickly as it had appeared. “Something special,” he murmurs, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek.

Your heart races, your capacity for thought slowly disappearing the closer to you he gets. New subject, new subject! You think, frazzled by the warm spiced smell of him. His hand flexes on your hip, claws prickling your skin through your dress. “Aren’t you hungry?” You ask, eyes darting to the basket full of fruit just to his side.

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice so low you feel it reverberate. His nose brushes your cheek, trailing down from your jaw to your neck. You shiver, and the pulse between your thighs grows into a steady throb. He inhales deeply. “I’m famished.”

The world around you spins and the next thing you know, you’re on your back staring up at the aged banners draped along the stone ceiling, the fur pelts warm and plush beneath you. Homelander pins your arms down at your sides, once more poised on his hands and knees over you. His tongue draws a wet molten line from the collar of your dress to your throat, and you let out a soft, nervous cry as his teeth graze your skin.

Perhaps he’s going to devour you after all.

Oh gods! Gods, gods, gods, please no!

“Wait, wait! Don’t–please don’t eat me,” you plead in a panic, pushing up against his hands with all of your might. He doesn’t yield at all. You may as well be pushing against the stone walls of the tower itself.

He does laugh, however. It’s that same rumble of amusement that travels through your skin and into the core of you. “For the last time, I’m not eating you. I can smell your arousal, though. Practically taste it in the fucking air,” he says, trailing lower down your chest with every word, brazenly nuzzling the space between your breasts before continuing down. A wave of humiliation rolls through you at his words, and you look away. He releases your arms in favor of sliding his hands up your bare legs, pushing your dress up with them. “I’m just going to have a little lick.”

Frantically, you try to grab at him as soon as your hands are free. “Hold on, stop–”

“Enough!” He snarls suddenly, startling you quiet. You swear for just a moment that his eyes flash crimson. You clutch your hands to your chest. “You’ll not be harmed. Understand? Just… let me,” he says tersely, gaze hard before gradually softening as you silence yourself, watching him with wide, uncertain eyes. Satisfied, he lowers back down.

His sharp claws kiss harmless welts all the way up your legs, up to your hips, where he catches the band of your undergarments. He hooks his fingers over the waistband and drags them down, seeming to enjoy the way you pant and writhe under him, your heart racing.

“Have mercy,” you slip in quietly, squirming beneath the hot press of his hands, though you’re no longer struggling against him. “I’ve never–no one’s ever–I’m inexperienced,” you desperately explain, your mind running wild with what his size will mean for you if he decides he wants more than to taste you–to claim you, as he’d said before.

“Good,” he replies simply, pushing your knees up into a bend on either side of his head. “As you should be. As am I,” he says, turning his head to drag his split tongue in swirling patterns on your inner thigh, moaning at the taste of you.

You grip the pelts beneath you, brows furrowing. You stare down at the top of his head in confusion. “You are?”

“I told you. I’ve never had a mate. I’ve never felt the need to put my cock into what I intended to eat,” he says against your skin, erupting goosebumps all over your thighs. That should horrify you, but you’re instantly distracted by the sheer burning heat of his breath wafting over your wet cunt, a gasp slipping from your lips when he eagerly presses his tongue to it.

His tongue feels as smooth as glass, like liquid in the way it contours to your every curve. The split of it rubs on either side of your clit, massaging it between the two sides in a way that makes your knees shake. “Ffffuck,” he groans, immediately pushing his tongue into you, licking up the wetness of you twice as eagerly as he had that ripe peach.

You buck against him, a moan escaping you. The sound only encourages him to plunge his tongue deeper, that golden stud on his tongue brushing hotly against your inner walls. He drags it up and pushes it flush, half inside you and half grinding against your clit before pushing back in deep. It feels unlike anything you’ve ever known, so much better than your own curious, clumsy fingers. He laves attention on you like he’s starved for it, drinking just as thirstily as you had from the pitcher.

There’s no rhythm to the way he moves, no sense of consistency. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs you forward with ease, lifting you to push his thick split tongue even further inside you, plunging it in and out, growing greedier with every dive. He growls low in the back of his throat, tail thudding repeatedly against the floor. Instead of the little lick he claimed he was after, he’s working himself into an obvious frenzy feasting on you.

“H-Homelander, please,” you keen, his relentlessness rapidly building an unfamiliar pressure within you. He’s as sloppy as he is voracious, the wet sound of him obscene and loud in the enormous lair. His claws bite into your ass where he holds it firmly to his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. If he does, he’s taking it only as encouragement.

His tongue touches something inside you that makes your whole body jolt. You grab hold of both of his horns, your back arching as you desperately cling to them. You’re certain you meant to shove him back, to struggle. Instead, your body is ablaze as you yank hard on his horns, hitching your leg over his shoulder and riding his tongue with a shaking gasp.

The pressure bursts, and the wave of euphoria that crashes down on you is unlike anything you’ve ever known. You convulse against his mouth, walls tightening around the intrusion. You don’t recognize your own voice in the sounds you make as he continues to ruthlessly fuck you soaked and open with his tongue, his breaths so hot they nearly burn. The waves of your climax feel like they’ll never end, spurred on by every deep, wet thrust.

“Homelander! It’s too much, Homelander, too much, please, please–beloved, please, I can’t, I can’t,” you beg, desperate to get his attention. You’re on the verge of sobs when he finally withdraws his long molten tongue from you. You suck in a shuddering breath, releasing his horns and collapsing back against the pelts, sweat prickling along your hairline.

However, your shallow breaths are nothing compared to the sound of Homelander’s ragged panting. He looks entirely wild, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose, his cheeks flushed a dark red, the lower half of his face shiny with a mixture of your slick and his own drool. He takes his hands from under you and yanks the sash around his waist loose, dropping it to the side. Reaching behind him, he unfastens his pants.

Your mind is still a haze, but even through the delirium, you’re shocked by what you see when that rich navy fabric falls from his waist: his cock is as large as the rest of him, thick and dripping. The underside of it is strangely ribbed, a feature you’re certain is to be attributed to his draconic nature. Not only that, but he’s adorned in gold here, too, with a ring pierced into the head of his cock and studs between each ridge. Your eyes widen.

It’ll never fit.

Nevertheless, he looks entirely undeterred. Homelander adjusts himself between your legs, eyes thoroughly glazed over with lust, and presses his nearly scalding palms to your inner thighs, pushing them into a wide spread and down to the ground. Arousal and fear lance through you like a twin bolt of lightning.

“H-hold on,” you stutter, lifting a trembling hand. “I–” Bending over you, he silences you with a firm kiss. You press your hands to his chest and feel it thrumming beneath your palms, the heat of him more intense than ever. You can’t help but moan softly into it, overtaken by the smell of sex and something akin to burning incense. His tongue slips as deftly into your mouth as it did your cunt. Even after having felt it inside you, it’s thicker in your mouth than you’re prepared for, sliding in deeper, like he means to fuck you with it here, too.

It wholly distracts you until you feel a heavy, blunt press to your wet cunt. You make a half-hearted noise of protest, but his only answer is a low rumbling growl, claws biting into the meat of your thighs as he holds you still, effectively gagging you on his tongue.

His cock is as hot as the rest of him, but a great deal more solid than his malleable tongue. The thickness of it slowly spreads you wide, an aching pressure. You’re not sure if the burn of it is from the stretch or the heat, but either way it’s driving you insane. It’s hot and painful and good, frictionless with how thoroughly he soaked you, and despite your nerves, your cunt is loose with orgasm. It’s as if your body, independent of your mind, is eager to welcome him in.

You make a keening noise, the sound of it muffled in this devouring kiss. You grab hold of the leather straps across his chest and yank on them, twisting at them, but nothing takes your mind from how intense it feels to be split apart on the fat head of his cock.

The sounds Homelander makes in response are downright bestial, low and rumbling from his chest. Your only relief is when the widest swell of his cockhead finally breaches you, just the tip of it settling perfectly inside you. You cry out when he gives an exploratory backwards pull, and then shivers as he begins to rock gently, breathing heavily from his nose as he fucks you with nothing more than the head of his cock.

You’re starting to feel lightheaded, pitchy little noises leaving you with every exhale. Homelander sharpens his pace, breaking the kiss with a loud, carnal moan as he tips his head back. He’s barely even inside you and yet the girth of him is overwhelming, the ridges of his cock stimulating you in ways you didn’t know possible, the fat curved head rubbing against that same spot inside you that his tongue had previously made you see stars with.

Thoroughly overwhelmed by the incomprehensible assault of sensations, tears gather in your eyes. That pressure is building back up in you once more, starting at the base of your spine and slowly crawling up it. Desperate to tether yourself, to feel connected, you move your hand from the strap at his chest and touch his face. To your surprise, that instantly snaps his attention down to you, his beautiful blue eyes lost in a crimson glow.

Homelander meets your gaze, some level of cognizance returning to him, and whimpers, something hidden and vulnerable escaping in that exchange. He bends down, his nose brushing yours, and rests his forehead against yours while his thrusts grow more and more erratic, but never deeper. He fucks you in shallow, jagged snaps until finally that mounting pressure overwhelms you and you come again, simultaneously squeezing him into his own sudden release.

The flood of him inside you is burning hot, spilling into your core even from here, and he practically roars with it, burying that loud primal cry into the crook of your neck while his body stills, releasing pulse after pulse of thick, hot seed into you.

His breath billows hotly across your neck, the burning scent of him thick in the air. Your mind is so addled by your own euphoria that it takes you time to realize he’s speaking, fervent murmurings against your skin. “M’sorry, still, be still, I’m–don’t move,” he rasps, fractured little noises leaving him in between his words. You choke on your own breath when he sinks in, working you open slowly, shivers pitching up and down your spine. Gods above, he isn’t done.

Surely he doesn’t mean for you to take all of it… Does he?

You moan weakly, pushing your hand up into his hair and grabbing hold, which elicits a rumbling sigh from him in return. It’s silkier than you expected it to be. “Too big, it’s too much, it’s not–it’s not going to fit,” you pant out, screwing your eyes shut tight. While his release had initially softened him some, you can already feel his cock filling back out. Every bit he slips in further, you feel the mess of his release being forced out of you, come dripping down your thighs, slicking the way for the rest of him.

“It will,” he says at your ear, kissing the spot just below your earlobe, then your neck, his tongue slipping out to taste the sweat there before he kisses that same spot. He’s set upon you like an animal, lost to the drive of instinct, determined to fulfill his promise to claim what is his. “It will because it must. Because it’s yours. Because you’re mine.”

Homelander releases a breathy whine, sounding just as overstimulated as you are, nuzzling at your throat while he slowly works his way deeper, practically vibrating with restraint. He sounds as overwhelmed as you feel, but he refuses to stop, to lose. He holds you in place, growling whenever you squirm or struggle against him. The feel of it is dizzying, unbelievably hot and heavy, like fire given form, filling you in ways you didn’t know were possible. You’re feeling it again, the slow rise of that carnal pleasure building to an inevitable climax, and your whole body trembles with it.

You make a desperate keening noise, and Homelander hushes you, kissing your shoulder. “Sshhh, good, you’re doing so well for me. Don’t move yet, it’s almost over. You were made for this, for me. You feel it, don’t you? How easily your cunt opens to me. Nnngh, hah… Fuck, you fit me. You fit me. You do, and you always will,” he pants, voice hitching.

He slides his hands from your thighs to your waist, the press of his claws just shy of painful. With one final move, he lets out a quaking moan as he pulls you down onto the last of it, finally burying himself completely in your snug, come-soaked cunt.

The fullness of it breaks you–snapping the last tether that was holding you in place–and you come again, your velvety walls seizing up around him impossibly tight before spasming your pleasure around every vein, ridge and piercing he has. You can feel the shape of him so viscerally that you’re sure your body will remember it, carved out in the shape of his cock forevermore.

He cries out with your release, a reverberating sound that you feel all the way down to the marrow of your bones. You don’t know if he’s more in pleasure or pain, but he makes no move to retreat. Instead, he brings you that tiny bit closer, pressing every inch of your body to his. He rides out your pleasure, panting a wet spot into the crook of your neck.

Tears roll from your eyes to your temple, disappearing into your hairline as you breathe roughly. You’re overwhelmingly hot, oversensitized and raw, but as the aftershocks of your orgasm fade, your body steadily loses that quiver. You feel as if you’re melting down into the furs, struggling to even keep your eyes open as a gentle ecstasy sweeps over you.

Once he recovers enough, he lifts himself up onto his hands, and then sits back onto his legs, his hands on your hips to lift you partially into his lap to keep himself buried deep, hitching your legs around his waist. His eyes are completely glazed over, lips parted around heavy, hungry breaths. He doesn’t look at all sated. If anything, the look of his desire has only intensified, despite his obvious sensitivity. Sliding his hands up your body, he pushes your pretty white dress all the way up over your head, tossing it to the side so that he may finally see all of you.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice utterly frayed. He stares at you as though you’re a vision sent from the gods, a nymph plucked from the heavens and nestled snugly upon his cock. His hand sweeps down your stomach, settling low on it, where he lightly presses down. You both moan with the pressure, with how keenly you both feel it. “Told you it would fit,” he says, but his voice is not smug. There’s a breathless wonder to it, like he’s awestruck by the look of your body against his.

His tongue rolls out to sweep along his lips. He opens his mouth, and you can see threads of saliva snapping between his sharp teeth, his mouth wet with hunger. He continues to reverently stroke your stomach, his large splayed hand easily covering the expanse of it. “You’ll make a beautiful mother,” he says, a concept you don’t even know how to begin to unravel, but the way he says it makes you feel worshiped. “Perfect. So fucking perfect for me,” he says, a shudder in his voice. His crimson wings spread and curve in on either side of you, the hooked tips of them bracing on the stone floor.

“Mother?” You slur belatedly. You feel dizzy, your body as warm as burning coals and tingling all over. He lifts your legs one at a time, bringing each one up parallel to his chest. They hook over his shoulders as he leans forward, wasting no before time kissing you. His wings support his weight while he grips your thighs, squeezing possessively.

“Mother,” he confirms between kisses, bending you practically in half as he begins to rut against you. He’s not thrusting so much as he’s grinding into you, wringing a low moan from you. “You want that, don’t you? I’ll keep you safe. Feed you. Fuck you. I’ll take care of you, be yours, and you’ll be mine, won’t you? Sweet little thing, fucked happy and heavy with my children. Tell me. Tell me you want that.”

“Yes,” you moan, kneading the furs on either side of you. He paints a beautiful picture in your mind of fresh fruit, crisp water, and this dreamlike pleasure for the rest of your days. Beneath him, any thoughts of the world outside this moment melt away. There’s only the two of you, resplendently warm and living amongst the clouds. “I want it. I want–I want you,” you say, touching either side of his face. He leans heavily into your touch, his eyes falling shut. A soft noise that sounds like relief escapes him as you kiss him, coaxing that long, clever tongue out to meet yours.

The eagerness with which he reciprocates nearly chokes you, his tongue slipping over yours and halfway down your throat before pulling back, practically devouring you in this kiss. In your fever, this consuming passion feels so much like love it makes your head spin, makes you forget where, when and who you are. He breaks the kiss to moan unabashedly, shifting to put his lips to your throat, mouthing at your skin like he’s trying desperately not to sink his teeth in. The thought thrills you. You almost want him to.

“Again,” he pants, grip tightening on your thighs. “Say it again, please.”

“I want you,” you say again, more certain now. The desperation in him is disarming, and despite the animalism of him, you can clearly see the man in him now, hear it in the way he pleads for you to indulge him. That and the euphoric spill of pleasure electrifying your every nerve imbues you with some kind of sense of power, and however misplaced it may be, you immediately feel drunk on it. You can feel your body beginning to build back towards that ultimate swell of euphoria again. “I want to be yours. I want you to be mine.”

He groans, dipping lower to suck a mark at the junction between your neck and shoulder. This time, when you feel the brush of his teeth, you don’t shy away. You cup the back of his head and drag your nails down his scalp. Homelander thrusts his hips jaggedly, wringing a throaty gasp out of you. “Keep talking,” he demands, but you hear the plea for what it is.

“You feel good. Y-you fit,” you say, echoing his own words, though it’s getting harder to speak with the way he’s starting to fuck you in earnest, just barely withdrawing before he drives back in, as if he can’t bare to be more than an inch outside of you. You moan for him, chasing the bliss swelling rapidly between your legs.

Wait… Something really is swelling.

“What is that?” You ask, voice reedy. You whimper. Somehow, it feels as though he’s getting bigger. “What’s h-nnngh, what’s happening?” Your words are starting to slur together again, your mind split down the middle between your mounting orgasm, and the surreal feeling of the base of his cock growing inside you.

“Knot,” he explains between swipes of his tongue. “Keeps every drop of me inside you,” he says, giving a shuddering moan as that swell catches on the rim of your cunt when he tries to draw back. Just when you thought you had adjusted, that swell makes you ache, has you whimpering and squirming under him.

He could have told you it would get bigger!

“Oh gods, it–mmm, I’m–it feels–” You stop and start again and again, writhing, but he keeps you firmly in place, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh loud in your ears as he fucks you harder and faster, spurred on by the quiver of your cunt as your own climax nears.

“Come for me again. Show me that you want it. I want to feel your pretty little cunt squeeze my cock for my come,” he urges, voice reduced to a rough growl in your ear. He sounds like he’s barely holding himself together, every word more strained than the last. “Give it to me. Give yourself to me.”

The tug of his swollen knot bouncing off of your rim and the feel of his thick ridged cock massaging your walls completely overwhelms you. “Y-yes, okay, I’m–oh gods, gods, I’m–I’m coming, Homelander, Homelander!” You call, lips falling open on a silent scream as your throat locks up, a third orgasm crashing down on you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs.

Homelander muffles his own cry into the crook of your neck, stilling halfway through your orgasm with one final slam. This time, the rush of his release is pressed tightly against your cervix, pooling inside you with nowhere to go, his knot doing precisely what he said it would. The heat of it fills you in hot, rushing spurts, his cock jerking against your spasming walls with every load he empties into you.

A sudden stinging pain makes you gasp, confusion seeping into the euphoria that has thoroughly addled your brain. Fuck, you realize he’s biting you. His teeth sink in as smoothly as a knife through fresh butter, the sting giving way to the sheer heat of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue, and the inexplicable way it intensifies your orgasm.

The room falls deafeningly quiet save for the pound of your own heart in your ears and the heavy way you’re each catching your respective breath. Your arms fall bonelessly to your sides as you pant, your vision slightly blurry. Homelander begins lapping at your shoulder, soothing the spot he’d bitten. Your whole body feels heavy, stuffed fuller than you ever could have conceived possible. All you can do is whine as he adjusts you, gingerly bringing your legs down to settle on either side of him.

You’re not sure how you’ll ever get off of his cock now that you’re on it. His knot feels like a permanent part of you, fitted so snugly that, just as promised, you don’t feel a single drop spill.

Homelander doesn’t stop at your neck. He drags his tongue down to the dip of your clavicle, where it splits apart slightly anywhere it moves over bone. It feels surreal, but somehow different from the first time you woke to him licking you. For starters, you’re not terrified he’s going to eat you. That has an entirely new connotation now.

He moves down further, slinking down into the valley between your breasts, sighing as he pushes them together to lave his tongue between. He’s languid, practically purring with each breath as he savors the feel and the taste of you. You don’t have it in you to feel much more than exhausted, your limbs as heavy as stone, but it does feel good. Your breath catches when he opens his lips around one of your nipples, sucking almost half of your breast into his preternaturally hot mouth. His pierced tongue swirls over your nipple while his teeth flex precariously against the tender flesh. You lurch, letting out a breathy noise.

“Careful, please,,” you exhale, earning a glance up from him. His eyes are completely glazed over, soft and dark in a way that takes your breath away. He hums quietly in some weak acknowledgement before his eyes flutter closed, his throat bobbing with every swallow as he sucks your breast with unexpected gentility.

Watching him stirs a wash of strange feelings in you. With what little strength you have, you bring your hand up to touch his horn, contemplating the texture of it beneath your fingers. You follow the line of it down to his skull, tracing his hairline just beneath the crown that adorns his head, slipping behind his sharply pointed ear. He’s truly incredible to behold up close like this, beautiful without the lens of terror you had been viewing him through.

On some level, you know you should still be afraid, but it’s a difficult feeling to muster when he’s warm and lax on your chest with his cock buried inside you, suckling on your breast as you’re still riding the high of three consecutive climaxes.

You push your fingers into his flaxen hair. You’ve never seen hair this color before except in very young children. In your experience, age always darkens it away to a sandy color, but his is as bright and warm as sunshine. There doesn’t seem to be any part of him that isn’t golden. He exhales a deep sigh as you run your nails along his scalp, nuzzling sweetly against you. You smile despite yourself.

Who would have thought that a dragon might be so very much like an overgrown house cat?

When Homelander lifts his head, his tongue is the last to leave, returning to his mouth with a wet slide across his lips. He’s left your skin shiny with saliva, but he isn’t finished. He immediately lowers himself to your other breast, taking it into his mouth in precisely the same way. You bring your other hand up into his hair and continue to massage his scalp, earning yourself an appreciative little moan from low in his throat, his tail sliding audibly back and forth on the stone floor.

The two of you lay like that for an indeterminate amount of time. You drift in and out of consciousness, worn thin and soothed by the heat of his body seeping into your muscles, fairly certain you’ll never be able to sit up on your own again. Homelander eventually releases your breast with a soft pop and settles his head on your sternum, narrowly avoiding taking one of your eyes out with his horn. You continue to stroke through his hair as your strength gradually returns.

The swell of his knot, too, lessens, but even soft his cock fits snugly inside you. It isn’t until Homelander gingerly lifts himself off of you that it slides out, coming free with a significant gush that soaks your thighs and puddles beneath you. You flush, making a strained little noise. You feel carved out and left hollow by the sheer size of him. His wings withdraw and tuck in behind him while he sits back on his legs to admire the splay of you beneath him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, smoothing his hands up and down your thighs. You’ve never felt as exposed as you do in this moment, laid bare under his gaze. Even now, visibly drunk on pleasure and thoroughly satiated, there is an undeniable lingering famine in his stare. He sinks down and slowly spreads your legs apart, leaning in to run his tongue up the crease of your inner thigh. He laps languidly at your skin, earning hitched little breaths and sounds from you as his tongue deftly cleans the mess he’s made of you. He’s much more tame now than he had been, focusing not on overstimulating you, but simply washing you. It’s a strange and animalistic thing to do, but it’s intimate, too. Sweet, even.

Gods, he’s really done a number on your psyche.

Once he’s satisfied with the state of you, he climbs back up and settles on his side, looking at you with his hand poised over you, hovering like he isn’t sure what to do with it. His expression starts to shift, concern seeping into it. “You’re quiet. Did I hurt you?”

You huff a little breath. You’re quiet because you’ve just been fucked within an inch of your life by a dragon’s cock, but aside from that, of course he had. “You bit me, for starters.”

He turns somewhat sheepish at that. “Instinct. I wanted to mark you.”

“You succeeded,” you say, touching your shoulder tentatively.The skin is still raw, but it isn’t bleeding. It doesn’t even feel like it’s going to scab.

You must wear your confusion plainly, because Homelander is quick to explain: “I sealed the wound. It should be fully healed by sundown.”

“How did you seal it?” You ask, bolder now with how you touch it. It feels like simple indentations, a perfect mold of his teeth.

“My saliva has particular properties. There was a method to my debauchery,” he says, pointedly licking his lips.

You suppose that’s far from the most miraculous thing about him. “That’s convenient,” you say, to which he smiles. It’s bizarre how easily this comes now. You’ve heard of breaking the tension before, but this is certainly the most intense way you’ve ever broken through that initial barrier to more casual conversation.

Seeing that his hand is still hovering over you, you make a choice and take it, pulling it down to settle on your hip. Relief and excitement flash in his eyes in equal measure, and he takes that as permission to tuck you the rest of the way against him, settling on his side. He rests his head in his palm, propped up on his elbow. You curiously explore the plains of his chest with your fingertips, testing where flesh meets scales. They feel almost like bone, crimson colored protrusions that catch the light as prettily as rubies. They’re smattered along his body in the same way a human might have moles or birthmarks, incidental and seemingly without rhyme or reason.

His ribs are guarded by stiff plates that aren’t as solid as the scales, but look to serve as hardy protection. You let your fingers swoop down the ridges of them, comparing the textures along different parts of his body. It’s fascinating.

“I’ve never seen anything like–” you begin to pull your hand away as you speak, but Homelander takes hold of your wrist, bringing it back to his chest.

“Don’t stop.” You look up at him. His expression catches you off guard. He looks wounded, those fiercely blue and ever human eyes of his intensely focused on you. Swallowing, you nod. He lets go, and you begin to traipse your fingers along his chest again, following the line of the leather straps that cross over it. He lets out a heavy breath. “No one’s ever touched me like this,” he tells you after a long few beats of silence. “Not that I can remember.”

You glance up at him, but he’s staring down at your small hand tracing patterns on his chest. “What happened to this place?” You ask, because that seems politer than asking what happened to him.

“Guess it’s been too long for anyone else to remember. They’re all dead,” he says, the mood of his words difficult to discern. He inhales a contemplative breath, clicking his tongue at the end of it. “Time happened. I used to be something else to my people. I was… war. I brought fire down on their enemies, and they loved me for it. I won them their home. Homelander. There were others like me, but I was the best of them,” he says with conviction, though you sense bitterness in his voice, too. “When all the wars were won, they built this tower. They built monuments to their gods, and they placed us here with them as though we ourselves were relics.”

The end of his tail has begun to slap lightly against the ground. You can feel a slight uptick in the heat of him beneath your palm.

“They placated me with gold. Adorned me in it. At times they would summon me to festivals. Use my strength to build their stone cities, but they didn’t celebrate me. They had forgotten their love. They treated me as you would any other tool. Something to be taken off the shelf for work and put away when the task is done.”

The seething resentment is more clear in his voice than ever. While you didn’t ask it, it seems he understood what you really wanted to know. You’ve never heard this story before; The Devourer had only ever been a tyrant upon the people. No one ever spoke of a Homelander. No one ever spoke of a hero.

“When treasure failed to keep me impotent and obedient, they tried meat instead. They sent me livestock, as if the simple act of killing a cow would satiate me,” he snarls through his teeth, smoke wafting between them. He sucks it back, tipping his head up slightly in a bit to regain his composure. “They thought they could control me indefinitely. Out of sight, out of mind. It worked for too long, but only because I allowed it. Because I thought things would change. They never did. So I took their gold and their cattle and their crops and demanded more still. I demanded until they couldn’t ignore me any longer. When they failed to provide, I reigned fire down on them as I did their enemies two hundred years ago, and I gave them no choice but to look at the monster they made.”

His tail cracks like a whip against the stone floor. His anger is so visceral it makes your heart race, but there is more in his gaze than just fury. You feel as though you’re watching him rip apart the stitching over a wound that has been festering for far too long. “After that, they sent people. Simpering peasants who had no fucking idea who or what I really am. They bathed them in oils like slaughtered lambs basted for roast,” he growls, the blue of his eyes fading into an eerie crimson glow. “So I did. I devoured them, and I spat their own blood in their faces. If they wouldn’t have me as a man, they would have a beast instead.”

The Devourer.

You sit in stunned silence, watching as the glow of his eyes gradually fades, though his temperature remains the same. He looks at you, his expression braced, as if he anticipates a specific reaction. Rejection, you suppose. It seems to be the only thing he’s known for centuries. Within his gaze, you recognize a profound need to connect, to feel you, to hear that there might be a single soul in this gods damned world that wants him.

What does one say to such a story? The anger in his voice strikes such a wounded chord, you can practically smell the blood. The rawness of it alone makes your eyes prickle with tears, a lump gathering in your throat. How warped he has become not for the absence of love, but the deprivation of it. It’s clear in the way he speaks of them how desperately he wanted them to still love him.

“I’m sorry,” you say so quietly it’s a wonder he hears you. His expression flips completely, morphing into bewildered surprise.

“What?” His voice sounds small.

“I’m sorry that they abandoned you.”

If his own words are a knife in the wound, yours twist it deeper. He flinches like he’s been struck, staring at you with such bruised incomprehension. He opens his mouth to speak, but it’s as though he doesn’t even believe what you’re saying enough to formulate a response. He kisses you instead, holding your jaw in his claws. “I was good once,” he says against your lips, voice hushed as if he’s confessing a far graver sin. “I’ll be good for you. Let me be good for you.”

The desperation in his voice sets loose your tears. You nod, kissing him just as fervently. Centuries of bloodshed on the back of willful neglect is difficult to stomach, but you believe him. You believe the love that went into this tower–this beautiful prison–that they made for him, and you believe the love that you saw in his face carved in stone. You have no doubt that the wonder of him once inspired all those who beheld them, and that they were fickle enough to grow weary of him. Desensitized and disinterested.

When he rejected their apathy, they rejected his humanity.

Homelander lifts you up into his arms, sitting up, kissing you properly with a hand cupping the back of your head, his arm around your middle. His wings curve in around you, and he kisses you until your lips turn sore and you have to protest, your words melting into muffled laughter. He draws back with a brilliant grin. It’s different from the others you’ve seen; it’s the kind of smile that brings deep warmth to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. He lingers close to you, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I stopped believing a long time ago that you could be real,” he murmurs, unable to stop himself from stealing another quick kiss, his nose purposefully brushing yours. He’s thoroughly starved for every little touch.

“I am. So are you. Not the Devourer, the Scourge, nor the Red Death,” you say, tucking back the stray locks of hair that have fallen over his crown. This, too, had been carved for him. He had been loved once, and as he said, he had been good. There is love in you enough to help him find that goodness again. There’s no reason you cannot live for the being you intended to die for. “Just you. Just Homelander.”

He kisses you, and suddenly you feel as if you’re free falling. From this point on, your life is something new. Something inexplicable and unpredictable. It’s yours, but it’s also his.

All that glitters is not gold, and sometimes the monster in the dark is just your reflection.

phew. thank you SO much for reading. this fic took me almost a full month to write, and it often felt like it was never going to end. that said, i'm already kind of chomping at the bit to write more in this universe. i feel like these two have a ton of potential, and there's just so much more that i want to do with them now that we have the groundwork done. once again, a huge shoutout to the amazing artist @anon-nee, who not only illustrated our dragon boy himself, but these awesome environment sketches as well. please be sure to go give them some love! The Tower of the Seven

The Dragon's Lair

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #monster romance #terato #monster x human #dragon x reader #monster x reader #homelander fanfiction #i'm gonna need so much aftercare from y'all on this one i've been writing it for the last 23 days lmao #and i'm posting it all at once because I LOVE U #my writing #monsterlander mania

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needlemeister · 10 days

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i've been working off and on for a while on trying to figure out what all of the major symbols and glyphs mean in rain world, and here's the final product! kind of.

these are all purely hypothetical, so don't treat it as 100% canon - however, you can use these interpretations however you please!

elaboration for some:

The "knowledge" glyph sometimes manifests without the central line. I'm not sure if it changes the meaning or not.

The "power/authority" glyph often manifests with the two lines meeting instead of just apart.

"Importance", "rain deer", and "echo" are nearly exclusive to Scavenger graffiti, but they're included here for posterity. Especially "echo", since accents from it show up in symbols insinuated to have similar meanings.

"Pet" contains "travel", albeit with the circle closed.

"Defying fate" very subtly includes "survival"

"Martyrdom" appears to be a combination of "hunger" and possibly a corruption of "survival". I believe it may represent the process of shedding the facets of oneself that align with the bottom five Karma levels in order to achieve ascension.

"Fragile, do not harm" is almost entirely based on context clues. It's a glyph seen next to the "ally" glyph written by Scavengers in Moon's can. A longer form of my theorized meaning for this would be "this ally has important information for us. They are weak, please do not make them weaker".

"Lizard/animal?" is part of the "dragon slayer" passage glyph.

#rain world #rainworld #rw downpour #meister art #kind of

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pinkie-pop · 6 months

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"Do Paimons Dream of Floating Sheep?"

Mondstadt: Part I Part II Part III Part IV

Based on this

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Paimon!Reader, Genshin Impact various x Reader, Yandere Genshin Impact

Word count: 3k

Synopsis: Being dragged into the world of your favorite video game is hardly your idea of a relaxing Saturday, and being dragged into the world of your favorite game, taking over the role of mascot even less so. Unfortunately, it seems fate has no interest in what you consider to be a normal day, and it will do anything to replace your idea of normal entirely.

Includes: Fear of heights, death, vomiting, Reader straight up not having a good time

Stormterror has arrived in Mondstadt city.

You, the Traveler, and Amber run past the city gates as Stormterror lunges towards the giant statue. Three large, whistling tornados whirl to life at his command. You can clearly see the tainted blood pulsing upon his back. It seems your plan of stopping Stormterror without hassle has completely fallen apart. Of course. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. You suppose not even the Anemo Archon himself is strong enough to go against the script.

You narrowly avoid a gust of wind that comes your way, but the Traveler isn’t so lucky. He’s swept up by the current immediately, reaching out a hand to you as if you held the power to stop it.

You don’t.

You can’t do anything.

“Kaeya!” Amber calls, running up to the blue-haired man. The two of them begin chatting, catching each other up to speed on the situation at hand. “Kaeya, this is [Name] and Aether, and…wait, where’s Aether?”

“He got swept uo by the storm. Look,” you say, pointing up towards him.

“He’s fighting Stormterror?” Says Amber. “But that’s so dangerous!”

“Amber, why does he have one of your windgliders?” Asks Kaeya.

“Huh? Oh, uh…eheh…No…reason…” Amber scratches the back of her head and Kaeya raises an eyebrow. You’re pretty sure he only asked that to get a rise out of her. You pay it no mind, however, instead focusing on the battle above you. You want to help, but there’s nothing you can do. You’re not the protagonist of this story. No, you’re nothing but a mascot. You can do nothing but grit your teeth and watch.

Meanwhile…

A gust of wind picks Aether right up off of the ground, hurtling upwards towards the sky. He uses his windglider, hoping to glide down somewhere safely and reconvene with you as soon as possible. He can’t protect you from up here.

That was his plan, but…

“I’m preventing your fall with the power of a thousand winds.” An unfamiliar voice calls out to him from beyond the clouds. He whirls around, hoping to find the source of the sound, but to no avail.

“You can’t see me,” the voice—a male, he thinks—says. “That’s okay, just listen to my voice. They’re safe down there. I need you to trust me.” Aether nods, though he isn’t sure if the man can see him.

“Good. Now, concentrate. See yourself grasping on the wind and harness its power.” Aether does as he’s told and gathers a huge sphere of anemo and hurls it at Stormterror. He weaves through clouds, collecting their power and directing it back towards the dragon. The wind hits a glowing, purple spot on the dragon's back and it cries out in agony.

A weak point. Good.

Aether readies more anemo, preparing to hit the same spot again when Stormterror flies upwards and out of sight, retreating. Aether doesn’t bother chasing after it. There’s no need to. Instead, he glides back down towards the city, where you, Amber, and a person he doesn’t recognize all stand around.

Amber waves Aether down as he lands, introducing him to Kaeya. “You really gave us a fright,” she says. “I can’t believe you went up against a dragon!”

“Are you okay?” You ask. “What happened up there?”

“I heard a voice,” he said. “It told me that it prevented my fall using the ‘power of a thousand winds’.”

“Do you think it could have been Barbatos? What did the voice sound like?” You, of course, already know the answer to these questions, but you ask anyways, hoping to guide the conversation to a realization.

“It sounded like the voice of a young boy,” says Aether. “I don’t know who it was, though.”

“The power of a thousand winds, hmm?” Kaeya puts a hand up to his chin, seeming to be in deep thought. “I don’t know if the voice you heard really was Barbatos or not, but either way, I think we ought to report this to our Acting Grand Master.”

The four of you head to the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, where Jean and Lisa are there waiting for you.

“Mondstadt welcomes you, windborne travelers. I am Jean, the Acting Grand Master, and this is Lisa, our resident librarian.”

“Oh, are you two sweeties here to help us out? You’re both so adorable! Especially you, cutie,” Lisa winks at you. “Sadly, the timing is regrettable… Stormterror, or Dvalin, his true name, has been ravaging our cities as of late. The Ley Lines and elemental energy are completely out of control.”

”Right,” Jean says. “If it weren’t for that, we would have had better ways to help you than just putting up wanted posters. We simply ask that you rest in Mondstadt while we help look for your sister.”

“Sounds good. Where’s the Inn?” You sputter as his lax response. Wasn’t the protagonist supposed to be eager to help?

“H-hey! Shouldn’t we at least offer to help out?” Aether looks at you as if to ask, ‘Why would we do that?’ “I mean, isn’t that the right thing to do? Besides, if that really was the voice of Barbatos you heard, wouldn’t he be more likely to help us if we help him first?” You say. Aether seems to ponder over this for a minute, then nods.

“Alright. If you want to help, then let’s help.”

“Good. In that case, we’ll need a plan.” Kaeya says.

"Since Stormterror is now attacking the city directly, we may have an

opportunity to cut this problem off at the source. Lisa has revealed the sources of Stormterror's power with her magic."

"Right," Lisa says. "They're located in the abandoned Four Winds' Temples. Stormterror's ability is likely the result of it drawing its power from the temples. Our objective is to deal with three of the four temples.

"I trust everyone understands why we are only dealing with three." Jean looks around for confirmation, and everyone, save for Aether, nods their head.

"I don't," says the Traveler.

"Dvalin is the last of the four winds," you explain.

"Knights of Favonius," Everyone seems to stand at even greater attention as Jean addresses them. "Time is against us. We need to take the initiative and act before the situation gets even worse. There is no point in maintaining a defensive position."

•~•~•~•~•~•

You and the Traveler arrive at the Temple of The Falcon where Amber is waiting for you.

"[Name]! Traveler! It's good to see you," she says as you approach. The three of you exchange greetings, and Amber fills you in on the mission.

"These temples have been abandoned for years now, so there might be a monster nest inside. [Name], you can't fight, right? Don't worry, just leave it to me! I'll protect you!"

"Me too," says Aether. You smile at them.

"Alright, I'm counting on you. Let's head in." Aether and Amber nod, and the three of you enter the temple.

The temple is more or less how you remember it (though, to be perfectly honest, you hardly remember it at all), a decrepit building with an open ceiling showcasing the "sky" above. There's a pyro mechanism shooting fire to your left and a few boxes to your right. Amber shoots the mechanism to put it out of commission, then you and your party head left.

A Door of Resurrection activates as you walk past it, and you find yourself wondering what would happen if someone were to die here. The door indicates that they would come back, just like in a video game, but there's no way to know for sure.

Unless…

No. You can live with not knowing. You hope you never have to find out.

Amber and Aether make quick work of the rooms while you stand back and try to stay out of the way. It isn’t long at all before you end up in the third or fourth room. That on its own is hardly anything notable, but this room is different from the others.

In the previous rooms, you could see the “sky” above you, but you had no way of knowing whether it was real or not. Did the domain create its own sky? Was it a pocket dimension? You had no way to know for certain.

Until now, that is.

You stare out into the sea of clouds before you, your feet planted firmly on a floating pedestal in the sky, and at once, you know. This is the truth behind the domains. They are not just old ruins, they are gateways. Portals to another world.

Perhaps you can find your own world through these as well…

You are brought out of your musings by an arrow shooting its way past you and popping the anemo slime in front of you. Then, two more, and again, more slimes fall, each creating a wind current upwards. Amber and the Traveler both outstretch their hands to you, windgliders already at the ready.

“Let’s glide together!” They say in unison, then turn around to glare at the other. Though you feel a little awkward about taking sides, you eventually take Amber’s hand and allow her to carry you. She is the champion glider of Mondstadt, after all. You trust her experience. You don’t look at Aether when you take her hand, you know you wouldn’t be able to bear his hurt face if you did.

The three of you set off into the air, and you try not to look down. Unfortunately, the view upwards is hardly any less nervewracking. You see a large anemo slime off in the distance, heading straight towards you. Amber can’t shoot it while she’s carrying you, and Aether is too far away to hit it with his sword. It is all you can do to brace for impact as the slime shoots wind your way, knocking you from Amber’s hold.

You fall, but only for a moment. Something catches you.

No, that’s not quite right. Nothing catches you. You catch yourself. You’re flying. It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating. Amber and Aether are both gaping at you as you twirl around in the air. Perhaps this new body isn’t so bad after all.

You fly up to the top platform, then start to get dizzy, so you lower yourself to the floor.

“I thought you were afraid of heights,” Amber teased, gliding up to you.

“This is different,” you huff. “At least when I’m flying, I can control where I’m going. You can’t do that with a windglider at all!”

“I suppose that’s true,” Amber laughs. “Still, though, that really surprised me. I had no idea you could fly.”

“You’re not the only one,” Aether chimes in.

“I actually didn’t know I could do that either.” You say.

Finally, you arrive in the room where Stormterror’s crystal is. It doesn’t take long for Aether to destroy it with the power of anemo while Amber gives support and you watch.

•~•~•~•~•~•

You and the Traveler arrive at the Temple of The Wolf, where Kaeya is waiting for you.

“Ah, [Name], it’s good to see you. You too, Traveler.” You think Kaeya is trying to wink, but there’s really no way to be sure. Either way, his flirtatious tone has Aether glaring. You have a feeling this raid is going to be exhausting, and not just physically. “Come closer. Can you smell that?” Kaeya says, gesturing to the two of you.

“Uh…smell what?” You ask.

“Something has happened in the temple. I imagine there’ll be slimes, hilichurls, and whatever is giving Stormterror that power. Ah, don’t worry about the fighting, [Name], your friend and I will take care of that.” Perhaps it’s just his voice, but there’s something oddly gleeful in his tone that sets you off.

“I’m not some damsel, you know?!”

You smile and nod, but you don’t say anything. The three of you head off into the domain, where another series of challenges await you.

Another Door of Resurrection bursts to life in front of you, and it occurs to you that no one commented on the last one. Perhaps it’s something only you can see..? You open your mouth to ask, but Kaeya speaks up first.

“Hm, if I’m not mistaken, the end of the temple should be up there.” You look up. Above you is a large platform in the sky where, like Kaeya guessed, lies the end of the temple. You’re trying to figure out how to get a wind current to take you up there when an idea strikes you.

Right. How could you have forgotten?

“Leave it to me!” You say, glad to finally have something to do. You crack your knuckles, bracing yourself for flight. How did this go again? Right, first you need to lift off, then…

You did it! You’re flying! You look down, excited to see the look on Kaeya’s face when…

You look down. Oh. Oh wow. The ground sure is far. Were you always this high up? You start to feel nauseous. You hear Aether’s voice, but it sounds so far away. The room is spinning; you’re seeing double. Is the ground getting bigger or are you getting closer?

Dizziness overtakes you, and you fall head-first into the stone flooring. You feel pain shoot up from your neck down to the base of your spine, but only for a moment.

“Hm, if I’m not mistaken, the end of the temple should be up there.”

Huh..?

You blink, looking around dumbly as confusion washes over you. Green light pulses from behind you.

Could it be? You whip around, staring at the Door of Resurrection as if it would grow a mouth and tell you the answers. But it doesn’t. It doesn’t even need to. You already know.

You just died. But the Door saved you.

“[Name]? We really ought to get a move on. What are you spacing out for?” Kaeya’s voice tears you away from your thoughts.

“I…I’m afraid of heights. I’m sorry, but I can’t go up there. I’ll wait for you down here.” Aether looks at you, clearly worried but unsure of what to say.

“At least when I’m flying, I can control where I’m going. You can’t do that with a windglider at all!”

You try to smile at Aether, urging him to go on despite his worries.

At least when I’m flying…

Aether, after much hesitation, leaves with Kaeya. They’ll make quick work of the temple, you’re sure. Perhaps even quicker than they would have with you around.

I can control where I’m going.

You let out a sigh as you sink to the floor.

Nothing else happens.

•~•~•~•~•~•

You and the Traveler arrive at the Temple of The Lion, where Lisa is waiting for you.

“Hey there, cuties. Good to see you—especially you, [Name].” Lisa winks at you, leaving you a bit puzzled. Her words seem to have put Aether in a bad mood. Well, you wouldn’t be happy if someone called you their second favorite, either. Still exhausted from the last temple, you merely wave to Lisa, hoping to get this temple over with as soon as possible. “Is everyone ready?” She asks. You nod.

“I hope this trip is uneventful,” you murmur. The doors open, and the three of you step inside. You allow your mind to wander as you follow behind the others. Normally, it’d be a bad idea to be so absent-minded in a domain, but…

Well, what’s the worst that could happen?

You shuffle along through the hallways as Aether and Lisa take care of any nearby threats. As suspected, they really didn’t need you here. Well, that’s okay. You’re fine with being useless so long as it means you can rest.

Aether slashes another hilichurl with his sword, and for a moment, you imagine yourself in its place. You wonder what it would feel like to die from an injury like that. Surely, it can’t be pleasant. Would it be worse than the stomach-dropping sensation of falling from a great height? Would it be worse than a broken neck? You aren’t sure. More hilichurls fall to the ground. It isn’t like the game. They don’t just disintegrate when they die. They bleed when they’re hit, their corpses don’t disappear. There’s no XP or rewards to be found here. Only bloodshed. Only death.

This whole temple reeks of iron. You cover your nose and mouth, but the stench doesn’t go away.

You don’t think you can take any more of this. You turn and run down the nearest hall, heaving and retching when you arrive in the next room over. You can hardly hear it over your own vomiting, but the sound of stone rolling across stone comes from behind you. You glance back down the hall, only to see it replaced with a solid stone wall.

Fuck.

You bang your hands on the wall and yell for help, but you succeed in nothing except for making your voice tired and your hands bruised. You might be here for a while, so you look around.

The room is square, and completely empty aside from a pedestal in the center (one that you really should have noticed earlier), upon which rests a glowing book of some sort. The cover is lined with gold, and it looks as though it holds the galaxy between its twinkling pages.

You walk closer to it, hoping to get a better look. The book opens itself before you, and at once, you recognize it.

It’s the Archive.

Taglist: @shadowkitty-me @probablynoposts @kissyhalik @persephone-kore-law @neverending-animelove @crxscnt @teravolting @resident-cryptid @esthelily @shellofthewall @dilucragnidvr @altheq0 @wegottastayfocus @jellothefool @c0l1fl0r @francisnyx @imma-just-chill @fantasyhopperhea @iamapotatoe @utahimechan

#yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #sagau #yandere aether #yandere amber #yandere kaeya #yandere lisa #yandere genshin x reader

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arthenaa · 1 year

Text

carnal — sebastian sallow x fem!reader x ominis gaunt

plot summary: Challenging two renowned Aurors responsible for almost half of the imprisonment of numerous dark wizards leads to you experiencing being hunted for your life during a celebratory party at the ministry.

warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, dark themes, slight plot with porn, aged up characters (silver trio are in their mid 20's), sebastian and ominis are aurors, random ocs mentioned (i just shit out names tbh), random hp shit as well not sure some of them exist in the canon lore, reader is a magizoologist in a partnership w the ministry, they hunt u down (its all roleplay), dominis, switch seb, bottom reader, she/her prns is used for reader, ominis, you and seb like pulling each others hair lmfao, oral sex, p in v sex, choking, all the nasty stuff.

notes: inspired by @/pseudonymmcwriter i love prns fics pls you should check them out if ur into detroit become human <3 minors are highly discouraged from reading. read at your own risk. pt 2 of carnal.

It was supposed to be a joke.

A jest at their occupation. You didn't mean to talk shit about their jobs as Aurors. You were merely joking around, influenced by the festivities around you. Although, you suppose you shouldn't have tried to joke around Slytherins at all. It was a celebratory party for the new head Auror, Ryona Bassett, who was praised for her leadership skills and achievements in finally capturing a dark wizard creating havoc in the wizarding world. It was due to this that she had gotten her promotion, a well-earned position on her part.

Of course, she couldn't have done it herself. As part of her plan to capture said wizard, she had formed a group of talented wizards and witches to aid her. Part of that group was you. The wise witch had apparated in front of your apartment in London, sitting on the bench like the menace that she is in hopes of recruiting you as part of her team (You had almost jumped out of your skin at the creepy sight).

It was because of your skills and experience in the field of magical creatures that led you to be recruited by Ryona Bassett. Dragons were said to be one of the weapons used in the dark wizard's plan, and well, who'd be perfect for the job other than you? As a magizoologist, your job enabled you to mostly work alone as it required intensive travel all over the world. Although you worked for the Care of the Magical Creatures department, you were more of a partner rather than an employee of the ministry. You saved Hogwarts during your 5th year, rescued the fate of the wizarding world after a dark wizard had tried yet again to sabotage the election of a new leader, and also nurtured and rescued beasts in your care.

Basically, you were a big shot, and y'know that big shots like you always get called for the important stuff, which is why you're where you are today.

Part of the said group was also none other than your two dearest friends; Sebastian Sallow and Ominis Gaunt, Aurors at the British Ministry of Magic. Sebastian and Ominis were the two people who Ryona had at her beck and call given that they did work in her division. However, these weren't the only reasons why she had chosen the two. They both had risen the ranks at a much faster rate than others ever since they joined the Auror office. This wasn't to your surprise considering the two often sneaked out in the safety of the Undercroft to practice spells out of Hogwarts' jurisdiction. Sebastian Sallow was known for his magical prowess in dueling and knowledge of the dark arts whilst Ominis Gaunt excelled more in tracking and hunting through magical traces. Despite his blindness, he had formed a unique connection to his wand, allowing him to sense and feel magic more sensitively than others. The two are quite formidable Aurors and built up a reputation as one.

They were also known to be the pair who almost filled half of Azkaban. They were that good.

It didn't help that they were also attractive. They were deemed to be the ministry's most desired bachelors of this era. You couldn't agree more.

It had been a while since the three of you were together in the same room. You kept your friendship low maintenance and would send an owl to each other here and there. To be honest, the low-maintenance friendship was more of you and them, but we don't need the specifics. After a long month of trying to catch Hugo Blaire (the dark wizard, yes), it wasn't a huge surprise that a party would be done in honor of the group's efforts and contribution to making another safe and sound day for the wizarding world.

You don't know how many glasses of champagne you had downed in the past hour, but you sure as hell won't be counting. You've been scanning the crowd, looking for a particular brunette and blonde amongst a sea of unfamiliar people.

It was tiring trying to keep up with the greetings and the conversations. You probably mispronounced multiple last names at this point, and you couldn't care any less at how many eye twitches and failed to keep horrified expressions you've seen in the past hour. Your assistant, Judy Beckham, decided to be your spokesperson at the start as she noticed that the glass on your hand seemed to have no plans leaving your grasp. It was funny seeing her play as your publicist as you had yet again purposefully mispronounced "Yaxley" to "Yackley? Yatley? Yale? Shitley?" (It was well deserved, to be honest. He was on your shitlist after he had tried to order your imprisonment when you were trying to rescue a Zouwu who had wreaked havoc in the streets of London. He claimed you were the one responsible for the mess... Which was partially true... But not all of it!)

"And that should be your final drink." A voice interrupted your thoughts before a hand grabbed the refillable glass in your hand, moving it away from your grasp. The scent of musk and wood immediately infiltrated your senses as your back feels the presence of another. You turn to face the culprit, smiling at him.

"Sebastian." You softly reply as you place a hand on his arm. "I was looking for you."

"As have I, darling." He chuckles before glancing at the glass in his hand, watching as it filled back up with champagne. "Though it seems you've already started to enjoy yourself."

"Refillable charms are a crime." You softly laugh in response. The Auror has a soft look on his face. You glance back at the center of the ball where Ryona stood alongside the rest of the crew, entertaining guests. "Aren't you supposed to be there?"

"You mean we?" He corrects as he places a hand on your waist. You feel butterflies in your stomach. You push it away.

"... Right."

"Where's the little redhead you're with?" Sebastian doesn't need to crane his head to survey the room. He was a tall motherfucker who was gifted with the lucky genes. You didn't know how much a person could grow knowing that he was the same height as you in your fifth year, then you were at his shoulder in your 7th. He was tall and attractive. A direct shit to your face.

"You mean Judy?" You raise an eyebrow at him despite mentioning her multiple times in your letters. He smiles a boyish grin at you.

"I saw her a moment ago trying to calm down August Yaxley from transfiguring you then and there. What'd you do this time?" You feel his thumb rubbing the material of your dress on your waist. His stare was unwavering as he encouraged a response out of you.

"Mispronounced his name. It was quite funny seeing the number of expressions running through his face. Quite a life-changing experience, if I do say so myself. As for Judy, she just gave up on me. She's probably drinking herself to death somewhere." You jest. He chuckles at your response before pulling his hand away from your waist. It almost made you whine at the loss, but you remember this is your best friend, and you shouldn't be whining like a submissive bitch in heat at the loss of his touch. "Where's Ominis?"

"Ah." He places the glass on the waiter's tray as one passes by before crossing his arms over his chest. He looks so attractive in his black three-piece suit with a silver chain hanging on his vest. It didn't help with the way the material of his coat stretched along his arms, fitting his physique perfectly. You wanted to drool. "He'll be here in a minute."

"That sounds oddly vague." You rest your weight on one leg as you copy his form. "What's he really doing?"

Sebastian rolls his eyes before raising his arms in defense. "You got me. He's finishing writing up and collecting final intel on another case."

"That quick? Damn." Your eyes widen in amusement.

"Remember that church we went to last week? A couple of days before Blaire's capture? The one in Glasgow." He recalls. You hum, remembering the place. "Turns out, there were other traces of dark magic there different from Blaire's lot. It was an infamous place for dark wizards to gather, and we were lucky enough to be able to hit two birds with one stone. Ominis was able to decipher the similarities of that dark magic to the ones he received from that hacienda back in the Philippines."

"That's amazing." You marvel at Ominis's tracking skills.

"I know. Bassett put us on the case right after this." Sebastian sighs. "Not sure if that's a blessing or a curse."

"Just shows how talented you guys are." You bite your lip as you pat his arm. Sebastian shakes his head.

"You had a hand in this, too." He gives you a pointed look. "If it weren't for our daring escapades, I wouldn't be where I am today."

"Yeah, right. If I recall correctly, you were the mastermind of it all."

"I wouldn't have done it if I didn't witness your magical prowess in ancient magic, Ms. Hero of Hogwarts." He leans in, pinching your cheek as he teases you. You flush in embarrassment at the title, trying to forget after years of hearing it multiple times to the point where all you wanted to do is obliviate the whole damn school. Wasn't it so hard to just say you saved the school? Why'd they have to press in the title 'Hero'? Thankfully, Sebastian's proximity made you forget an incoming war flashback of your time at Hogwarts. You would've died from cringe there and then.

"You two look cozy with each other. If I were from Daily Prophet, I'd already made millions from using this as gossip material." A new presence has arrived, startling you two out of your comfortable conversation. Sebastian sighs dramatically at his entrance.

"Ominis. You're late." Sebastian chastises jokingly as he watches his best friend glare in the direction of his voice. You might've laughed at Sebastian trying to act like a disappointed mother, but you were taking your time checking out the new addition to your little group. Similar to Sebastian, Ominis had also experienced a growth spurt. Nearly at the same height as the brunette beside you, the man embodies the essence of elegance and gallantry. His hair is in his usual slicked-back hairdo and wearing a dark blue three-piece set that matched his cloudy blue eyes. Ominis adjusts the tie on his neck with his free hand before moving close to you two with the guide of his wand.

"Thanks, Sebastian, for the obvious observation." He sarcastically replies before feeling for your hand and pressing a soft kiss on the back of it. "Hello, love."

"You two practicing on your courting game or something?" You joke as you watch Ominis put down your hand gently. Sebastian tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he moves close to stand behind you. "I feel so flattered."

"It's just the bare minimum, dove." Sebastian leans in to whisper against your ear. He laughs softly as you move back, tickled by his breath. Ominis wasn't able to hear what the other Auror said and could only sigh in exasperation at Sebastian's antics.

"I heard you were finishing an intel report on a new case, Ominis." You change the subject as you rest your hand on his arm. Ominis places a hand on top of yours.

"Yes. Did Sebastian mess up again?" He turns to the direction of your voice with an accusing tone. "Don't answer. Of course he did."

"Hey! That's unfair of you to assume." Sebastian pouts.

"Am I wrong?" Ominis raises his eyebrow. Sebastian falls silent. "Thought so."

"Shut up."

"I am quite curious, though, did you ever have an instance that you weren't able to track someone?" You ask out of curiosity as your arm intertwines with Ominis's. You glance between the two as they pause to think. These two were deemed the best in the industry. Surely, the praises were exaggerated, right? You had a hard time tracking poacher locations, and you already had possession of ancient magic. Being the best doesn't entail 100% success.

"Nah." Sebastian answers nonchalantly. Ominis nods in agreement. "Sure, some took more time than others but everything's trackable."

You pause for a moment at their answers. "Really?"

"Yes. Everyone leaves tracks of magic every day. It's quite easy to decipher once you're used to it." Ominis adds, trying to convince you further. You hum, still unconvinced by their claims. Sebastian turns to you, looking at you with an unwavering stare. You tried to look back, but you could only glance away, not able to return it.

There's a moment of silence before the brunette breaks it off.

"You don't believe us, do you?" Sebastian says with his eyes wide and eyebrows raised in amusement. Ominis has an unreadable look on his face. You feel like you've offended them both with the way Sebastian's staring at you and Ominis's tense body.

"Well— I mean, surely not all right?" You sheepishly smile at him. Sebastian scoffs at you.

"I assure you, Y/N. When I track something, I get it done." Ominis turns his body towards you, causing your arm to fall from his. You look between the two as they continue to look at you with unreadable looks. You feel as though you've suddenly been cornered. Like you've done something worthy of their attention as Aurors and not as Sebastian and Ominis. This shouldn't excite you, but it did, and so you stupidly continued your plan on pissing them off.

Slytherins are known for one thing, and that's their drive for ambition and winning in competitive environments. What more to entertain yourself by pissing off not one but two snakes?

"Bullshit." You've resorted to using harsh methods. You could see the way Ominis's eye twitched and Sebastian's sudden change of posture. You were glad you met those boring guests back then, it certainly helped maintain a straight face. "Not even once?"

"Y/N." Sebastian takes a step close. "We're not kidding."

"Sure you are." You let out a giggle as you move a step back, trying to gauge their reactions. Ominis steps close to Sebastian's side as he clenches his jaw. This is fun.

Now, this is where the actual problem starts. You were having way too much fun trying to get a rise out of them that the words spewing out of your mouth were thought half-assed. You were joking but they we're taking it seriously.

"I'd bet my whole fucking body you won't be able to catch me. Even Bassett has a hard time getting me these days. What more of a challenge than a magizoologist to track, hm?" You laughed.

Bad move.

Bad fucking move, because all of a sudden, you could feel the tenacity of their stare. Even Ominis seemed like at that specific moment could see you and stare straight into your soul. You felt your body go rigid with nervousness.

The silence was long and uncomfortable. Both of them stood there, postures domineering and authoritative. You felt scared but at the same time, excited. You decided to make the first move.

"Guys?"

Sebastian licks his lips as he looks at Ominis before leaning close to his ear and whispering. The other Auror blinks slowly as he listens to him before nodding. Sebastian moves forward first.

"What's the bet again?" Sebastian smugly asks. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

"I'm afraid I'm not following—"

"You said you'd bet your whole body, right?" He reminds you. Your eyes widen in response.

"I wasn't serious about it." You try to reason with them.

"We weren't joking in the first place. You know we've always liked you. Why not take advantage of a little opportunity, hm?" Sebastian says with a low voice as he raises a hand to tuck a stray hair behind your ear. He looks down at you with eyes that seemed to mock you. You felt slightly ashamed but tried to keep your confidence afloat.

It was common knowledge that the two best friends pined after you. Ever since your 5th year, the two had fallen irrevocably in love with everything about you. You knew. They knew you knew and yet a silent pact was made between the two to never make a move on you as they didn't know how you felt and didn't deem it worthy as the fall of their friendship. You were glad somehow but also saddened because you never really chose between them. You liked them both. But they didn't need to know that. Right?

Well, it seems as if they're testing you right now, and with the amount of alcohol in your system combined with their dark looks trained on you, you wouldn't be surprised if you did admit your attraction to both of your best friends.

"Aw, are you scared?" Sebastian taunts. Ominis only stands behind him, posture calm and collected as he listens to his partner speak for him.

"Shut the fuck up." You reply in a weak voice, feeling intimidated by their aura. Ominis lets out a soft laugh. "I was joking about it in the first place—"

"Ah, ah." Sebastian grasps your chin in his hand, turning your face towards him. "You said it first. We're just finishing the job."

You let out a shaky breath as they continue to move closer and into your space. Sebastian's thumb caresses your bottom lip as he stares at you with want and desire.

"Let's be clear here, darling. The only reason why Bassett can't properly find you is that it's her that's finding you." Sebastian mumbles lowly. You could feel the grip on your chin tightening. Your knees tremble at his domineering hold on your face as your core begins to burn with arousal. "You've never had us."

Shit.

It's Ominis that sets the final nail in the coffin. He leans down to whisper in your ear. "Ryona's going to give a final speech in the next few minutes."

A hand slithers across the small of your back before grabbing your waist, pulling you close to him. You let out a small moan at the harsh movement before the lips against your ear continue to move. "We're going to give you 30 seconds to move. You got that, sweetheart?"

A soft kiss placed on both sides of your neck makes you whimper as both of them pull away from you. You watch as Sebastian casts a final look at you before both of them disappear into the crowd. You stand with knees weak and mind in shambles as you hear the crowd cheer at Ryona's entrance. She waves into the crowd and suddenly you're face with an existential crisis.

We're you suppose to move during? Or after? Did you have to hide? Fuck, did the 30 seconds already start? You couldn't grasp a single thing in your mind as your eyes tried to find the familiar backs of the two. It seemed all the eerier that you didn't know where they were. It was like a predator hiding and waiting for the perfect chance to pounce. So as the submissive prey that you are, you began to move.

You squeezed your way through heaps of people. Ryona's speech was already considered background noise for you. You had reached the east entrance, sighing in relief before a pair of hands stop you from reaching freedom. You could almost feel your heart drop before exhaling a big breath at the sight of your assistant, Judy Beckham.

"Where were you? I was looking everywhere for you!" Judy worries like the inner mother that she is. You could almost coo at her concern over your well-being but the thought of two Aurors after your ass was more pressing than the worried redhead in front of you.

"Listen, Judy. If ever you come across Sebastian and Ominis, tell them I went to the west side of the building." You smile widely as you hold her arms tight within your grasp. Judy raises her eyebrow in confusion.

"Y/N, you're not making sense—"

"Please!" You plead as you pull her closer to your face. The girl cranes her head back at the proximity. "I'm in grave danger if those two ever find me. Be a gal and lie, okay?"

Judy stares at you for a few seconds before sighing. "West. Got it."

"Thank you!" You grab her for a quick hug before bolting through the doors. Your heels clack noisily on the marble floor as you rushed through the partially empty corridors of the ministry. You pass by familiar faces who you kindly shoot a smile at.

"Fucking heels—" You groan as you reach for the devil traps on your feet, pulling them off and continuing your escape barefoot. You manage to reach the hallway to the elevator before a voice causes you to pause and crouch down to hide.

"Y/N." Ominis's tender voice echoes throughout the empty corridor. You hide in a corner as you watch his figure pass by the elevator. Great, the easiest way out was already guarded. You should've thought that ahead. "I know you're here."

You remain silent as you watch Ominis pace back and forth slowly, face looking calm and collected. You assess your surroundings, looking for a way to escape.

"Do you want to know why I know you're here?" Ominis asks which catches your attention. You check behind you to ensure that no Sebastian was sneaking up on you to catch you off guard. You wait for him to reply. "You've always had a particular magical aura. I sensed a glimpse of it when you entered the doors of the Great Hall in our 5th year, then it grew bigger and stronger when I saw you exit the Undercroft. Magical auras tend to vary according to a wizard or witch's personality and most of them feel loud and ... unnerving. You, however, shine like sunlight on a sunny day. A gentle breeze at the start of autumn."

Your breath hitched as you hear his footsteps halt. You feel your cheeks heat up at his declaration, you bite your lip as you wait to hear more. "I felt attached to you because of it. Like a moth to a flame. Do you think spending years by your side that I haven't got your aura ingrained in my head? I suppose that's what I get for falling for you."

Fuck. You don't know where he went. It seems as if one moment you knew he was there and then the next he was gone. You peek into the hallway, glancing back and forth.

You knew you shouldn't have let your guard down. You knew that you were faced with someone who was so used to tracking and feeling magic differently and more sensitively than others that it became an extra sense to them. You feel his breath before his touch.

"It's the very reason why I sense you right away. You're leaking your tracks everywhere, love." He speaks lowly against your ear. With a harsh shove and a twist of your arm to your back, he pushes you against the wall with your front against the hard surface.

"O-Ominis, wait!—" You try to plead but the Auror only presses you more against the wall. He had your arm twisted against your back with a hold of your wrist. His chest pressed against yours and his face on the side of your neck.

"That fast?" He mocks you as he laughs closely against your ear. You try to push back against his grip but you remain defenseless.

"Fuck you."

"You wish." He mumbles lowly in your ear. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent before placing possessive kisses against it. You let out sighs of pleasure before groaning in pain as Ominis grabs your head by your hair and angles it for more room on your neck.

"Let me go." You breathlessly beg as you allow him to pepper kisses against your neck. You wish to stay there and then but you knew that the boys wanted a bit more fun. After all, you wanted to get the most out of this once-in-a-lifetime situation.

"Now, why would I do that?" Ominis bites your ear lobe as he grinds his hips against your ass. You try to turn your head towards him.

"Cause you love a good chase, right? This barely counts as one." You tempt him, grinding back against his moving hips. He lets out an amused laugh, letting go of your wrist as he encloses his arms around your waist, hugging you tightly against him. You bask in his presence, head falling back on his shoulder. He turns his head to the side, placing more kisses on your neck before biting on your shoulder. You let out a soft moan.

"I'm giving you another 15 seconds. Run as fast as you can." He whispers in your ear before sensually moving his arms off your waist. He takes 5 steps back before motioning the empty corridor with a nudge of his hand. You lick your lips before running away from him.

Ominis tilts his head back as he pants from the arousal, running his fingers through his neatly styled hair before a voice enters his mind.

"Are you on your way?" Sebastian asks. Ominis rolls his eyes before fixing his coat. Sebastian often flexed his magical abilities, especially this one he had learned recently. The ability to communicate through the mind. His best friend was a natural student of magic, curious to the wizarding world and desperate in learning all of it as he is a son to two former educators. This was also what made him a pain in the ass.

"I let her go. She's on her way to you." He replies as he takes his time following your trail. He's sure if he made a run for it now, he'd get you in no time. But he decides to play by your rules.

"Fucker. Did you get a taste?" He hears Sebastian chuckle through their shared mind connection.

"Get the fuck out of my head before I get her myself."

"You're hot when you're angry, y'know?" Sebastian purrs. Ominis grunts at his flirt. "Got it, sir."

You don't know how long you've run. Most of the ministry departments were empty due to the large celebration on one of the building's halls. Everyone was there and the only creatures patrolling the halls were Matagots. They were formidable creatures who easily sensed intruders so if there was a breach in security, a single spell cast on a Matagot would immediately alert all of you. You've decided to stop at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as you deduced that Sebastian would probably be on standby in front of the elevator when it reached the ground level. At least here, you were close to the ground floor and there's a passageway that leads you down to the ground floor discreetly (you'd have to thank Hank, the house elf in charge of the elevator for that one).

Also because you've chosen this floor, consequently you knew you were on the floor where the Auror office is located. Which means, Sebastian and Ominis's floor. This is probably the least floor to logically be on but you probably (emphasis on probably) knew that they wouldn't check here. The passageway was located at the Head Auror's office and so you just need to sneak your way in and easily escape.

Unfortunately, Merlin was being a bitch.

As soon as you opened the entrance to the Auror division, you gasp quietly at Sebastian leaning against the doors to the Head Auror's office, twirling his wand elegantly between his fingers.

"Fancy seeing you here." Sebastian smiles so innocently. You stand on alert as he moves away from the double doors and towards you with careful steps.

"How'd you know?" You ask as you take steps back with every step forward from the man in front of you. Sebastian shrugs.

"When you're well versed with the dark arts, it's quite easy to detect certain things." Sebastian hums. "Or maybe it's just basic logic. After all, you have to think ahead of your opponent."

You continue to take a step back before your back meets a surface that wasn't originally there. You turn around to see the very same man who had given you a moment of mercy.

"Again?" Ominis smiles with pity, pretending to have no clue as to why he found you yet again. You let out a loud gasp before rushing to the one side of the room to move away from them both. The two stalk toward you like predators. You could feel your breath shortening with nervousness as they cornered you to a wall. You had no way out. You discreetly glance around you before seeing an opening to the Head Auror's office. In a moment of panic and sheer bravery, you bolt down towards the double doors leading to your escape, trying to get one last chance to run away.

Sebastian snarls as he runs after you. Ominis stands behind, arms behind his back as he lets his partner handle the work. You could feel the fast thumps of his foot against carpeted floor as your hands try to open the overly complicated entrance. You clumsily open the door before a set of strong arms grab your waist and pull you away from your only chance of escaping. You scream in retaliation before a hand covers your mouth.

"Bad, bad girl." Sebastian huffs as he presses you against his chest, hand on your mouth as he watches you fight back in his grasp. His hands then move to reposition themselves. One hand wraps around your waist while the other grabs your neck and grips it back to lay your head back against his shoulder. "Should I cast Oscausi on you for being so fucking loud, hm?"

"Sebastian." Ominis calls his attention before nodding to one of the open and empty offices. He moves towards the two of you as Sebastian pulls you to the empty roomwith Ominis locking the door behind him. "Stop scaring her."

"Do you think she looks scared?" Sebastian raises his eyebrow as he settles on a desk, pulling you to his lap. You shake, riddled with sensitivity as Sebastian continues to grip your neck. Ominis raises his hands, gliding up your arms before feeling Sebastian's hold on your neck and then moving up to your face. He feels the heat from your cheeks, the dryness of your lips and hears the soft little gasps and moans escaping your mouth. You were aroused and completely at their mercy. Ominis smiles as he runs his thumb against your bottom lip before leaning in close.

"We won, little dove. Are you ready?" He gently asks. Sebastian gently eases on his grip but remains his hold on your neck. You look up at Ominis and softly brush your lips against his.

"Just fuck me already." You pant, blunt with your response as the two fall into silence.

"Fuck." Ominis curses before surging in to press his lips against yours. Sebastian almost falls back at the sudden pressure but recollects himself as he busies with kissing your neck.

Hands begin to grope at your body. Sebastian's hands gripped your waist as he moved his hips up against yours, his bulge rubbing against your heat. Ominis cups the nape of your neck to angle you for a deeper kiss. You open your mouth, allowing the blonde to intertwine his tongue with yours.

"You're so fucking pretty," Sebastian mumbles shakily as he continues to place more marks on your neck, taking advantage of a sweet spot as you moan in surprise. "She's so fucking beautiful, Ominis."

"Yeah?" Ominis responds breathlessly as he pulls away for a moment before diving in for more. "Of course, she is."

Your hands find their way into their respective hairs. Gripping the roots tightly as you pull them closer to you. The two groan in pleasure. The three of you continue to make out before Ominis pulls you back with a tug on your hair.

"On your knees, baby." He licks his lips, savoring your taste on his lips. "Suck Sebastian off."

You pant as you look back at the brunette behind you who looks at you two with lust in his eyes. Sebastian smiles smugly. "You heard the man."

You giggle before rising from his lap, placing a chaste kiss on Sebastian's lips before kneeling in between his legs. Ominis moves to your left as you unbuckle his slacks before pulling down to expose his member, watching as it slapped heavily in between his thighs. Taking his cock in your hands, you gather your drool in your tongue before dripping it down your mouth as a form of lubricant. You perform swift up-and-down motions to start it off.

"Fuck, that's it." Sebastian moans as he runs his hands through your disheveled hair. Ominis listens to his moans before feeling his way up Sebastian's shoulder and finding it's way into his curls. He grips his hair and crane his head towards him. Sebastian moans loudly at Ominis's hold on him.

"Tell me what she looks like," Ominis whispers into his ear as he places wet kisses on his jaw before biting his earlobe. He then harshly pushes his head down towards you which gives you a signal to start using your mouth on him. You lean down to take his cock in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down as you use your hands to take what you can't fit in.

Sebastian chokes his moan as he feels Ominis's grip on his head become tighter. "S-She's taking it all in. Like a good fucking girl."

Ominis hums at his response. You look up towards Sebastian innocently as you pull slightly back, sucking on his tip before you twirl your tongue around it like a lollipop.

"F-fuck— Ah. She— She looks so perfect with my cock in her— A-ah! I-In her mouth. Look's so fucking pretty— Merlin's beard." Sebastian stumbles over his words as you bob your head faster. Ominis smirks against Sebastian's cheek before he speaks parseltongue into the brunette's ear. You feel the shiver and twitch of Sebastian's hips as his face becomes flushed red at Ominis's hypnotic speaking of the language of snakes.

It seems as if Sebastian enjoyed it too much as a hand wraps itself around his neck, gripping it tight as Ominis continues to speak in tongues to his ear. Sebastian whimpers, eyes rolling back before the blonde moves his grip on his neck to his jaw to pull him into a deep kiss.

You moan at the sight of the two making out, encouraging you to give the best fucking head Sebastian Sallow has ever fucking had in his life. With a twist of your hand and fast bobs of your head, Sebastian archs his back in sensitivity, breaking away from his kiss with Ominis. His body curls as he grips your hair, pulling you away from his dick.

"F-fuck wait." Sebastian whines as he pants, not handling the intense pleasure from your mouth on his dick and Ominis's mouth on his, especially the fucking parseltongue. He almost came in your mouth if it weren't for his swift reaction. You twist your hand over his tip to tease him. He then transfers his hand from your hair to your neck, gripping it firmly. "I said wait. Can't follow simple fucking instructions. Get up."

You whimper as Sebastian pulls you up from the floor through the grip on your neck before moving his hands to grip the back of your thighs to carry up you and wrap them against his waist. He settles you down on the desk before pushing you back to lie down on it. Ominis moves to the other side of the desk where your head is placed. The two make haste on pulling your clothes off of you, leaving you bare and naked on the wooden surface.

"Fucking gorgeous," Sebastian mutters under his breath as he runs his hands on your thighs before pulling them apart to stare at your pussy. Ominis runs his hands on your chest, groping your breasts into his hands. The blonde groans at the feeling of your body within his grasp. He remembers dreaming of this very moment and it's now within the palms of his hands (literally).

Sebastian pushes your thighs up against your chest and you whine in embarrassment at the exposing position. Sebastian chuckles at your sudden shy behavior. "Don't worry, it'll pass. I'll make sure of it."

You could barely process Ominis's groping on your upper body before you feel Sebastian's tongue on your cunt. You gasp at the sudden feeling which makes Ominis smile.

"Sebastian, wait—"

"I told you to wait awhile ago, why would I do that?" Sebastian retorts before diving in and devouring your pussy like a man finally quenching his thirst. His tongue licks back and forth on your clit before sucking it. He then presses the flat of his tongue, moving it up and down before using the tip and move in circular motions. He slurps the juices dripping out of your pussy, moaning at the taste. The vibration of his moan causes you to moan loudly in pleasure.

"Sebastian— Oh fuck! fuck.. fuck!" You pant as you grip Ominis's arms, taking what Sebastian's giving. "Don't stop, please please please please!"

"Yeah?" Ominis leans down to caress your face, feeling the tears drip down the side of your face. "Little dove crying because you feel too good, hm? Poor girl."

You sob as Sebastian continues to assault your pussy with his tongue. Pleasure courses through your veins as the brunette between your legs manhandle you into the position he desires. Ominis basks in the sounds of your moans and the wet and messy slurps of Sebastian's work. His cock twitches against his pants. He eases the pain by using his free hand to rub against the front of his slacks. You look up at Ominis who continues to caress your face. "Ominis..."

"Hm?"

"Kiss me." You whine softly as you feel a knot slowly build up in your stomach. Sebastian continues to eat you up and a building pressure reveals itself in the process. Ominis smiles at you before leaning to place a kiss on your lips, upside down. He swallows your moans of pleasure as he pushes in his tongue, slowly and passionately kissing you deeply.

Sebastian glances up from his position, furrowing his eyebrows at the loss of your pathetic moaning. He smirks as he sees you focused on kissing Ominis before deciding to take matters into his own hands. He moves up to your clit, focusing the attention of his tongue there before adding the usage of his hand, gently rubbing the entrance of your cunt. You gasp at the sensation before yelping at the insertion of a finger inside.

"Ah!" You pull away from Ominis in the process as Sebastian eases his fingers into you. The brunette glances at the blonde with a smirk and a light chuckle. Ominis definitely heard that.

"Feel good, pretty girl?" Sebastian hums against the side of your thigh as he watches his finger go in and out of you before adding another one. You let out a measly moan in response. "I need to hear an answer."

"M-Mhm." You moaned out as he begins to curl his fingers up, pushing it deep within you. Sebastian pushes back against your clit, sucking it and licking it well for you. The sensation of his tongue and fingers begin to bring you closer to the edge. "Oh, fuck."

"Close?" Ominis whispers as he leans down against your ear. You let out short breaths as you feel the knot slowly unravel. Sebastian enters another finger as he speeds up the process. His fingers begin to reach depths even yours couldn't reach. It felt so fucking good as the tips of his fingers brush against a sensitive spot within you that jolts your back into an arch. It was there yet it wasn't. Sebastian's tongue flicks and sucks faster against your clit as you descend rapidly into the madness.

"Let me cum, please. please." You whined as your hand reaches up to intertwine with Ominis's locks. The blonde torments you from above as he sucks marks alongside Sebastian's work during his time on your neck from awhile ago.

"Go ahead, pretty girl," Ominis whispers in your ear alongside Sebastian's ministrations. The knot unravels fast as your body shakes violently in their care. Your orgasm is hard and slow as Sebastian does his best to lengthen it, your thighs crushing his head close against your heat. You let out long and loud moans as your body rises from the desk in the process. Ominis grabs you against his chest, kissing the side of your head softly as Sebastian continues his assault between your thighs, making sure to slurp every last bit of your release. "There you go."

"Stop, stop!" You reach a hand down, trying to push his face away from your heat. You let out a small laugh from the sensitivity as he continues to mouth your cunt.

"Tastes so fucking good," Sebastian growls as he pulls away, lips red and chin dripping with your arousal. He places a gentle kiss on your clit as you twitch in sensitivity at the action before kissing his way upwards and pulling you into a deep kiss. Your tongues intertwine as your back rests against Ominis's chest. The blonde's hand runs through Sebastian's locks, gently petting his head as the two of you kiss. His free hand moves to where your lips are connected, probing his index finger within your tongue as he tries to feel you two kiss. Ominis lets out a shaky sigh at the feel of your tongues moving against one another before you two pull away.

The brunette looks up at you with a smile. "How'd you want us?"

You take a breath as Sebastian places a chaste kiss on your cheek while Ominis places one on the side of your head. "Ominis inside. You get my mouth. He's been on the sidelines for way too long."

Sebastian nods with a cheeky grin. "Got no complaints there."

Ominis places a kiss on your forehead as he helps you up before exchanging places with Sebastian. The brunette sits on the desk as you stand between them with Ominis behind you. You hear the rustling of clothes behind you before turning around to look. Ominis had taken off his coat and bottoms, leaving him bare from the waist down. His cock slaps heavily up against his stomach, dripping pre-cum from the amount of waiting he had done. Throughout your sexual escapade, Ominis opted to listen in on your and Sebastian's pleasure than himself. He was more of a observer, preferred ordering the two of you and revel in the moans and pants pulled by pleasure. You take a note to spoil him further in the future.

He pulls you back against his chest as he moves close to you and Sebastian. The brunette cups your cheek, placing a peck on your lips before he travels his hand to the top of your head and pushing you down gently to his cock. You eagerly use your mouth to pleasure him, slipping it inside and try to take him all in.

"Damn, fuck. Can never get used to this. Your mouth is a fucking haven, baby." Sebastian curses as he feels the tip of his cock reaches the back of your throat. You choke slightly at the deepness of his dick before bobbing up and then down, forming a rhythm. The brunette tilts his head back in pleasure, letting out soft moans as his fingers tighten within your locks. Ominis listens in on his moans as he uses his wand to conjure a lubricating charm before pumping his dick for a bit of stimulation. He lets out a moan before pressing the his cock against your folds.

You moan at the feeling of a new sensation against your heat. Ominis places a hand on his shaft, rubbing the tip against your folds. He slides it against your clit, moving it in circular motions and hears your appreciative moan. His free hand then grabs your waist as leverage before finally positioning the tip against your entrance. "I'm pushing in, love."

You hum against Sebastian's dick in response before feeling the pressure of Ominis's cock split you open. He was a bit longer than Sebastian but the brunette was thicker. The two were already considered big and the moment that you felt the two of them inside you made you all the more conscious of their size. You whimper against Sebastian's cock, unable to move as Ominis continues to slide in his cock.

Sebastian glances down at your tear-stricken face, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. Ominis bottoms out with a groan, letting you adjust for a moment before beginning to move. The jostle of Ominis's hips propels your forward causing Sebastian's dick to go deeper inside your mouth.

"Yeah. Liked getting fucked by Ominis?" Sebastian taunts as he brushes your hair away from your face. A bruising grip on your hips that you're sure will mark you in the morning, pulls you back with every thrust. Ominis's cock reaches depths farther than Sebastian's fingers, the curve of his dick and the ridges alongside it brushes deliciously against the soft walls of your pussy.

You moan in response as Sebastian begins to move his hips, thrusting into your mouth. You choke as you feel his throat touch the back of your throat once again.

"Support her upper body." Ominis orders. Sebastian places a hand on your shoulders as Ominis grabs both of your hands, twisting them against your lower back, holding them both with one hand as he suspends your upper body in the air with Sebastian's help. The position allows you to be completely at their mercy as Sebastian fucks your mouth at this point and Ominis's thrusts go deeper, faster and harsher.

You can only shriek and moan against Sebastian's cock as you take what they give you. Sebastian feels his release fast approaching, hips stuttering. "Holy fuck, I'm close."

You allow him to use your mouth as he pleases, thrusting fast into your mouth as he moans loudly at the process. Ominis leans down, placing a kiss on your shoulder before growling in your ear. "Don't waste a single fucking drop."

His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine and it seems as if Sebastian also heard it. The brunette releases with a choked moan, spurting his release into your mouth. He moans as his hips jerk in sensitivity, emptying it all before slumping on the desk. You swallow it all before coughing, finally being able to breathe.

Ominis takes this as an opportunity to fuck you harder.

"O-Ominis!" Your voice raises in pitch as his hips hammer against yours. He releases your arms, opting to pull you up against his chest. His hands busy themselves with your breasts as he grunts into the crook of your neck. "O-Oh fuck. Right there."

Sebastian smiles lazily as he watches his best friend rail you to the point that your eyes roll back in pleasure. To give you a more pleasurable experience, he raises a hand to wrap his fingers around your throat, gripping it with enough pressure to hear you whine and moan.

"Yeah, that's fucking right baby. Sebastian's choking you again? You love that shit." Ominis growls against your ear as he pounds your tight pussy. He angles his hips to hit that spot that Sebastian grazed over with his fingers, pulling louder moans from you. Your eyes lock with Sebastian's as Ominis fucks you from behind.

"Pretty girl's crying because you're fucking her too good." Sebastian laughs as he leans forward to kiss your tears away. Ominis chuckles against your neck. You could feel your release fast approaching as a hand makes it's way down to where you're connected.

"Mm, stretched so fucking well for me." Ominis hums before moving to your clit and circling it fast deliciously. Your moans get louder.

"Ominis, Sebastian!" You whine as you feel your release fast approaching. Sebastian tightens his grip on your throat making your moans choked as Ominis fucks you faster and deeper.

Already feeling the edge of his release, Ominis rubs faster as his hips stutter. His pace becomes harder and harsher. "Cum baby. Cum."

You let out a high-pitched whine before finally reaching your climax. Your knees shake, almost giving you up before Ominis grips you up, supporting you against his chest. You let out loud moans as your orgasm wreaks havoc throughout your body in violent shakes. Tears stream down your face at the intensity of your release and Sebastian smiles at the beauty of it all. Ominis continues to pump his cock inside, reaching for his release. "Where?"

"Inside. I-I'm on the potion. Please, cum inside." You moan as you lock eyes once again with Sebastian, his grip loosening from your neck as he pulls you into a kiss. Ominis grunts before releasing inside. He moans loudly, bottoming out as he orgasms. "Good girl."

You rest your upper body in Sebastian's embrace, waiting for Ominis to finish before whimpering as the blonde pulls out. Ominis runs a hand down to your cunt before pushing the cum back in. Sebastian chuckles as he hears you let out another weak moan.

There's a moment of comfortable silence as you three catch you breath from the amount of strenuous activities you've done in the past few hours.

"Damn, that was probably the best sex of my life." Sebastian chuckles, breaking the silence as he pulls you fully into his embrace. You rest your head on the crook of his neck while Ominis runs a hand through his hair.

"I'm so tired." You groan in exhaustion. "I'm not moving a single fucking muscle. This is both of your fault."

"Me too? It's Ominis who you should be blaming. The man was railing you to fucking oblivion." Sebastian jests which receives a harsh smack on the back of his head. You chuckle at the crisp sound of Ominis's palm hitting Sebastian's head.

"You literally fucked my throat. Sore throats are a bitch to cure." You weakly pull away from Sebastian's embrace, feeling the ache on your ass. Ominis notices your discomfort from your grunts of pain.

"Did I go too far?" The blonde shyly asks. You turn to look at him with a soft smile. You had the hardest and best fucking orgasm of your life and now this man was acting all shy and cute after he had just practically destroyed any other chance of another person reaching that kind of level with you. You couldn't really blame him after he had just ascended you to a different realm with his dick. Sebastian helps you up before you place a kiss on Ominis's lips.

"Don't worry. I loved it." You reassure him. Sebastian and Ominis help you get dressed before the two focus on their garments. Sebastian casts a cleaning charm to any suspicious fluids that might have touched any surface while Ominis casts Reparo to the destroyed piles of paper scattered on the floor (a product of their haste to fuck you moments ago).

There's a moment of silence after cleaning up as the three of you stand, fully clothed in the empty office space. This time, Ominis makes the first move. "I assume from all that's happened that you know we're still pretty much in touch with our feelings for you."

Sebastian looks at you, assessing your facial expressions as you looked at them both. Sebastian continues. "This can be a one-time thing if you don't want to delve deeper into it. We also don't mind if you prefer one over the other. Our friendship will remain intact, that I assure you."

You look at them both as their body language speaks of nervousness and fear of rejection. You doubt your friendship will ever be fixed if you chose one of them. You roll your eyes playfully. "I literally just got fucked by both of you and you're telling me to choose one?"

"I— well." Ominis tries to reason. Sebastian is silent for a moment before shrugging in agreement.

"I mean she's got a point." The brunette chuckles. You limp towards them, Sebastian's hand reaching out for you while Ominis's arm wraps around your waist.

"I assume you're choosing us both, correct?" Ominis clarifies. You chuckle at his need for reassurance before reaching up to place a kiss on his lips before turning to Sebastian to give him one as well.

"Yes. I am." You firmly answer. Ominis lets out a smile while Sebastian laughs softly. "Now please apparate me home, I'm not walking another fucking corridor after what you guys put me through."

"Yes Ma'am."

A/N: ITS DONE OFMHDHDH this took way too long but I had fun writing it. It's my first time writing filth and I hope it was up to satisfaction 😭🧎‍♂️🫶 will probs cringe at this in the future. TYSM.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy x reader #arthenaa #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis x reader #ominis smut #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy smut #filth #absolute filth

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ichorai · 1 year

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little dragon ; aemond targaryen. (m)

part two ; water dragon.

pairing ; aemond targaryen x tully!f!reader

synopsis ; he was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest.

words ; 5.8k

themes ; fluff, smut (minors dni!), fantasy, established relationship (married), pregnant au

warnings / includes ; unprotected sex, tiny bit of oral (f recieving), breeding and praise kink, pregnancy/childbirth, vhagar cameo, aegon being a menace, foul language, aemond being a good husband/dad unlike his own father, so sorry if the valyrian grammar isn't completely correct ;-; if anyone gets the bert & ernie tully reference you deserve a million dollars

main masterlist.

It happened in the dead of night. When the winds quietened to but a feathery whisper, when the moon shone white and gold and silver, when the fires in the hearth of your chambers had waned to a soft orange glow.

“Ñuha jorrāelagon,” he whispered against the flushed skin of your neck, traveling downwards to softly kiss along your clavicle. His voice was gravely and rich, soaked with honey and ocean salt. The sapphire within his eye glinted with the dim lighting of the sparse candles scattered around your chambers, and you craned your head to press a kiss upon his scar, your nose slotted against his cheekbone.

My love was what he’d said—you didn’t know much Valyrian, still trying your best to study during your free hours, but your husband called you that often enough for you to recognize the affectionate words.

One of your hands was buried within his silken silver hair, tugging in tandem with his swift, fluid motions. The other clawed down his toned back, leaving angry red trails in its wake. A strained cry fell from your kiss-swollen lips as you rocked your hips against his.

Aemond held your waist in a tight grip, thumbs brushing against the sides of your ribs with every stroke of his throbbing cock within your slick, heated cunt. His lips, his tongue, his teeth—all blistering, scorching, searing with need.

“Sīr sȳz syt nyke, ñuha embar.” So good for me, my sea. He was your fire, and you were his sea, willing to push and pull the tides at his behest. A guttural groan tapered his voice to a close when you clenched around him, his susurrating praises mumbled against your breast sending jolts of arousal straight to your core. His rapid, desperate string of Valyrian fell upon deaf ears, buzzing with pleasure. Stars colored your vision a blinding white when one of his hands relinquished his hold on you to snake down your abdomen, pressing his long fingers against your clit.

“Aemond!” you just about sobbed, legs curling around his waist to pull him closer. You were insatiable, cracking your eyes open once more, a thin film of tears warbling over your widened gaze. “Oh, please, please—!”

A gasp caught in your throat as he thrust into you with more power than before, but froze once he was completely sheathed within your throbbing cunt. “Please, what? Have I fucked you stupid already, jorrāelagon, hm? Dragon got your tongue?” he hummed in mild amusement, regarding your beautiful, sweaty form with a hungry, lustful expression, eyebrows cocked as he waited for your answer.

Part of you wanted to snarl at him, tell him to keep moving, but the other half of you wanted to cry and plead and beg for his cock.

Knowing your husband, he would’ve been quite pleased with either.

“I want you to finish inside me,” you breathed out, lips brushing the shell of his ear, eyes half-hooded with want. “Fuck me full of your cum, valzȳrys.”

His cock grew impossibly harder within you, throbbing almost painfully—whether it was because of you calling him husband in his native language, or because of your devilish tongue laving upon a sensitive spot on his neck, he couldn’t quite tell. Expression hardening, he grabbed at your hips and yanked himself out of you, before flipping you onto your stomach and swiftly breaching your entrance in no less than three seconds, earning him a shriek of surprise which winded into a litany of breathless moans and blubbering pleas.

And yet, he remained still, cock stretching you out so deliciously well—but he wasn’t moving. You sobbed with frustration, burying your face into the feather-pillow in front of you, muffling your desperate cries. Aemond’s growl thundered through his throat, and he slid his hand into your hair and tugged you up flush against his chest, so he could hear your obscene noises loud and clear. His free hand creeped down between your trembling thighs, where his middle finger only barely grazed over your clit, despite your fruitless attempts to buck your hips up to meet his touch.

“Ask me again nicely, ñuha embar,” he whispered, placing a loving kiss to the side of your temple. “In my mother tongue—you remember all those lessons I gave you, no?”

You wanted to curse at him. Your Valyrian lessons with him were the very last thing on your mind at the moment. Thoughts hazy, you murmured out a bit shakily, “Kostilus, qogralbar nyke, Aemond. Ta… Tatagon iemnȳ, kostilus.”

Please, fuck me, Aemond. Finish inside, please.

He hummed in satisfaction as he pressed sweet kisses along the curve of your shoulder. He gently pulled out and began to roughly thrust back up into you as soon as you moaned out, “Nyke jorrāelagon ao!”

I need you!

A broken sigh tumbled from your throat when he finally began to fuck you just the way you wanted, knowing that your climax was drawing near. You had no chance of lasting when he began to circle the pads of his fingers against your clit.

“Iksā sīr sȳz. Sīr, sīr sȳz, ñuha embar,” he said, chest rumbling with each word. You feel so good. So, so good, my sea. “Avy jorrāelan, avy jorrāelan, dōna ābrazȳrys.” I love you, I love you, sweet wife.

You preened with his praise, arching your spine and pushing your hips back to match his quick pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of your arousal rang loud and true throughout your chambers, bouncing off the stone walls and ricocheting back to you, heat spidering over your skin upon hearing your own lust.

“Tatagon syt nyke,” he growled, motions growing erratic and hurried. Cum for me.

With one final moan, you collapsed against him, cunt spasming tightly around his dick as you toppled down from the edge, pushing Aemond over the brink as well, spurts of warm cum painting your cunt. Despite the both of you already coming down from your highs, Aemond rocked into you a couple more times, kissing your sweaty hairline over and over again as he showered you with muted praise. The sticky substance dripped down the insides of your legs once he gingerly pulled out of you with a low sigh. He reached down to collect it and abruptly stuffed his cum-slickened fingers back into your cunt, wrangling a sharp intake of breath from you.

He chuckled lightly, pulling his hand back out and dragging his tongue over his finger to taste the filthy mix of your essence with his seed, before winding his arm around you to allow you to do the same. You whimpered around his fingers, sucking on the digits slowly—Aemond could feel his cock growing hard again.

With a pleased hum, he languidly set you back down on the bed so he could lay beside you, pulling his hand away from your mouth with a lewdly wet pop.

“I love you,” you croaked, throat parched and voice hoarse from all your moaning, an utterly blissful grin stretching your swollen lips.

Aemond cupped your face within his palms and pressed a chaste kiss to your damp forehead. “And I you, my dear sea.”

MOON ONE.

“It’s been a moon since you’ve bled, my lady,” your handmaiden, Lailena, commented, a knowing excitement to her gaze. “Could that mean…?”

In truth, you haven't told anyone about your pregnancy just yet. Nobody knew except you and the maester, who’d sworn himself to secrecy with a kind, understanding smile. It’d been a couple days since you found out, and you were still trying to find a way to tell your beloved husband. In the meantime, you were enjoying the peaceful privacy of knowing that it was only you who knew of the babe growing within you. No doubt when the news would inevitably break out, Alicent and Aemond would be hovering over you like overprotective hawks.

Not being able to contain your smile, you grasped your handmaiden’s hands within yours. “You’re not to tell a soul, Lailena. I still have yet to inform the prince.”

Your handmaiden mimicked locking her lips shut, a beautiful smile etching across her features. “I am so happy for you, my lady. If you need anything—anything at all, please do not hesitate to let me know.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, my dear,” you hummed, patting her cheek affectionately. You had a soft spot for your young handmaiden—having stopped her from being sold into a whorehouse against her will at the ripe age of ten-and-two. “Will you please draw me a bath? I’d like to wash the day’s labor off of me.”

Not ten minutes later, you were sighing in relief as you sank into a tub of warm water, the heat a relief for your tense muscles. You let your eyelids slide shut, lolling your head against the bath’s edge.

A familiar pair of hands settled upon your bare shoulders, and you didn’t have to look to know that it was your husband coming to check in on you.

“Rytsas, ñuha jorrāelagon,” he hummed, kneeling by the gilded tub’s edge and pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. Hello, my love.

“Aemond.” You shifted so you could face him, the water sloshing about with your movements. Nervousness was eating away at your insides, and you thought that no time would be better than now, where nobody else would bother you. “My darling husband, I have something to tell you.”

For a brief moment, worry flashed across Aemond’s expression, afraid something was wrong. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing bad,” you reassured him, a soft smile hanging onto the corner of your lips when he leaned forward to rest his forehead over yours. “At least, I hope it’s not.”

He remained mute, wordlessly urging you to continue.

“I am with child.”

There were exactly three seconds of silence, presumably Aemond taking time to fully comprehend what you’d just told him. And then, a rare, beautiful smile overtook his usually impartial expression, his heart skipping over several beats with the realization that he was going to be a father.

“You’re not jesting, embar?” he whispered, nose nudging yours. “Because this would surely be a cruel joke.”

Mirroring his growing elation, you let yourself beam brightly, craning your neck to kiss him properly. “I’m not jesting, Aemond,” you murmured, trailing your lips up to freckle kisses over the marred skin of his scar, and around his eyepatch, which you itched to yank off.

“My love,” he said, struggling to find words for how he was feeling. Overjoyed? Shocked? Scared? “This is… you’re so… wonderful. This is wonderful. Avy jorrāelan. I love you, more than anything—and our little dragon.”

You scoffed, pulling away from him with raised brows. “Dragon? You forget I am a Tully, dear husband—they will be half my blood.”

With an affectionate roll of his eye, Aemond lifted his hand to tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Alright, alright. Half-dragon, half-trout, then.”

“Fire and water.” You nodded in satisfaction at the compromise, your jubilated smile stolen away with a kiss from your sweet husband.

MOON TWO.

Aemond felt the bed shift as you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and swinging your legs over the edge of the mattress. A small noise of discontent rumbled in his throat as he propped himself onto his elbow, vision still adjusting to the darkness.

“Where are you going?” he whispered, voice still gravely with slumber, twinged with confusion. “The hour is still early, my love. The sun has yet to rise.”

You hummed, leaning down to kiss his cheek, before rising onto your feet, shrugging on a silken green robe. “I have a sudden craving for honey cakes. I’m going down to the kitchens to see if they have any left from yesterday’s supper.”

“Now?” queried your husband, seeming partially miffed, and partially amused. He roused from the bed himself, sliding on a loose tunic so his chest wasn’t bare, and followed you out of your shared chambers and into the hall. “What brings about such a queer craving? You’ve never been particularly fond of honey cakes before.”

Subconsciously, you rested a hand on your stomach. “It must be the babe. I’ve been having the strangest cravings the past few days. Around a fortnight ago, I wanted to have nothing but apple fritters—those ones with cinnamon glaze, you know? For a while, everything else made me feel sick.”

A ghost of a smile graced Aemond’s lips. “I remember—mother said you were looking rather green at the mess table.”

You scowled at the memory, which spurred Aemond to huff out a laugh and tug you closer into his side.

“My little dragon is a picky one,” he murmured, glancing down to where your hand hovered over your belly, still having yet to show physical signs of the pregnancy. “This is a good thing, ñuha dōna embar. They must already know their worth.”

Once in the kitchens, a part of the castle neither of you had ever ventured in before, Aemond scoured around for the blasted honey cakes you craved for so badly, and found them in a small container on the highest shelf. He pulled them down and handed one to you, grinning ever so softly when you didn’t even give yourself time to properly thank him before shoving one into your mouth and moaning around the pastry.

Aemond kissed your temple and took a bite of his own piece of honey cake to appease your pleading urges for him to try it, even though it was far too sweet for his taste.

MOON THREE.

You were beginning to show, and Aemond couldn’t be happier.

“Our dragon is growing,” he’d say every morning without fail, a prideful gleam to his eyes. “And you have never been more beautiful, dōna ābrazȳrys.” Sweet wife.

That afternoon, he brought you down to the dragonpit where Vhagar was nesting with her brand new clutch of eggs, wanting to introduce his little dragon to his much larger one. You watched with wide eyes as her bronze, spiny tail curled around four scaled eggs, each a different shade of copper. It was a miracle that a dragon of her old age laid a clutch of eggs at all, much less four of them.

“Do not be afraid, embar,” he whispered, noticing your stiff movements and your hesitant steps, despite the brave facade you tried to hold on. “Vhagar will not hurt you.”

At the sound of her name, the dragon lifted her head, bright green eyes shifting to her master, then to you. She huffed out a small plume of warm smoke in greeting.

“Lykirī, Vhagar,” commanded Aemond, placing a hand on her snout and gently urging you to come closer. “It’s alright, love. She can sense the dragon inside you.”

Still a bit tentative, you shakily lifted a hand and laid it beside Aemond’s, stroking the warm scales of her large nose. Emerald eyes shining, Vhagar’s chest rumbled, and she dipped forward ever so slightly, slotting her hot muzzle against your belly, as if acknowledging the babe inside you.

Aemond smiled, his one eye creasing at the corners. “She likes you.”

“Though I have never been more petrified in my life…” you began softly, patting Vhagar’s snout and grinning widely, “I like her, too.”

“What do you say we pick an egg for our little dragon, hm?” asked your husband, commanding Vhagar to stay as Aemond led you to the beautiful quartet of shiny eggs.

MOON FOUR.

You leaned against the intricate stone railing of the balcony attached to your chambers, breathing in the fresh morning air. You had woken up early—much earlier than you usually did, unable to fall back asleep because of the baby constantly moving inside you.

Not too long after, your husband stepped out onto the balcony as well, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. Neither of you said anything, perfectly content on basking in each other’s comfortable silence.

His hand laid upon your slightly rounded stomach, rubbing gentle circles over the thin fabric of your sleeping shift. The first birds of the day chirped as the sun rose, spilling golden light over the two of you.

You leaned back into him with a pleased sigh. “Helaena has asked me to come watch the twins today. I’m rather excited for them to meet the babe.”

Humming, Aemond nuzzled his nose into your cheek. “I’m excited to meet my little dragon, as well.”

MOON FIVE.

Since you’d been having trouble sleeping as of late, Aemond found that fucking you to exhaustion was one of the few ways to get you to sleep soundly throughout the night. It was either that, or he could read philosophical books to you in Valyrian.

And though he quite enjoyed reading to you, the prince much preferred the former option.

“Ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys,” he hummed deeply, bordering on a growl, thrusting back into your sensitive, slick cunt. My beautiful wife. “I’ve fucked you full hundreds of times and yet you always want more. I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you everything, sweet embar.”

A low moan slipped from your throat and you desperately pulled his face to you, your lips meeting in a feverish manner. He grunted into your mouth when you clenched around his lengthy girth, nails raking angry red lines down his shoulders to the middle of his back.

“Aemond!” you cried, bucking your hips up to meet his, lips parting in a tantalizing manner.

Your eyes slipped shut with the overwhelming pleasure, but Aemond grasped your chin, softly grunting out, “Keep them open, love. I want to see you when you come all over my cock.”

The intense eye contact made your body flush with a certain heat, hurtling you ever so close to your climax. Your husband snuck a hand between you to draw slow circles on your aching clit, and you were abruptly slammed into your third orgasm, the first two stolen from Aemond’s silver tongue and long fingers, respectively.

Utterly spent, you trailed kisses over Aemond’s cheek, up to his scarred eye. He had slowed down to a gentle rock, cock still stiff and aching within you. “You can move, Aem,” you whispered, placing a tender kiss to the very tip of his nose. “I want you to cum inside—I want my cunt to be dripping with your seed.”

And he groaned at your lewd words, dipping back down to meet your lips once more, all teeth and tongue. His breath hitched as he began moving once more, your soaked core feeling like absolute heaven.

“Mmh, fuck!” he growled, emptying inside you, catching himself with his elbow when he collapsed, thankfully before he could crush you or the babe. “So good for me, dōna embar.”

A low whine emitted from your lungs when he slowly pulled out, holding your legs apart to observe his spend leaking out of your fluttering cunt.

Much to your simultaneous dismay and pleasure, Aemond just couldn’t resist, swiftly moving down to drag his tongue from your cunt up to your clit, grumbling an expletive at your taste.

“Aemond!” you yelped, flinching away with overstimulation, lightly swatting at his shoulders with a laugh. “Gods, you’re going to be the death of me,” you said, grinning when he moved back up with an apologetic smile, dark sapphire glinting with the flickering candles lit about your chambers.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. You taste heavenly.” Finally, he settled back onto the bed behind you, pulling you flush against his chest. “Get some rest, Y/N. I plan on tasting you on the morrow. Perhaps you can ride my face again.”

“Sounds wonderful,” you murmured in response, not having listened to anything he’d said, already drifting halfway into sleep.

You slipped into a deep slumber with Aemond’s arm protectively slung over your baby bump.

MOON SIX.

You were grateful that you no longer grew sick at the sight of a regular supper. You weren’t quite sure how long you would’ve lasted on honey cakes and apple slices alone.

Dinner that night was a warm, peppered vegetable stew with loaves of steaming bread to mop it up with. There were other courses, such as honey-glazed venison, and slow-roasted pork belly—the latter of which Aemond avoided entirely despite Lucerys’ hushed giggling from across the table. Initially, he’d wanted to stride across the room and strangle the smug expression off the younger boy’s face, but one look at your stern, disapproving countenance made him hesitate, before begrudgingly digging back into his food.

He was to be a father soon. What example would he set for his child if he were to go about beating his nephews every other minute?

Lucerys was not the only one who stirred trouble at the table that evening.

Rhaenyra and Helaena were pleasant for the most part, querying about your pregnancy and giving their own advice from their previous experiences. Baela and Rhaena were also kind to you, eagerly asking if you had any names picked out for the babe. You told them that you haven’t yet thought about it, sheepishly smiling. “If you have any ideas, I’m more than willing to listen,” you told the younger girls, which made them beam brightly with excitement. You didn’t know the two nearly as much as you wished to, but you were willing to try and build bridges between the steadily distancing sides—bridges that Aemond, as much as you loved your husband, was keen on burning.

Alicent was silent for most of the time, only pitching in every so often to make passive-aggressive remarks to Rhaenyra, and occasionally trying to compliment you with a strained smile. As Aemond was her most beloved child, she’d always wanted to be closer to his dear wife, but found it troublesome to bond with you when you were so very fond of Rhaenyra.

The men at the table, on the other hand, were an entirely different story. Jacaerys and Daemon quietly spoke to one another, but were rudely interrupted by Aegon spilling wine all over Jace’s lap. He drunkenly proclaimed it to be a slip of his hand, a mere accident—but everyone at the table knew he’d done it on purpose. Jacaerys was visibly stiff, but held his tongue, fist clenching and unclenching around a silver fork.

“I pity your betrothed, I really do,” simpered Aegon to his nephew, hiccupping as he downed some more wine. The rest of the chatter at the table halted to watch the drunken Prince blubber on further. “How will you please her in bed if you haven’t the faintest clue where to put your cock?”

“Aegon!” Alicent admonished sharply, eyes wide and jaw set.

The eldest Prince waved his mother away, standing up abruptly, brandishing another chalice full to the brim with alcohol. You briefly wondered where all these cups were coming from. Then, Aegon rounded his gaze on you and Aemond at the other end of the table. “See, my dearest brother has figured out how to do it! Look, his wife is all round with his first child—perhaps the next could be mine. It matters not which Targaryen fucks you, it’s not like you can tell the difference when the babe comes out. Your Tully whore of a wife probably wouldn’t even mind, brother! I’d bet all my coin every guard in this room has sullied her already!”

In a blink of an eye, Aemond was on his feet, lips curled into a snarl. Alicent also stood up, glancing between her two boys worriedly, afraid a fight would break out.

You were the last one to rise, placing a hand on Aemond’s arm. He seemed to soften beneath your touch, glancing back to look at you briefly, nonverbally making sure that you were alright.

You shook your head, glaring harshly at Aegon, before turning on your heel and marching out of the mess hall, leaving a portion of your dinner largely untouched.

It took everything within Aemond not to clamber onto the table and throw his fist into his older brother’s arrogant, drunken face. He longed to resort to physical violence—after all, Aemond was taller and stronger and quicker than him, and would easily best his brother in a fight. But his urge to be by your side was far greater, so he settled with scathing words and a lingering threat.

“You are a foul excuse of a brother, Aegon. If you ever dare to insult my wife again, I will carve out your tongue myself and feed it to my dragon.”

With that, Aemond stormed out of the hall, strides quickening so he could catch up with you. On his way out, he faintly heard his mother trying her best to patch up the situation, rambling in a panicked fashion, “Aemond doesn’t mean it, Aegon. Sit down and finish your supper, will you?”

Aemond rolled his one eye. He’d meant every last word of what he said.

When he finally caught up to you, you were already in your chambers, gently wiping the dampness of your frustrated tears from your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, tugging you into his chest and stroking the back of your head. “My brother is a drunken fool. Do not take his crude words to heart. He is not worth your tears.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Aemond,” you murmured into the fabric of his tunic, blowing out a calming sigh. “You didn’t have to follow me, though… you didn’t get to finish your supper.”

He blew out a mildly amused huff. “Neither did you, dōna embar.” Sweet sea. How you adored the affectionate nickname he called you. “I love you. And I would follow you to the ends of this world if I had to—even if it meant missing a bit of supper.”

It felt as if your heart was melting through the confines of your ribs, and you could only lean forward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You are everything to me, my darling Aemond. I love you, too.”

MOON SEVEN.

The baby was kicking again. Nonstop, for the past three hours.

You glared down at your swollen belly, before uncomfortably shifting on the bed until you were sitting upright. The babe kicked once more, as if sensing your annoyance. You couldn’t help but huff out a small laugh.

From beside you, Aemond looked away from the thick history tome he was reading and tilted his head. He’d thought you were already asleep. “The hour grows late, ñuha jorrāelagon. What troubles you so?”

With an exhausted sigh, you laid your head upon his shoulder, and Aemond immediately shut the book and placed it off to the side.

“The babe,” you said, threading your hand with one of his and tracing shapes along the back of his palm. “They haven’t stopped kicking since I got out of my bath and I can hardly sleep more than a few winks. Though, I can’t say I can complain—Lailena says the ones who kick more will grow to be strong warriors.”

A small, satisfied smirk flitted over your husband’s sharp features. “Of course they’re kicking around—they’re a dragon after all.”

“Trout-dragon,” you reminded him, a soft smile to your lips.

Aemond barked out a laugh. “Dragon-trout.” His free hand came around to place it on the center of your belly, and he sucked in an astonished breath when he felt the baby moving around beneath his palm. He met your eyes, shining with pride and adoration—for both you and the babe within you. “They’re a true Targaryen. We’ve never been too keen on sitting still.”

“So this is your fault,” you bit out, drawing yourself away from his shoulder to narrow your tired eyes at your husband. “I just want to sleep!”

His purple iris glinted salaciously. The hand on your belly began inching further down between your legs. “Maybe I just need to tire you out, hm?”

“No, I’m already so very tired,” you murmured, melting beneath his touch. Immediately, Aemond retracted his fingers, cupping your face and pressing sweet kisses over your heavy eyelids.

“I’m sorry, love. What can I do?”

With a grateful slant of your lips, you settled yourself into his side once again. “Read to me, please. You have a very beautiful voice—it’s especially soothing in Valyrian.”

Humming, Aemond reached over to grab the history tome once more, flicking it open to where he’d left off.

The Prince began reading the tale of Aegon’s Conquest out loud for you, his Valyrian effortlessly smooth, like pure honey to your ears. Not even three pages deep, you had already given into the alluring promise of sleep, cheek smushed against his shoulder. Aemond kept reading anyway, placing a hand on your belly, certain that his child could hear his low voice.

“One day you and I will be in one of these books,” he told the babe, a wistful smile on his face. “And our great, great, grandchildren will be reading about us and the many adventures we’ll go on.”

MOON EIGHT.

The fire crackled hungrily as Aemond kindled the greedy flames with a fresh wedge of wood.

“What do you think of Jacaelar?” your husband asked. “It’s a fine name for a son.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t know—their nickname would be Jace, and you’re not particularly fond of the Jace we already know. What about a Tully name? How does Bert sound for a boy?”

“No.”

“Ooh, what about Ernie?”

Aemond grimaced. With a laugh, you playfully rolled your eyes. “Alright, alright. We’ll stick to Valyrian names.”

After a moment’s silence, Aemond suggested, “Vaeron?”

“Yes, I rather like that one.” You grinned. “Do you like Daera for a girl?”

Your husband sat down on the plush chaise beside you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s a good name—though my younger brother Daeron might think we named our child after him, and I’d really rather not inflate his ego. I like the name Visera. There’s also Rhaelor, Jahaela, Haerys, Saelyra—”

“Oh, it’s just too many to choose from!” you exclaimed, cutting his extensive list off and sinking further into your seat. “We can just call the babe Aemond the Second and be done with it.”

With a chortle of laughter, Aemond shook his head, fine silver strands of hair tickling your cheek when he drew you close into his side. “And what if our little dragon is a girl?”

“Then we call her Aemonda. I don’t know,” you harrumphed, crossing your arms. Aemond lightly pinched your thigh. After another second, you gently proposed, “... Syraena sounds lovely. Don’t you think so?”

Humming, Aemond bowed his head. “Syraena. It is a lovely name.”

You rubbed your hands over your distended stomach. “Do you know if you’d rather have a son or a daughter?”

He took a moment to consider your question before quietly replying, “I care naught for the babe’s sex—they will be my blood, regardless. My little dragon.” Before you could correct him, he hastily added, “Trout. Dragon-trout.”

The two of you began cracking up with silent laughter, and you turned to watch the fire burn away, small golden embers floating up from the hearth.

You heard your husband murmur Syraena beneath his breath once more, clearly content with the name. A glowing beam graced your expression.

NINE MOONS.

The birthing was the most painful experience you’d ever gone through. There were tears streaming down your face, and your hair was damp with sweat. Aemond was by your side, loyal as ever, clutching your hand and murmuring sweet words of encouragement, uncaring of the impropriety of a man in the birthing room. He’d gone so far as to threaten the guards when they first told him that he should be waiting outside, enjoying the celebration being held in your and the babe’s name.

“Try to keep me from my wife and I will decorate the floor with your guts,” he growled, his single eye burning with a thirsty flame.

The guards didn’t bother him after that.

“Oh, it hurts! Aemond, Aemond, please, it hurts,” you sobbed, another wave of pain washing over your body. “I need the baby out! Come out, come out, come out!” you screamed, skin burning hotly as more sweltering tears meandered down your perspiring face.

“It’ll be over soon, embar, you’re doing so well,” assured your husband, even though he looked every bit as terrified as you did, perhaps even more so. Gods forbid such a thing to happen, but if Aemond were to lose you to the perilous task of childbirth, he didn’t think he could ever live with himself afterwards.

The midwives began telling you to push, and you happily obliged, eager to get the labor over and done with.

It was said that your screams shook the very ground, but that might’ve just been Aemond exaggerating the truth out of proportion.

“Congratulations, my Prince,” said one of the midwives once you’d pushed and pushed and pushed until you nearly passed out from the strain, the babe finally coming out of you with a shrill cry. Aemond could feel his heart lurch at the sound. “You have a beautiful, healthy girl.”

“Do not congratulate me, it is Y/N that did all the work,” muttered your husband, kissing the back of your clammy hand and sweeping the hair sticking to your face aside. “You were wonderful, jorrāelagon.” His face bore nothing but radiant pride, a rare beam stretching his lips wide.

He stood up, turning to the midwife to look upon his small, screaming daughter, who was quickly bound in a red woolen blanket. She handed him the babe, and Aemond gently situated her into his arms.

“You have the lungs of a dragon, little one,” he crooned, expression bearing little else than raw love and adoration for the tiny thing. With fluid movements, he kneeled down beside the birthing bed once more, easing the baby into your awaiting arms.

An exhausted smile made its way onto your face when you took the baby, cooing, “Oh, so you’re the one always kicking around during the night. It’s nice to meet you… Syraena.”

The baby—your daughter—sported thin wisps of silvery hair, much like her father and her grandsire. Targaryen blood ran thick, after all.

You turned to grin at Aemond. “She has your nose,” you murmured, voice thick with emotion and love.

Little Syraena’s wailing began to wane away as you bounced her, and she cracked open her tiny eyes for a brief moment, blinking up at the two of you with a wide gaze.

“And she shares the color of your beautiful eyes, embar. Rytsas, Syraena,” greeted Aemond, expression soft and ever so tender. One of his fingers reached out to gently stroke her soft, chubby cheek. For several moons, he’d read to her when she was still in the womb, and he wondered if she could recognize the sound of his voice.

“My little dragon…” Aemond murmured. “My sea dragon.”

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klemen-tine · 1 month

Text

Glass Bones and Paper Skin Part 3

Platonic! Bruce x Model! GN! Reader

Trigger Warnings: Hint at suicide, Body Issues, Eating problems (not a disorder), Child Neglect, stalking, Partner Abuse

Part 1

Part 2

@problematicreblogger and @wpdarlingpan Since you guys wanted to be tagged lol

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Y/N sat in the bathtub in the guest room. It’s been three days since they arrived, saw the photos, and the creepy trophy room. Three days since their conversation with Dick, finding out that they had all been on their terrace and taking photos of them. Stalking them.

They wrapped their arms tighter around their legs, resting their chin on sharp knees and staring at the porcelain tiles and gold facet. Three days of walking on egg shells, somehow managing to evade most attempts in hanging out with the siblings and Bruce, and only really seeing them at meals. Y/N hasn’t built up the nerve to ask about the trophy room, but Y/N knows that everyone in the house knows that Y/N knows of the two rooms. They know of the photos, the ones taken without their permission or knowledge, and the clothes that have redefined their modeling career.

Sighing, Y/N stared at their pruning hands and the now cool water. The bubbles dissolved a long time ago and the essential oils had become diluted enough that the scents no longer permeated the air.

Finally dressed in a robe, lotion and oil on their skin and face and teeth washed, Y/N exited the bathroom and screamed at the sight of Jason on their bed. In the midst of their panic they threw the brush at the larger man, who caught it skillfully.

“Wha-what is wrong with you? No-wait, why are you in my room?” Y/N walked around the large bed to where all their clothes are kept. Their eyes not leaving Jason’s imposing figure that was currently resting on their bed.

“I knocked.” Y/N rolled their eyes, “I didn’t ask if you knocked, why are you in my room?” Jason shrugged, “Just felt like I haven’t talked to you in a bit.” Jason and Y/N’s relationship was like that of dragons in the old ages. Full of history and non-existent.

Jason was already dead by the time Y/N had entered the Manor. A small body buried in the Wayne gravesite. In hindsight, Y/N’s timing had been awful. Moving in when Tim basically forced Batman to take him in as a Robin, Dick’s and Bruce’s relationship had worsened, Jason was dead for about a year, and Alfred had still been grieving. Truly a terrible time to join a family. Y/N could taste the tension when they had first moved in, and they understood immediately that they were just another unneeded burden.

A 13-year-old Y/N cried in their bathroom, mourning their mother who had loved the fame more than them, the friends that loved Y/N for Y/N, and the life on the West Coast that they were now expected to continue on the East Coast.

The unfairness of it all.

“What do you want to talk about?” Y/N asked, rummaging through the drawers and finding a nice shirt and some nice jeans.

“Hmm, oh you know, the casual how are you doing? How’s the model-life? Any fun stories you have? What have you been doing lately?” Y/N started changing in the bathroom, keeping the door cracked so they could hear the questions.

When Y/N reemerged, now fully dressed and the robe hanging on the back of the door, they smiled at Jason, “I’m doing good, kind of tired but that's to be expected because of the ‘model-life.’ The fun stories I have are more of traveling around the world and seeing different cultures and eating good food.

“As of late, I’ve been thinking about getting a cat.” Jason’s brow raised, “You travel though.” Y/N nodded, “Yeah, some models travel with their pets and I think that's what I plan to do. They’re easier to travel with than a dog, and I don’t think a dog would like my condo.” Jason nodded, “You could always leave it here. The little spawn would take care of it.”

“I can’t do that to the family. It’s my pet and should be my responsibility.” Jason hummed, “Is it because you don’t want to visit?” The air stilled and blue eyes met E/C. Jason didn’t look bothered, if anything he seemed relaxed about the whole thing, “It’s fine if that's the reason. I hate being here too.”

Jason came back as a dead person Y/N knew not to talk about. From the stairways, they would watch Jason storm out after a bad argument with Bruce. Unable to completely understand what exactly was going on, but from the hushed conversations they knew it was something they didn’t want to know about.

“I don’t hate being here, I just don’t have reason to visit other than Alfred.” Jason continued to stare at them, “Not even for ‘family.’”

“Jason, when have you ever looked at me and saw a sibling?” Jason didn’t banter with Y/N, never showed interest or any inclination that Y/N even existed. Y/N is pretty sure that to Jason, Y/N is just a stranger living in the manor.

Y/N wonders if they will see Jason’s temper. Will it appear like the monster hidden in the closet, waiting for the right time to lash out at anything? Y/N has heard the screaming matches, the threats, the holes in the walls from Jason. For someone who has killed people, Y/N wonders if they should really be mucking around with Jason.

When Y/N looks at Jason, they see the middle child of a family that had other priorities. Once upon a time, Jason was the youngest and loved by Bruce, but then younger Robins came. Jason died, and while never replaced, Robin was.

When Y/N looks at Jason, they see the middle child of a family that Y/N is not a part of.

They are not siblings. Not cousins, relatives, they are not even friends. Barely acquaintances if Y/N is honest. Which is fine. Y/N has gotten over the hurt and feelings of loneliness.

It is just Y/N against the world, with Alfred partially in their corner. Not fully. Never fully because Alfred will always be in the Wayne family’s corner, and Y/N is not a Wayne.

Jason sighed, “Mmm, I guess that night when you took a beating from that one dude for not getting in the car.” Y/N paused in brushing their hair, mind reeling and slowly turning their head to look at Jason who was instead picking at his nails. Y/N opened their mouth, but Jason beat them to it, “You went out partying, like almost every high schooler does, and your boyfriend was drunk.”

“Just get in the car, Y/N!”

“No! You’re drunk and you said you’d stay sober!”

“I am sober, now get in the fucking car!”

“Fuck off!” A 15-year-old Y/N stormed off, turning their back to Marcus Dueller, the then jock of the school. A rough hand grabbed their shoulder and a fist met their face, “You don’t talk to me like that.”

“...Marcus wasn’t my boyfriend.” Jason didn’t show any signs of hearing Y/N, “You took a pretty bad beating, I’ll admit it. I was going to step in once he started choking you, but you took that brick to his head pretty hard.”

Blood splattered across Y/N’s face as Marcus collapsed. The hands around their neck loosening and Y/N took deeply needed gasps of air. Their throat aching and lungs burning as they rolled over onto their hands and knees. Tears pricked their eyes as the pain and realization settled in.

“I called his friends. He was fine, just a concussion.” Marcus and Y/N never talked again, and Marcus’s friends took one look at the bruises on Y/N’s face and neck to understand what had happened.

They all stayed Marcus’s friends, because unlike Y/N, Marcus was loved by his family.

“Then, you walked your beaten ass towards the liquor store.”

“Oh my God! Y/N!” Stacey cried out in shock, and she gently cupped bruised cheeks and watched split lips grow into a smile.

“Can I have that bottom shelf vodka please?”

“Bitch, you need a second shelf from the bottom vodka.” They sat outside of the store, Stacey’s partner taking over the counter as she watched Y/N take swig after swig from the bottle. Her concerned eyes tracing over each and every bruise and cut, down to the clothes they were wearing and scrapes in their knees and hands.

“How many does this make?”

“Seven. Whoever said seven was a lucky number is a liar.”

“Oh Y/N, why do you keep doing this?” Y/N gave Stacey the most beautiful they could muster. Not minding the ache in their cheeks or the burning of alcohol on split lips.

Looking back at it, perhaps Y/N was on a downward spiral. Trying to find love in other people that weren’t the people at home. From ages 13 to 15, Y/N had dated over 9 people. Not one of them made it past two months, and none of them were healthy.

Once Y/N got into modeling, all their attention went into it. Dating and friends were on a standstill as their career and education became a priority. Maybe that was another thing Y/N inherited from Bruce, a known serial dater. Although, Y/N knows for sure that their taste in partners was definitely inherited from their mother.

Some of Y/N’s earliest memories are of M/N getting berated and smacked around by men bigger than her. When they would leave, Y/N would emerge with bandaids and tears on their face. M/N would smile at them, blood from her nose painting her lips red and she would cup soft cheeks and whisper in their ears-

“Diamonds have never been made with gentle hands.” Y/N glared at Jason, who was meeting that glare head on. Now that they are older, Y/N has learned to hate that phrase. They have watched numerous models be in kind and gentle hands and still be beautiful. Still have a loving and healthy relationship with themselves and the other.

Now that they are older, Y/N knows how untrue those words are. Yet, who said those words had to only be applied to romantic partners?

“Now here you are, in your glass castle imitating diamonds.” Y/N’s nose scrunched, “Always the poet, reading the classics.” Jason shrugged, "Someone has to be literate in this messed up family. Sure as hell ain’t Bruce.” Y/N rolled their eyes, “So what? That still does not explain anything. More importantly, why now then?” Why was it now that they decided to make a move if they had supposedly been caring for a while now.

Jason smirked, "Because finally, Bruce sees it too.” Y/N narrowed their eyes and watched with pursed lips as the bigger and stronger man got up from the bed, and walked over to them, “I’d wear comfortable shoes, Y/N. You’re going out with Bruce and the little spawn today.”

“Wait, what do you mean Bruce finally sees it too? What is there to see?” Jason smiled at him, and it looked more of a monster preening at it’s prey. Callused hands reached up and traced the small, almost invisible scar on Y/N’s upper lip.

“Make sure you smile, the vultures will be there too.”

++++

“I do think green will look best on you.” Y/N smiled at Damian, “Green looks good everybody, Damian. You just need the right shade.” Between them was an emerald green silk shirt, the price displayed like a bounty and Y/N wanted to walk out of the store once they saw it. Yes, they made a lot of money, but Y/N also knows what it means to be frugal.

Damian raised an eyebrow and continued to judge the piece as if it had insulted the family. Y/N set the shirt down and continued to peruse the aisles. Their eyes looking at all the clothing and trying to predict what will be in style. What could they use to match or create their own trend? It is still winter, meaning layers will still be necessary but how to make a stylish outfit when there needs to be layers.

“Do you see anything you want, Y/N?” They jumped a bit, and whirled around to see Bruce smiling at them. Those blue eyes, intense like winter rivers, roamed over what Y/N was looking at and he raised a well groomed eyebrow, “Do you want that one?”

“N-no, no thank you. I’m just looking.” Bruce hummed, and wrapped a large arm around Y/N’s bony shoulders and brought them close. He pressed his lips against his temple, an unusual act of affection towards his kids but everyone will chalk it up to Y/N being a model and still young. Bruce whispered against Y/N’s skin, “Just let me know what you want, and I will get it for you.”

‘If I want to be left alone?’ Y/N didn’t voice it, but they didn’t have too. Bruce’s grin was sharp, “Within reason, Y/N.” A chill ran down Y/N’s spine and they swallowed down the bile threatening to come up.

“I have money, Bruce. I can buy my own stuff.” Bruce picked up a shirt, “Let me spoil you. It is what parents do.”

“You already paid off my condo, that is good enough.” Bruce continued to smile, “That was for the birthdays and holidays I missed while you were with us. I still have to make up for the time when you were with your mother.” Y/N wanted to scream, “How about you donate that then?”

Bruce smiled, “I already do. Let me spoil you.” He kissed Y/N’s temple once more before walking away, eyeing everything the way designers did when critiquing their pieces. Y/N had a feeling that if they didn’t get something from here, the store would be paying the price. Grabbing a sheer halter top and pair of black high waisted pants, Y/N let Damian throw the green top on the small pile and made their way to the check out. The cashier smiled nervously as the Wayne family stood in front of her.

True to Bruce’s promise, he paid for the three articles of clothes, the pair of shoes, the jewelry, the accessories, the–

“I think that is enough.There are a lot of bags, and while I appreciate it, I really don’t need anymore stuff.” Y/N placated Bruce and Damian, already picturing the amount of trips it will be to take everything back home. The man seemed satisfied though, smiling and shrugging his shoulders, “If you insist. How about some lunch now?”

Y/N wanted to decline. They wanted to go back to the manor and get away from everybody. The feeling of walking on eggshells and constantly being watched had their skin crawling and the need to take another bath. Bruce wrapped an arm around Y/N’s shoulder and brought them close, and Damian took up their other side.

“You’re acting more as a bodyguard than a father it seems.” Bruce smiled, “We’re having a nice family outing. I’d hate it if one of your ‘followers’ interrupted." Y/N furrowed their brow, but they could not stop their body from tensing, “Someone is following us?”

“Unfortunately.” The photos they saw in their old room re-emerged and a feeling of dread seized their muscles, making them lean further into Bruce. Yes, they were once all Robins, but not once in those photos taken from their terrace was there ever a reflection of the Bat.

“It’s okay Y/N, I’ll make sure they won’t take any of you.”

“How… how do you know its not you they want a photo of?” Bruce smiled, guiding them into a fancy restaurant, Damian requesting a table away from the windows, "Because they all know not to follow me.” There was something akin to a warning in Bruce’s voice that had Y/N biting their lips and following the wait staff quietly.

Y/N watched as Damian and Bruce conversed casually, well, as casually as Damian can be. The topics went from school, a family named the Kents, and future prospects. Damian was still unsure about what exactly it is he wanted to do, and it most likely didn’t help that Tim was the one who was going to take over Wayne Enterprises.

Y/N continued to eat and sip their tea, not wanting to add to anything as their mind wandered. After talking to Jason, it proved to Y/N that they were somewhat always being watched. Jason bringing up that one specific memory may have made Y/N’s heart rate spike, but it did prove that Jason was there. The photos, all of them that were taken without Y/N’s consent, show that everyone had at some point gained interest.

However, why did they never act on it? Why wait until now to do something?

‘Bruce finally sees it too.’ Y/N’s jaw clenched, what does Bruce have to do with any of this? Could they not interact without Bruce’s permission? Alfred would never allow that.

Would he?

“What do you think, Y/N?” The question jolted Y/N out of their thoughts and back into reality. Looking around the table to two expectant gazes, they gave an apologetic smile, “Sorry. I was thinking about something, what was the question?”

Damian scrunched his nose, “What is there to think about when you have blood-related family members in front of you?” Y/N blinked in shock, and then remembered how much blood meant to Damian. They shrugged, “I have a busy schedule coming up.”

Bruce stabbed the piece of steak with the silver fork, “You do, don’t you.” He stared at his child, one who he has left to their own devices and now is estranged from the family. Always keeping them at arms length, and never looking back to see if they are behind them. Not because Y/N trusts them to be, but because Y/N was used to them not being there.

Y/N, for how proud Bruce is of them for standing on their own, is still naive. Still innocent. They didn’t notice the paparazzi lurking around, or maybe they got so used to them they learned to block them out. None of it sat right with Bruce. Those should have been things he taught Y/N. Things to prepare Y/N for a world that was bathed in camera flashes and gossip. How to look out for themselves. How to defend themselves, and what to do in case there is a stalker. Those should have been at least a fraction of what Bruce taught them.

Yet, he never did any of that. Looking at Y/N sitting across from him, sitting tall and with a closed-off expression, had Bruce frowning. Y/N was still polite, smiled when they needed to and engaged in conversation, but there was still a wall between them. Almost like glass. Bruce is able to see everything and hear almost everything, but his ability to interact with his child is limited. All interactions stopped by the wall of glass put up by Y/N themselves.

It's a good thing that Batman breaks glass windows on a daily basis.

“You have some shoots in New York, will you be visiting afterwards?” Bruce watched Y/N’s eyes widen and lips pursed. He could see the breaking point, cracks spreading throughout the glass as Y/N’s mind tried to wrap around the question.

“How–”

“Is it odd for a parent to know their child’s schedule?” Y/N blinked, and processed the information. A tight smile formed on their lips, “How long have you known my schedule?” Bruce took a bite of the steak and Damian continued to eat his plate of some fancy pasta.

“Now Y/N-”

“How long have you known my schedule?” Damian glanced up, irritated at their father being cut off, but the look on Bruce’s face had him settling down. The man was smiling, non-threateningly but all Y/N could see was the Bruce that had stood before them in the changing room after Gabanna’s runway show. The same eyes, full of intentions that had Y/N shivering and the money, power, and background to act on those intentions.

“Like I have said, Y/N. I am making up for the lost time and neglect you have faced within our home.”

“And I have said, Bruce, there is nothing to make up. That still does not answer my question about you knowing my schedule.” The cracks were spreading, chipping away and becoming weaker.

“What parent doesn’t know-”

“Don’t repeat that sentence. Bruce, you know what I am asking and you keep avoiding it. Who told you my schedule?” An emotion other than faux politeness finally filtered into Y/N’s voice, making the question sound firm and unlikely to bend or be swept away with Bruce’s elusivity. He smiled, “Oh Y/N, did Maya not tell you? GLM Agency has been under new agency since last year. Wayne Industries is now the parent of GLM Agency.”

Y/N stared at Bruce in confusion, their pretty face twisting as the words registered with them. Everything crashed on Y/N, like glass shattering and bathing them in their shards. The guest room that is identical to their bedroom at home, the clothes that are from their closet, the two rooms full of their photos and mannequins wearing their iconic looks, that fucking Batman-inspired piece of clothing.

“Y/N.” They’re walking away from the table, head lost in thought and body moving on autopilot. The need to get away from everyone was overpowering the logical part of their mind, and Y/N is walking towards the front door of the restaurant. Pushing the glass doors open, and being bombarded by flashes from cameras.

“Y/N, what do you have to say about your mother?” A 13-year-old Y/N was guided out of the condo by police officers. Eyes rimmed red from crying and their only source of comfort was the blanket they managed to snag before being escorted out.

“Were you aware of your mother’s drug-use?”

“Are you on drugs?” A 17-year-old Y/N walked past the paparazzi, keeping their eyes forward even though they wanted to snarl at that person.

“Y/N! Look over here!”

“Look!”

“Over here!”

A large hand gripped their arm guided Y/N through the crowd and towards the parking lot where the car was. The large body blocking the photos and shielding them from the flashing of cameras that had thrown Y/N back in time. Once inside the safety of the metal box on wheels, Y/N became aware of their rapid breathing and the feeling of their heart pounding. Irregular beats and sweat began to form on their skin as they struggled to take a breath. Just one breath.

The hand that had guided them to the car grabbed their wrist and placed it on a large and firm chest, emphasizing the deep breaths that Y/N needed and wanted to take. Rough fingers gently traced their cheek, up to their ear, and then to their hair. Gently bringing Y/N back to the present.

“Shh shh, it’s okay Y/N. It’s okay. You’re safe.” E/C eyes drifted around the car, and closed once they saw the person’s reflection.

“Father, those vermin have been cleared. All of them will be getting in trouble.”

“Thank you, Damian.” Y/N rested their head against the glass and fought down the need to jump out of the car. Bruce eyed Y/N, and what made it worse was there was an apologetic look on his face.

“Y/N, I… I am sorry. I thought Maya had told you.”

“Seems like your manager isn’t doing their job if you didn’t know. You should get a new one.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Y/N mumbled, feeling a headache forming and they wanted nothing more than to curl under the covers and die. They could feel Damian’s pointed look through the seat, “Maya is a great manager. She will not be replaced.” Damian sneered, “She didn’t even inform you of the change in ownership.”

“Because it does not concern me. As long as I am able to get booked and get to my destinations, it does not matter who is in charge.” Y/N paused, “Although, now it looks like nepotism.”

Bruce huffed at his child’s overdramaticness, "It's not nepotism. I had no say in what shows you did or who booked them.”

“But you had a say in what clothes I wore.” Ice filled the car and Bruce gave Y/N a long look.

“Just that one piece, and I asked her to do it. She didn’t have to do it.” Y/N laughed, long and hollow as they turned their head to Bruce, “Of course she had to do it. Bruce Wayne is asking for a commission piece, who would turn it down without risking their reputation?” The man sighed, “Y/N, I submitted a commission piece. That is the only thing I had a hand in throughout your modeling career.”

“Others won’t believe that.”

“Who cares what others think.” Y/N whipped their head around to Damian, “I do. I do a lot actually. I care a lot about what my fellow models say and think about me.” The boy rolled his eyes, “Why? Their opinions don’t matter.”

“And your’s do?”

“We are family!”

“By blood, yeah! That’s as far as it goes.” Damian looked ready to snarl out more remarks, but the abrupt parking of the car had both of them pausing. They were already at the manor, and Y/N wondered just how fast was Bruce driving to get them here so quickly.

Y/N was quick to jump out of the car, “I will grab those bags later. Please don’t make Alfred take them.” Bruce followed, “Y/N.”

“No! No, ‘Y/N’ or anything. I want to be left alone.” Y/N pushed open the manor’s front door, and they wonder how many times they have snuck in and out of these doors before. Was it really even sneaking out if someone knew?

“Y/N, we need to talk about this.” There was something in Bruce’s voice that stoked the right ember within Y/N’s chest. Whipping around, they glared at the two Waynes, “For fuck’s sake, I just want to be left alone! I was fine with how things were. None of this-this- whatever the hell this is!

I was fine on my own. I was fine without you guys. I would have been fine if you stayed away!” Bruce didn’t even look bothered that Y/N was yelling, in fact the asshole looked relieved. He gave a patient smile with fake concern in those blue eyes, “The thing is though Y/N, you never should have done it on your own.”

Y/N rolled their eyes, “Where the hell did all of this even come from?! This… this sudden need to be part of my life? You’re not even being subtle about it!” They were drawing a crowd, but Y/N couldn’t even bring themselves to care.

“I keep telling you, it does. Not. Bother. Me that you all were inattentive. It doesn’t make me mad, it doesn’t make me upset, it doesn’t stir anything within me knowing you were not there. Yet here you are trying to make it up and all that nonsense, but when I tell you that it's fine you don’t listen!

“It genuinely seems that you are not doing this for me, but to ease your guilt.” Bruce met Y/N’s gaze, and it appeared they were in their own little showdown. Bruce’s gaze, not showing a hint of anger or irritation at his child while Y/N seethed. For once, Y/N looked liked the wild one in the family. Their teeth bared and eyes full of unadulterated rage, they glared at Bruce with the face of a raging angel.

They hated how Bruce’s lips pulled into a smile, and the feeling of gloating eyes falling on their body from all their siblings. Like they all knew something Y/N didn’t.

“Bruce finally sees it too.”

Y/N pocketed that thought, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down. Nothing intelligent was ever said when angry–

“So tell your big brother Y/N, how do you expect us to trust you on your own when you can’t even notice someone on your terrace?”

– Fuck it. Intense E/C eyes landed back on Bruce, “If you bought GLM Agency a year ago, why now?” Bruce continued to stare into Y/N’s eyes, “Because it seemed like you needed a break from Gotham. So, I figured a year away would be good.”

Y/N narrowed their gaze, “Then why didn’t you call?”

“Because it looked like you needed a break.” Y/N chuckled, “I needed a break, or you needed time to get those rooms set up?” Bruce raised a brow, but Y/N continued on, “It's one thing to have photos from some photoshoots but not photos taken without my consent. Or the clothes I’ve worn on mannequins with almost the exact same physique as me.”

“They are exact.” Y/N tore their gaze away from Bruce to stare at Tim, the thin and exhausted looking teen standing above them on the stairway. Chapped lips opened, “We used the measurements within the modeling database and created mannequins that have your exact measurements.”

Y/N gaped at him for a quick second before rolling their eyes, “Wow. That’s not helping your guys’ case at all.” Dick approached them, going for a placating gesture and an easy smile, “Now Y/N, I think you might be overreacting–”

“I think I am underreacting to all of this. I find out that you all have been taking secret photos of me, which someone them are from my ‘stalker’ and I don’t really believe that but whatever, you have access to my bank account, you bought the modeling agency I work for, commissioned a Batman-inspired piece, and that you have been keeping some of runway pieces on models that are exactly my measurements!

How else am I supposed to be reacting?! And I still don’t have my phone back!” Y/N snapped at Dick, and then began to rub their temples when the headache got worse. An Aspirin, they need an Aspirin. Now, preferably but Y/N has the strangest sense that even if they did take it, the headache would not go away.

“Whatever, just… I’m going home tomorrow and whatever was bought today just… just ship it. Since you know my address and all that apparently.” Y/N began walking up the stairs, ignoring the panicked looks some of their ‘siblings’ were giving them and the dark look on Bruce’s face.

Dick, ever the peacemaker, reached out, “Wait, you can’t go back yet! You still have a few more weeks before your next shoot. Just stay for a few more days.”

“Add kidnapping and being held against my will to that list too.” Y/N continued walking, feeling exhausted and wanting to sleep. They missed the nod Bruce gave Tim and Damian, and they missed the dark and knowing looks on Jason’s and Dick’s face. The walk back to the room was long, and more exhausting than usual. The events of today caught up to them and Y/N wanted nothing more than to cry, scream, and then go to sleep.

Because why not.

“Y/N, you are making a mistake.” Dick followed after their younger sibling, who only sped up to get away from them. The man grabbed Y/N’s forearm, “Y/N, listen! You don’t want to do this.”

“What is ‘this’ you are talking about Dick? I am literally just going home. It is not a big deal.” Y/N tried to pull their arm away from Dick, but to no avail.

“It's how you are doing it Y/N. All we want is to spend time with you and make up for the lost time!” Y/N wanted to scream at Dick, but held it in and instead gritted out, “Why didn’t you do it normally then? Like… texting or calling.” Dick pouted, those blue eyes looking sad and his lower lip jutting out like a toddler, “We missed you, and we just wanted to see you.”

Y/N’s face was scrunched, their mouth open in disgust, “How can you say that with that look on your face as if you all weren’t the ones who ignored me?” Dick looked heartbroken and some part of Y/N felt bad about that. They remembered the room with the photos and the other side of Dick that they saw only a few days ago. Their body seized in terror, but Y/N tried to keep their expression neutral.

“Look, Dick, once again I am not mad about how my time here was spent. I’m genuinely not. But you guys keep throwing it back in my face and saying such contradicting things, of course I’m going to get upset about it.” They are trying to be civil. Trying so desperately to be civil and it feels like it is not working. Old wounds and painful memories continued to be dragged out of the crevices of their minds like it was some type of zoo attraction.

A 16-year-old Y/N stared at the shattered mirror, tears racing down their face as they stared at their broken reflection. All they could see were the imperfections everyone continued to call out. Comparing them to their mother, to other models, to society’s twisted views of beauty that Y/N is trying to be.

If their mother was alive, would she know what to say? Would she gaze at them with those soft eyes and long lashes, smiling beautifully and whispering, “Diamonds have never been made with gentle hands.” Continuing to remind Y/N that modeling was not a gentle job. It wasn’t a job for those with paper skin or glass bones. Those easily hurt by the meanest of comments, nastiest looks, and the horrendous words never made it in this industry.

Would this have been easier if they had the support of Bruce and his kids?

Labored breaths and broken sobs filled room-turned-practice room as the mirrors caught the sight of a teenager breaking down. Crumbling and shattering under the pressure, pricking their fingers as they cleaned up the broken mirror and picking up their shattered image.

It will be those same mirrors that watched those broken shards form their glass castle, posing as diamonds to deter others from trying to break in.

Y/N continued to walk down the long hallway, ignoring Dick’s calls and locking the door behind them. It was only 2pm, and Y/N had plans to sleep the rest of the day. They had no bags to pack, and nothing here they felt like taking. All they needed to do is sleep the day away, which will be easy, wake up tomorrow, call a cab and skedaddle out of here.

“Thats all we have to do, Y/N.” They closed their eyes for what only felt like a few minutes, until jostling and whispers of their name had them groggily opening their eyes. A yawn escaping them and their eyes struggled to open.

“Why are you in my room?” Tim gave a small huff, “Its dinner time.” Y/N buried their face in their pillow, groaning out a ‘not hungry.’ The young man hummed, “I think you should come down for this one, Y/N. You might get the answers you want.”

“Not interested.” Tim leaned down, his breath tickling Y/N’s ear, “You’re glass castle is shattering, Y/N. Don’t you want help fixing it?” Y/N wanted to swing. They wanted to do something to get their point across that they wanted almost nothing to do with this crazy family anymore.

They opted to glare, and Tim gave a soft smile, “C’mon, lets go eat. Besides, Alfred said that the cab won’t be coming for you if you don’t eat dinner.”

“Alfie!” Y/N groaned into the pillow, and they had stopo themselves from throwing up their arms and legs in a fit. Leave it to Alfred to do something so diabolical. Groaning one more time, Y/N sat up and mentally braced themselves for this shitshow of a dinner.

E/C eyes looked at the door they know they locked, and chose that whatever little bickerment that will start was not worth it at this point in time. Throwing their legs over the bed, they followed Tim out of the room and towards the dining room.

Everyone was there, and waiting for Y/N to appear. Once again, they were made to sit between Bruce and Damian, which they did so with little complaint.

“Now, Y/N, it looks like everyone has some explaining to do.” Y/N gave Bruce the driest most unimpressed face they could muster, to which the man took with a smile, “So, what questions do you want answered?”

‘They’re really doing this.’ Y/N could feel another headache forming, but decided to take the brightly colored bait. Looking at Jason, who was meeting their gaze with his green eyes waiting for this question, Y/N asked, “What did you mean when you said ‘Bruce sees it too.’” The man smirked, meeting Bruce’s eyes and back to Y/N, “Exactly that. The old man finally sees what you are to this messed up family.”

Y/N narrowed their gaze, taking a bite of the pasta, and chewing slowly. Dick decided to chime in, “Y/N, you have been loved by us for a while. Something you probably pieced together, but Bruce took a while to see it because… well because you’re not us.”

“Not like, you’re not Robin, but more like you’re not…”

“You’re fragile.” Everyone’s head turned to Damian, and Y/N had half the idea to be upset about that. They raised an eyebrow, but before they could say anything Damian continued, “You are not meant for this life we lead. Vigilantism never suited you, and that is something I picked up on when I first came here.”

When Damian had first met Y/N, it was like seeing a rare flower that had to be protected at all costs. Y/N was something that at the slightest gesture, could be hurt. When people come across something ethereal like that, the need to protect it can be divided into two different directions.

Hovering or distancing.

Bruce chose to distance himself, whether he knew it or not, and Damian had followed suit. He watched as his older sibling hovered from a distance, watching the rare flower bloom before it was finally the right time to engage with it.

“Y/N, it isn’t so much that I didn’t want to interact with you, it is that I didn’t know how.” Bruce looked into his child’s eyes, “How could I interact with someone who needed gentle hands, when there is not a gentle bone in my body.” Bruce’s hands have broken more bones than the human body has. He has scars on his skin and calluses on the palm of his hands.

“It took me a while to figure out why, but once I did, your absence became suffocating.” Everyone had been gasping for air, doing everything in their power for the slightest piece of oxygen. It was the fear of Y/N being harmed that kept them collared and chained to the photos, every interview, every runway show.

However, Bruce knows that every now and then, children should be able to spread their wings and fall. Y/N ended up flying, soaring above them and never looking back down. Bruce, and the family, decided to give Y/N a year. Just one on their own. This gave them all plenty of time to improve the glass terrarium that they wanted Y/N to be placed back in. This time they will be protected and paid attention too.

“When everyone stated that I can finally see the impact you have on this family, it means I have to come to terms with the fact that I no longer want to be hands off with your life and career.” Y/N’s brow furrowed, not liking the term ‘hands off.’

“You have done great on your own. A fabulous job. Clawing your way up and making a name for yourself, I am so proud of you. Everyone is extremely proud of you.

However, there is no need for you to struggle anymore. You’ve proven yourself, now let us take care of the rest.” Y/N felt shivers go down their spine as they stared at their family in fear. They took in each expression, and when they made eye contact with Jason, the other had a daring look in his eyes. Begging for Y/N to do something, similar to how predators hope for their prey to fight back to make the kill all the more interesting.

“But… But I don’t need your help, Bruce. I can do this on my own.” Bruce’s smile was that of honey, luring in unsuspecting insects and trapping them in its viscous fluid. If Y/N were younger, they may have fallen for it. They may have allowed themselves to coat their fingers in sugary words and sweet gestures, just so they could feel the love from a father.

“I know. We know, but you don’t need to anymore.”

“Now wait a minute-no. No no no no. You can’t just do that, explain yourself, and expect me to just roll with it.” Y/N set their napkin down, and tried to stand from the table, “I don’t need your help, although thank you for wanting to I guess. I am fine with it just being me and Maya.”

“About that…” Dick grimaced, handing Y/N his phone and pulled up was an article.

Y/N’s eyes widened and the world around them went cold. THey looked back up, “You’re lying.” Dick shook his head, fake empathy across his face as Y/N continued to read the article.

“No. NO this is a joke and a terrible one. Maya would never–”

“They were found in her apartment, Y/N.” The headlines, eerily similar to ones from five year ago, flashed across the small phone screen.

Manager of Model Y/N L/N Suspected of Drug Usage

Y/N wanted to cry. Horrible flashbacks resurfacing and tears pricking their eyes. They turned to Bruce who was still sitting and eating his pasta.

“Bruce, please. I know Maya, she would never do this.” The man said nothing. Y/N bit their lip, “Bruce… Bruce please. If its because of what I said then take that out on me. Please leave Maya out of it.

“Please Bruce! I know Maya. She’d never do that, and–and Bruce please.” Y/N was whimpering now, tears streaming down their face as the thought of losing their manager, the last person they had, nearly had them collapsing to their knees.

“Lets make a deal, Y/N.” Bruce wiped the corner of his lips, and grabbed Y/N’s thin wrist.

“You come home more often, during breaks and whatnot. I won’t have a lot of control over your modeling schedule, but make sure you include time each week for family. The only exception is when you are out of the country.” Y/N stared at Bruce in confusion, but nodded along.

“In return, Maya gets out of trouble. Nothing will change other than the weekly meeting with family.” Y/N can’t breathe. They cannot breathe and there were eyes all on them. Gulping down on whatever air they can get a hold of, Y/N sobbed out, “Why are you going to such lengths?”

Bruce stood, and even though Y/N is tall, no one compares to Bruce’s towering figure. He smiled down at the model, and cupped a wet cheek with a calloused hand. Ice blue eyes stared into watery E/C eyes, and that smile turned too sharp to not be hidden blade, “I told you. It is too make up for lost time. Plus, as those photos suggest, you need protection. What better protection could you have that is not only part of the family, but also vigilantes?

“While it is true that diamonds are never made without pressure, diamond-encrusted jewlery require gentle hands and patience.” Bruce kissed Y/N’s temple, and the model flinched away. Ice blue met their eyes once more, “Now pick, Y/N. Either way, you will still be meeting us once a week, but you can have someone you know at your side or someone under my command.”

+++++

“And cut! Good job everyone!” The flashes from the camera stopped and the stage lighting turned off, no longer blinding everyone within the room. Y/N stood up from the red couch, a smile still on their lips as they thanked the photographers.

“Y/N, as always, perfect shots!”

“Good job Y/N!”

“Thank you for doing this, Y/N!” They continued to smile and acknowledge everyone that passed by, Maya right behind as they walked back to the changing room. Sitting on the couch was Jason’s large form and Tim’s lithe one. Both of them looking up as Y/N entered, ignoring Maya’s flinch.

“You have a birthday gala you need to catch. Come on, change out of that and lets go.” Leave it to Jason to get the message across. Y/N nodded, taking to the changing room where they know their clothes are already waiting for them. They could hear Tim interrogating Maya in the politist way. Clipped words and empty praises.

“Y/N they came out of nowhere! They stormed in and went straight to a vent where these-these drugs were! I’ve never even seen those there before! Let alone know that there was a vent!” Maya cried into Y/N’s shoulder as Dick and Damian watched on.

Emerging from the changing room in jeans and a crew neck, Y/N sighed, “Alright, shall we get going?” Jason stood up and Tim shook Maya’s sweaty hand. Y/N gave his manager a nod, signalling for her to take the rest of the day off. Jason’s large hand rested on the small of Y/N’s back, and Tim led the way to the new car that Bruce bought.

The ride was only two hours, filled with light conversation and catching up. Once at the mansion, Y/N greeted Alfred with a hug. Not as tight as they normally are, but it felt wrong entering the mansion without hugging Alfred. Bruce entered the foyer and grinned, hugging Y/N and kissing their temple.

“Your clothes are in your room, and there is another present on behalf of Damian and Jason.” Y/N nodded, “Thanks, Bruce.” The man smiled, “Come and eat dinner when you are done. We’ll have enough time before the Gala to at least eat something.” Y/N began walking away, each step up the stairs feeling like there was lead on their feet stopping them from going any further.

Once in the room, the locked the door and on the bed was a box and black and gold clothing. The black looking like it was made out of silk, and the gold was sequin. Y/N carefully walked towards the box, and when they lifted the lid, a white kitten mewed at them. Their fur still looking young and their eyes bluer than Bruce’s. They mewed and mewed, and Y/N could feel tears streaming down their face.

In neat cursive and tied around the bow of the box, was a small note, ‘We’ll watch her when you decide to leave the country.’

Y/N bit their lip, and felt as if their world was falling a part once more. Broken glass surrounding them and no matter where they stepped, their feet will end up bleeding. Now forced to rely on their family to carry them out of the mess they made, and now… now there was a lifeform that this family can and most likely will use against them.

Thin fingers gently picked up the cat and gave it a wobbly smile, as she mewed at Y/N. A red collar already around her neck, tied in a perfect bow.

“Y/N, the makeup artists are here. Are you ready?” Wiping their tears, Y/N set the kitten down and took in the black and gold piece once more.

“Not yet, but they can come in. I’ll get dressed afterwards.”

“Alright.” The door opened, despite Y/N locking it, and it was Dick smiling as he let in the two artists who were now scrambling to get set up. Blue eyes traveled from the cat, to the clothes, and back to Y/N. He grinned and stalked closer to his younger sibling that was now being corralled into sitting in front of the makeup artist.

He picked up the kitten and passed her for Y/N to hold, whispering in their ears, “Happy Birthday, Y/N.”

______________________________________________________________

Honestly... I really like this series. I think I'm going to do other stories but in the other characters POV now.

#batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam #platonic yandere #batfam #batman x reader #bruce wayne #platonic batman #platonic batfam #yandere imagines #gender neautral reader #batman x gn reader #Yandere batman #batfam x male reader #Batfamily x female reader #Batfamily x gender neutral reader

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 month

Note

Could I request either “You’re always worrying.”“Yes, I am, because you're you.” or 'Their partner doing something and their clumsiness striking in a way that leads to good spirited laughter between the two.' with Steve please? Whichever you prefer 💚

I went with the first one, I hope that’s okay! 🧡

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

“You’re late.”

Your voice was a little mournful, your pout hiding your concern, your worry, but your eyes gave you away. Steve’s brows knitted together as his hand cupped your elbow, bringing you into him as you both began the walk to the pizza joint on the upper level.

His hand on your skin was soothing, a medicine you didn’t know you needed. It travelled up until his arm draped around your neck, the smell of Steve making your shoulders drop, tension forgotten, if only just.

Steve laughed a little, soft and not at all unkind, but you frowned anyway. “By like, three minutes, babe.” He didn’t say sorry - he didn’t really need to - but his voice was gentle enough that you heard the apology stitched between each word.

He tugged you into him, uncaring of the busy mall, the passersby, the onlookers. His lips found your temple, a kiss stamped there that was all adoration and love. “You’re always worrying, huh?”

You scoffed but leaned into him anyway, seeking out more of his mouth, lips lifting in the corners when his nose nuzzled at your hairline. “Well, yes, I am,” you mumbled, shy at being caught out, adored that he could read you so well. “Because you’re you.”

Steve snorted at that too, leading you through the evening crowds, the mall busier than usual as Hawkins residents made their way to the cinema, the new laser tag rooms that had opened up last week.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You tried really hard not to roll your eyes but Steve must’ve seen, pinching at your side with his free hand and making you squeak, batting him away. He grinned, letting you escape his hold only to catch your hand and pull you back into him. Your fingers twined with his, nose wrinkling as you glared up at him, playful, for the most part.

“You have a baseball with nails embedded in it in your trunk,” you reminded him, “plus another under your bed.”

Steve grinned, nonplussed and he bumped his shoulder with yours as the pizza counter came into view. “Hey now, lower your voice, there could be lingering Russians.”

You really were glaring now, because you truly didn’t know if he was joking or not. To be truthful, Steve wasn’t sure either. But he was still smirking, enjoying your pouty mood, knowing that once he got you alone, he could kiss it right out of you.

“You’re not funny,” you told him, joining the queue and pretending to look at the overhead menus, bright signs and flashing pizza cartoons making your eyes ache. Steve knew you’d get your usual, a slice of chicken and sweetcorn, like always. “You probably are on some CIA watchlist, you know.” You prodded at his ribs, eyes narrowing when Steve laughed. “A whole team of agents listening in to you and the kids dragon game meetings. That’s why I worry.”

“Oh my god, you’re like, totally in love with me, huh?” Steve was still smiling but his grin had turned softer, jokes turning lovesick. He bent a little at the knees, nose nuzzling your cheek despite the people around you. He didn’t mind a little PDA. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, the corner of your mouth, doting when you allowed one to your lips. “S’real cute, babe.”

You let him kiss you, once, twice, cheeks hot when the woman in front of you huffed but Steve just wrapped his arm around you again, bringing your back to his front as you both waited your turn in line.

“You’re so annoying,” you told him, head resting against his chest all the same. You didn’t sound annoyed at all, in fact, from over your shoulder, Steve could see your smile.

“Tell me about it,” Steve hummed, more than happy to be at the receiving end of your worrying, especially if you let him dote on you like this to make up for it.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington oneshot #Steve Harrington blurb #Steve baby blurb

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ladythornofrivia · 9 days

Text

Lady with Teal Eyes || Aemond x Aunt!Hightower Reader (Part Two)

word count:

author’s note: writing more chapters of a sad dragon family series. I’ll be on a Norwegian cruise line for Italy and Greece for 2 weeks. I’m gonna be seasick, I already know it. So I’ll be writing this series before I leave. Please enjoy and have a good day.

warnings: incest, cockwarming, teasing, sucking, p in v, rough play, flirting, wholesome moment, jealous aemond, possessive, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex, second hand embarrassment, dark content, mentions of su*cide, Aemond being too touchy with his aunt, degradation, humiliation.

summary: Aemond meets his aunt for the first time, and there’s more than meets the eye. (there will be three parts).

The preparations for the celebration of King Viserys has reached closer whilst you accompanied Alicent into the corridor, corridor after corridor of a long tour within the Red Keep. Servants bowed as you all passed. Cold bows and cold eyes lingered, despite their bare minimums of smiling graciously at your direction, as Alicent presented the halls with lavish decor. However, mostly it was green and gold. But others blended it with black and red.

As always, you’re marveled by the exquisite lace and embroidered patterns and a clear structure of its final design of artwork is invigorating. The stitching is what you’re most impressed of.

As all Targaryens and Hightowers strolling, Alicent parted ways with her children, unbeknownst to you, the one-eyed prince had his hands behind his back, violet shade of eye looming over your new gown designed by the seamstress, all soft-shaded periwinkle, strapped with gold embroidery and green and red, streaks of iridescent shun upon sunlight, your manes healthy and glowing, maintained through and through.

You knew he was watching. With his precious one violet eye gleaming at the back of your head, your body shivered in an alien sensation. As for Aemond, a dragon’s hunger is anything but stable or sane. A dragon’s hunger is like a breath of wild fire casted to the torch of the wondrous nature and life itself. The fire eats and leaves the bones of ash, dwindling in midair.

Aegon I altered the history and thus, House Targaryen must stand with unity and strength and blood.

Still parted aways after an idle chat, for Alicent to task with decorations, as her children were long gone, back into your large chambers, you were unpacking your materials for the completion on a quilt, a quilt with colorful dragons and mermaids and ships, various shades of sews and needles unpacked, as the back of your neck tingled with goosebumps as you felt a hot breath stroking.

Before you turned around, large and slender hands travelled over your clothed waist, nearly close to your chest above. A writhe of hot tingle rushing in your coils and chest. A quiet breath strained, lax down to a low hiss, a hiss nearly tickling your skin. No servants were around, no Alicent or Gwayne.

Aemond, a one-eyed prince has lurked and captured you. A princess sent by a Maiden herself. The fiery dragon must seize the princess.

You thought he has gone back to training yard with Ser Criston, as Alicent mentioned once at the entryway within a prolonged conversation.

“Aemond—”

His face inched close to yours, his supple and pretty lips touched your cheeks, trailed down to your jawline, whilst his left hand grasp your face to stay still. The pool between your legs gradually strengthened its warmth and slick, easily for the prince to prance and insert into your tight hole. Under the layers of silk dress, Aemond bunched the layered fabrics to your waist.

You never had a noble taken an interest in you. The only that interests them is the brightness of your teal eyes.

A mesmerizing glow of your hues has yanked his curiosities. His mother never mentioned him about you—not even once in a dubious talk.

Better late than never.

With his hand, fingers strapped, and his trimmed nails clutched the fabric of your corset, the laces loosener it in smooth motion, loosening around your frame, breasts ached as his hand—his cold hand—brushed and pinched your nipple while his other hand found his way your thigh, grasped as Aemond’s tongue flicked and his lips pressed a chaste kiss to your clit.

A moan escaped, your mouth shielded, you face drowned in flush, as Aemond’s heart leapt in satisfaction. Humming, he stood up and inserted his fingers into your cunt, thrusting the fingers in with doubled speed as your moans grew louder, but restrained the pleasure into your chest, holding it. The walls in the Red Keep are dire; servants and nobles and guards walked passed and patrolled through wall and doors. Even the highest nobles strolled by.

“Fuck,” is all he said, as if it was a prayer. “Your cunt might be as Holy as the Maiden herself.”

His lips sucked your swollen tit.

“My prince,” you cried softly. “Please. The guards, my brother and sister will see us.”

“I do not care of their pious thoughts.”

“I’m your aunt, my pri—”

“Don’t fight it, my sweet,” he said, giving a sensual flick on his warm tongue to your swollen flesh, “I might give you a reason to have bruise on you, ones that they’ll never find on your skin.” His hands grasped your waist, trailing with soft strokes. “You’re humiliated. Maybe there’s more than meets the eye.”

Based on his words, you never thought you found it attractive, considering the soft spoken voice, hoarse with arousal.

“Don’t fight it. If you fight against this, this subtle encounter between us, you’ll never forgive yourself,” he whispered, his wet lips brushed yours. “If you have been, you would shoved me away. Would you like that, princess? Shoving me away?”

His voice ragged dampened your cunt and clit twitched at his sound.

“Seems you enjoy it. You’re a good princess. But alas,” he pulled himself afar, the warmth on your body began to turn a chill.

“I shall see you at the feast. Enjoy your stay.” His neck went for a stiff bow, but his eye glued with plea for your consideration of his statement, whether you accept his offer or not, and departed your apartment—a once organized structure is now filled with clutter and oozing sex and the arousal groans you shared has imprinted in your head, you find yourself still with embarrassment.

In a way, a blessing in disguise when no one, not even Gwayne, saw or heard your affairs with a young dragon prince.

You have seen the arrival of Rhaenyra and Daemon and the children, you had a short introduction to all Black faction.

The dinner celebration for Viserys’s nameday celebration has been all but cumbersome. You felt a subtle hostility, but to due your presence, it has lessened but somewhat guarding up—all due to pettiness.

As you, making a progression with your father, it was all but cold distance even you and Otto were near. Not once he looked at you with adoration like he shared his adoration with Princess Helaena, showing her teal beetle. The Green children are all strained; Aegon had his fair share of capable stupidity to throw down a nasty comment of his cousins and nephews.

Daeron was disappointed with Aegon’s perversions, but Daeron veered at you with a kind smile and made a polite conversation with you. Once again, Otto did not acknowledged of your accomplishments. You felt sick in the stomach, and it’s not your bright gold and yellow dress you have finished making. Tears behind your eyes was arising, and your throat budged with hot and parched sting.

Aemond clenched his fist, for his anger was directed at his grandsire for not noticing you. That damnable old fool—if only Otto sees how your talents. When Viserys disregarded Aemond, even his siblings, he wanted nothing more than to see him dead. But alas, with your existence, it’s almost as if Viserys’s existence just naturally died out.

You pardoned yourself, and Alicent thereby dismissed you, you bowed and left to your chambers, spent the rest of the night weeping, thinking what have you done wrong.

As you exited, the tensed feeling withdrew, and Otto was happy again. And so, without a doubt, Aemond gave a good jab on Otto, which caused a disastrous supper for everyone. The music stopped. As for Aegon and Daemon, they found it amusing while Alicent ordered the guards to escort Aemond way back to his chambers.

For Aegon, this was a win for him. He’s not in trouble for once.

~~~

In dreams, you have never seen your mother, what she appears like or what she sounds like or how her personality was. The only thing that is closest to being a mother to you is the wetnurse or the servants or the Septa who provided you with assistance on your daily appearances and wisdom. Whenever a servant brushes your hair, you often think of what it feels like to have a mother brushing your manes with care and doting manner, a soft voice to soothe your aching heart, where doubts and fears would go away.

In times of sleep, you often thinking of ending your life, just to see your biological mother on the other side. Or perhaps more than just seeing your mother. There are times where you hated your life, and you want nothing more but to end it.

People have often told stories of your mother, though it felt it was a grave mistake. Some say she fled away to Free Cities, some said she ended her life from the highest tower of Oldtown and fell down to the sea. There are rumors where Otto took you because you’re adopted, or perhaps he had a secret, illicit affairs.

The cold feeling rushed in you as your eyes pricked with tears. With somebody telling you stories of your late mother, it brought no peace. Only the enigma of your shadowed doubts and an endurance of chaotic insanity, to question whether your life is real, if you’re real in this world with purpose.

The servants have been kind to you more than the nobles, the more everyone pointed out your flaws and the insignificance of your existence, you lead to believe that you’ll never be loved.

And cried once more. Each night, your tears flooded in pillows and blanket, as you embraced the closest object, pretended that it’s your late mother. An endless of an anguish thought has been a hazard.

Only the echoes of the walls could hear you and the pillows has stained, under your hug squeezed the material as hard, wishing for the pain to go away.

In his awake, he’s a perfect prince, but in his dreams, he’s a beast.

A beast kept within a shell of a noble man.

He has dreamt of your teal eyes basking in his dark dreamland, your voice, how it was yearning so much more. A dark dreamland filled with scornful memories of his nephews and Aegon, and the pink dread. He had kill all of them in his dreams, even the fat pig.

With a scolding from his mother, he couldn’t care less. He wanted your presence to be acknowledged by your father, but how can Otto be so cynically dimwitted and more offensively calculating against you?

When the servants spoke over how you’re not related to Alicent, chances are why Otto was pretending that your presence is nothing more than a useless and meaningless substance of meaning to exist.

Others said that they haven’t seen you gone out from your apartments—and that was recent.

Aemond visited you, presented you with a gift, but the word from you not leaving the apartments has concerned. Thus his mind came up an idea.

You have several servants entering the room with stack of your favorite meals and drink—including lemon cakes and Dornish wine.

One knows someone’s best interest. Whoever did it, your heart is elated. As soon as Aemond came in, you hadn’t known whether he knew something that you don’t. Somehow, his intimidating presence softens your heart, prickled in relief.

For some reason, when Alicent paid you a visit, although shortened, she was concerned of your health, you hadn’t formed a proper conversation; Alicent hasted when the Council has called for her summon, but gave her regards.

Aemond accompanied you for a while in your apartments, and chat whatever discussion came up. Each minute and each hour, the two of you became close, became so close that you or him hadn’t open your hearts, despite what he did to you days ago. With your cunt coiled at his face, his voice and neck, his waist, you find yourself crossing your legs, aroused and squirming beside him. You wondered and imagined of Aemond’s tongue guiding and gliding your soaked cunt. At this moment, you wanted tackle him and suffocate him with your legs wrapped around him, taking in of your nectar.

“I’m glad you are doing well, princess,” Aemond said to you. “For I have been concerned of your well-being. A delicate flower such as you does not deserve the cruelty of my grandsire or anyone in the matter of your visit.”

“He’s always been difficult,” you explained. “No matter how much I’ve improved with my skill, he’ll never sees as his or my sister’s equal.”

“In ways my mother and grandsire are more intolerable. Though I respect my mother, I find myself with bore with my grandsire has to say. If anything, I’m glad your presence has casted a light into the dread.”

In Aemond’s case, however, found you as exquisite as gentle as the blooming flower. His one took a longer glimpse at you and notice the difference—how your eyes glinted in glee while your cheeks adorned with youthful flush and enamored smile. Oh so pure and harmless. He hasn’t seen his mother and his siblings. As for Otto, he hasn’t spoke to him since supper at Viserys’s nameday after sending a jab across the face—out of character for a self-assured prince.

Oh, to ruin you.

“Thank you for the meal, Prince Aemond. You don’t know how much I’m relieved to say this,” you said as you finished the embroidery on your unfinished dress you sewn.

Aemond found your gowns just as otherworldly as you.

Consequences won’t matter; Viserys nor anyone else in the room care for his presence. Perhaps it is a blessing, perhaps it is for the best for you to be settled here in King’s Landing, as long you’re in content, nothing else matters, but if harm does come, he shall smite the immoral act. Aemond is no perfect, but with you, he’d be at his best behavior.

“Then I shall relieve you,” he proclaimed.

You find yourself halted at his declaration and glimpsed at his resolved expression.

Something has stirred in your heart that you wanted more than the civil interactions, wanted more than having someone to converse with you.

Tossing and turning onto your bed was all but a doozy. Dizzy from pivoting and switching positions, you had enough. Dreams had come again. This time it’s Aemond calling out to you, feasting on your wet folds and pumping his lithe and graceful rugged fingers in you. Ever since the day before Viserys’s nameday, with Aemond’s thirst, your legs ached.

For a Hightower, it’s a sin to self-pleasure one’s body—a selfish immoral act.

Somehow you found it odd. If a man does self-pleasure, no court would turn the eye, but a woman does self-pleasure with hasting fingers and naughtiness is considered dire.

Faith of the Seven had their own laws, but you knew that men and women had their fair share of illest secrets. Lucky for you, Alicent and everyone in the Red Keep does not know your impure thoughts. The room became hot, then cold, then all at once, the breath in your lips became ragged and desperate. You wanted someone to hold you, treasure you, seduce with sweet nothings and sweet promises with adore.

For your years of not having a partner, you have begun to fear of not having pleasure. In the heating moment, you thought of what’s like losing your maidenhood to someone with a big cock.

You wanted a cock.

His cock.

Oh, a dragon prince. If Aemond hears your thoughts, you’d run away and never to return Westeros and give yourself a new name and fashion.

Damn the consequences and the punishments from the Lord Hand and the Queen themselves! Damn the Faith of the Seven and their laws!

With your fingers circling your clit, no climax arrived. Thus, you casted your blankets aside with a huff, setting out to see him.

Trudging through the dark halls, the guards were nowhere to be found, assuming the guards went elsewhere. As you made your way to the doors, you approached and entered the chambers where you have found Aemond on his bedside.

Your breath held back, taking in at the sight of Aemond. With his porcelain skin and his long silver-blond hair, it gleamed under moonlight, appearing paler compared to daylight. His eye had an old scar, and his eyepatch was placed elsewhere.

Watching his body rising and falling within breath, you approached him and kissed his back, planted your light kisses, feeling the smooth surface of his skin.

Aemond awoke and turned, found you kissing his back.

“My lady,” he whispered, one eye widened, as you stare at his sapphire. It was beautiful like him.

You placed your finger on his lips.

“Have you come to made a decision?” he asked.

Your lashes fluttered under his gaze. “What do you think, my prince?”

Then your lips collided with his. Aemond was taken aback of your sudden act. Eventually, his consciousness fell; with his lips shared an illicit chaste kiss, his hands uncloaked you, and roamed on your womanly body, caressing you, until you began to undo his trousers, his cock hardened.

“This won’t take long,” you promised, slowly pinning him down onto the pillows, unstrapped yourself naked and sat in between his legs. You didn’t expect for his cock to harden.

Your eyes darted to his, awaiting. And thus, you yanked his trousers downward, unveiling his hardened cock. You eyes widened at the sheer size. Your maidenhood hasn’t been taken yet. Your future prospects of marriage hasn’t arrived, but it feels as the more you wait, the more your chances of marriage dimmed. With your body descended, the maidenhood had met his engorged tip.

Aemond lay still, watching you. His sapphire eye gleamed at its victory.

Your voice moaned aloud; your maidenhood slammed down, his engorged cock tightened on your damped walls. Gradually, the pace on your hips sped. You have never felt anything as good. Prayers in the sept are insatiably helpful compare to the prince’s cock.

You have never felt so alive.

Aemond knew you’re a virgin; your hips bounced all thanks to the guidance of his hands.

He pleasured a woman in the brothel in the Street of Silk at the age of three-and-ten. As a young boy, he regretted making a decision by making himself a fool to go along with Aegon and his shenanigans. He was expecting Viserys to guide him gently into the world, but the Driftmark incident has left Aemond concluded that Viserys, his father, did not spare a single kindness or thought and only spared it Rhaenyra and her sons.

All hope was lost until he saw you—a radiant maiden.

You reached your high, as Aemond clutched your hips, spurring down the hot semen bursting the inner walls—a divine conclusion.

Gasping for air, your legs stood achingly, leaving white traces of his semen dripping down on his balls and thighs. When Aemond tried to assisted you, but instead his face met your open legs and slammed your went against his chiseled face and nose.

Fuck my maidenhood, you thought, desperate, as your hips gyrated, feeling his warm tongue and the sharp line of his nose encouraged your arousing sense to further the climax, as your right hand found its way at the back of Aemond’s hair.

Aemond find himself humming against the warmth of your cunt, mingling with his semen. It was a divination, nothing like the brothel. If only his virginity had taken by you instead of a woman who hasn’t live up to her beauty and standards of gentile and grace. Streets of Flea Bottom aren’t to be trusted. His lips kissed your inner thighs, gliding his tongue, and pumped it in between your walls.

Groaning, almost feral-like, your hips paced, your tits bouncing as your walls grew hot again.

“Relieve me,” you said to the prince, hoarse. A soft squeak caught into his ears.

I shall relieve you, my sweet. Just as I promised, he thought.

Your hips gyrated harder, until the spurring had come close; hot liquid squirted on his face as Aemond’s tongue lapped on your cunt faster than last. Your head threw back with his languid strokes on his warm tongue.

Gods it was a miracle.

He has taken your maidenhead.

“Good boy,” you cooed, your breath rasped, your hand still placed on the back of his long silver-blond hair, gyrating your tired hips against his face.

Both you and Aemond found yourselves in elation.

“Good boy.”

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valeskafics · 10 months

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"Green Eyed Monster" - Jacaerys Velaryon x Targaryen Wife!Reader

a/n: a request from the lovely @kimm4710 & my submission for @hotdthemedweek for envy 🤭❤️

Summary: You get jealous when Jace dances with your sister and in turn, dance with Aemond to make him jealous. But what goes around, comes around.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, afab reader, canon typical incest, jealousy, jace and reader being idiots, dom jace, overstim, oral m and f receiving, fingering, breeding kink, p in v sex, possessive jace, tummy bulge

Word Count: 2,750 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogsare never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Ever since you were a little girl, you knew there was only one man you could ever love. Jacaerys Velaryon. The two of you were thick as thieves growing up, despite the obvious animosity between your mothers. No matter how many times your lady mother tried to tell you he was a bastard, how many jibes your beloved big brother Aemond took at him, how often your twin Daeron told you he wasn’t worth your time, you couldn’t bring yourself to listen to them. Not when Jace gazed at you with those beautiful brown eyes and smiled at you so sweetly.

You were quite horrified when his mother suggested a betrothal between him and your elder sister Helaena, as was Jace. The two of you decided to sneak behind your mothers’ backs and go directly to the king, Jace’s grandsire and your father. The two of you may have been only ten years of age or so, but to you, it did not matter. You knew you would only ever belong to each other. And so, the betrothal was set, and the day you turned eight and ten, you were sent off to Dragonstone to wed its future prince.

You don’t think you could ever love another person as you love your sweet husband. The two of you absolutely adore each other, never being able to keep your hands off one another. One servant too many have been seen scurrying away from your chambers, their faces bright red at whatever it is they’ve seen. Rhaenyra, for her part, adores you nearly as much as Jace does. Despite being your half-sister, she dotes upon you as a mother would their daughter, and Daemon treats you much the same. Not to mention the bevy of siblings you gained when you married your husband.

Life on Dragonstone is a dream come true.

But, as is the case with all dreams, morning comes calling in the form of Luke’s succession being brought into question. So, the lot of you travel for King’s Landing, albeit some reluctantly. You worry for your husband and good brother, but you do so long to see your parents, brothers, and sister.

After the rather eventful hearing, it is decided that everyone will meet and feast together at dinner, per your father’s wish. You and Jace stay in your old chambers and get ready for the feast, refusing to allow the servants to dress you and preferring to dress each other. Jace helps lace your bodice, teasing you by leaving it too loose and then too tight, making the two of you burst into giggles, still as happy as newlyweds despite now being married for nearly two years.

“We’re going to miss dinner,” you chide your husband as he brushes his lips along your neck.

“But there’s such a delectable meal in front of me already,” he grins at you, earning a light slap on the chest, “Oh, you wound me, my lady! How ever shall I survive such a heinous slight?”

You roll your eyes, smiling in spite of yourself and take Jace’s arm, heading down the halls of the Red Keep, reminiscing about your shared childhood. Jace makes a rather risque suggestion to find Daemon’s old favorite tapestries, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs, which only serves to make him laugh again.

Dinner is, if possible, even more eventful than the hearing. Your loving eldest brother offers to give Jace a hands-on demonstration of where to put his cock in you, alluding to the fact that you’re not yet with child. You rest a hand over Jace’s to calm him, seeing the fire in his eyes at even the slightest insult to your honor.

A short while later, Jace asks Helaena if she wishes to dance. It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but you know you’re only human. And your sister is so very lovely and beautiful. And she was Rhaenyra’s first choice for a bride for her son. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. As if sensing your distress, Aemond walks over to you, giving you that soft smile he’s only ever reserved for you, Helaena, and your mother.

“May I have this dance, fair princess?” he asks, his familiar voice soothing your troubled heart.

You smile brightly at your beloved brother and nod, “Nothing would make me happier.”

Jace, having just returned to his seat, seems to have been about to ask you to dance, but gives you a quick smile and sits back down, having a glass of wine. He watches you and Aemond, dancing and laughing together. He sips at his drink, doing his best not to let his jealousy get the better of him. But then, Aemond whispers something in your ear that makes your cheeks flush that beautiful shade that should only be reserved for his eyes, and let out a girlish giggle.

Within moments, Jace is crossing the floor to you, taking you by the hand, and moving toward your chambers, faster than you’ve ever seen him before as you question, “Jace, what in the Seven Hells-”

Once the two of you are alone, he rounds on you, an angry, hurt expression on his face, “What do you think you’re doing, dancing and flirting with Aemond?” Jace places a hand against the wall beside your head, leaning down toward you, lips so close to yours that it almost seems as if he wishes to kiss you, “Do I need to teach you a lesson in proper conduct?”

Jace’s eyes are dark, his voice low, but the love he has for you is so very evident in spite of that.

Your eyes dart to his lips, your tongue darting out to lick your own before questioning, “What type of lesson?”

Jace’s gaze moves toward your mouth, moving his free hand up to hold your chin, his thumb tracing along your soft lips, “A simple but necessary one.”

He presses his lips to yours, all the jealousy that’s been eating away at him, the need to feel that you belong to him, the need to make you his and his alone - it’s all swimming through his mind as you moan, tangling your fingers in his hair, letting out a soft moan of his name. Jace deepens the kiss, his tongue moving against yours in a feverish dance of sorts, neither of you wanting to give up control, but Jace winning in the end.

“I love you, my wife, and no one else is allowed to have you but me,” he breathes against your lips, hovering over them ever so slightly.

Jace doesn’t pull away from the kiss, instead allowing his lips to linger against yours as you murmur, “The same goes for you. I hated seeing you dance with Helaena.”

“Good,” Jace hums before realization hits him, a cheeky little grin on his face, “You hated it? Why didn’t you tell me? And is that what the little stunt you pulled with Aemond was all about?”

Your cheeks flush as you mumble out, “Well… Maybe…”

“Oh, you are adorable,” he smiles at you softly, “You’re lucky I’m feeling charitable tonight, otherwise I might have given you a real lesson,” Jace caresses your cheek, staring deeply into your eyes,”I hate seeing you hurt or jealous, I’ll make sure it never happens again by never letting any other woman beside you dance with me again.”

You giggle softly at his words, “I mean… I’d still very much like that lesson.”

Jace gives you a wide grin, “Are you certain, my darling? It could be quite punishing.”

You bite your lip, a smile threatening to spread across your face as you respond, “Oh, my love, I’m very certain.”

Jace chuckles, a low rumble in his chest as he lifts you into his arms, carrying you over to the bed. You allow it without question, yelping slightly when he drops you onto it and crawls over you, his hands moving along your curves before settling at the string of your bodice.

“You’d better behave yourself or I might have to start punishing you more frequently,” Jace’s voice is stern, hard, but he grins at you like a devil.

You smirk up at him as he deftly undoes your dress, sliding it down, revealing your body only covered by your smallclothes, “That will just tempt me to misbehave all the more.”

He raises an eyebrow, feigning disapproval, but is secretly quite pleased at your words, “Hm, I see. It seems I’ll have to show you who’s in charge here, one way or another.”

You meet Jace’s lustful gaze with your own as you look up at him and coo, “Remind me who I belong to, my dragon.”

Jace rids you of your shift, leaving you entirely bare before his greedy eyes. You continue looking up at him, your own gaze just as lustful as his, the two of you unable to resist one another.

“You belong to me,” he growls in your ear, caressing the side of your face; you shiver slightly at the growl, resting a hand on his face as well, “I would do bad things to you, sweet wife. Very bad things indeed,” Jace kisses you again, almost bruisingly hard as he pins your arms over your head.

You nip at his lower lip, whispering, “What sort of things?”

Jace moans at the slight sting of your bite before snaking his tongue inside your mouth, exploring every bit of it, only pulling away when breathing becomes an absolute necessity, “Oh my sweet, sweet princess… I could show you just how rough I can be.”

Your eyes widen with delight and you pull him back toward you, your fingers tugging at his brown locks, “Do it then. Break me,” you whisper in his ear, your breath tickling his skin.

Jace smirks, gazing at you, his gaze passionate and burning with desire, “Well, if you insist.”

Jace pulls back, removing his own clothes and you watch as he sheds them piece by piece, until he’s fully bared to you, his long, girthy cock standing at attention. You gaze at it greedily, as he walks back toward you, running the tip over your lips, smearing his pre cum over them.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth,” he grins down at you, “And then? I’ll fuck you with my fingers. Then my tongue. Then my cock. I’ll fuck you until you can do nothing but scream my name and never wish to leave this bed again.”

You eagerly take his cock into your mouth as far as it will go, wrapping one hand around its base, so thick that your hand doesn’t enclose around it as Jace begins bucking his hips against your mouth. You feel his hand come up to knot in your hair, holding you in place as he fucks your mouth just as he promised, gazing up at him as he does.

“Such perfect fucking lips,” he groans, “Look so pretty wrapped around me like this. No one else will ever get to see you like this.”

You hollow your cheeks, gagging slightly when he hits the back of your throat, your eyes watering, but loving the feeling. Your hand continues working the base of his cock while your other moves to cup his stones, massaging them, earning another low groan from your husband.

“My perfect wife,” he gasps, as he spills himself into your mouth, “Swallow my seed, and show me that you did.”

You eagerly swallow and extend your tongue as evidence that you followed his instructions. Jace then pushes you back onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs as he begins moving his mouth against your cunt. You gasp at the sensation of his tongue teasing your core before delving deep inside it. He holds your thighs apart, reveling in every little sound you let out as he keeps his word and fucks you with his tongue, rubbing his nose against your pearl, adding another degree of pleasure to the experience.

Jace keeps his eyes on you and pulls away, swatting at your thigh when he sees your eyes screwed shut in pleasure, “Eyes on me. Don’t you dare look away if you wish to reach your peak. Remember the purpose of this. You belong to me and it’s time you remember that.”

You nod, incapable of forming any sort of coherent sentence as he returns to lapping at your folds like a man starved, like you’re the only thing that gives him sustenance. You gaze into his brown eyes as they stare up at you from between your legs, feeling his tongue moving against you, his nose against your pearl. You spill yourself on his lips with a near scream of his name. But Jace is not yet finished with you. Rather, he moves to your pearl, suckling at it, making you let out a cry of his name. Your thighs shake with the intensity of your last peak and your body involuntarily shies away from his ministrations, but Jace holds your thighs apart, alternating between suckling at your pearl and moving his tongue against it until you reach your peak once more against his lips.

“You’ve proven your point,” you whimper as he pushes three of his long, thick fingers inside you, “I’m yours, husband, please just fuck me-”

“I promised to fuck you with my fingers, wife,” he taunts, moving them in and out of your cunt, “And I’m a man of my word. A king should never break a promise to his queen, don’t you think?” Jace chuckles as you tighten around his fingers, face twisted in ecstasy, “Look at my wanton little harlot of a wife. Is it Aemond making you feel like this?”

“It’s you, Jace, always you,” you whimper as his fingers brush against your sweet spot, “Fuck, right there, Jace!”

He moves his fingers faster and faster, rubbing his thumb against your pearl, the wet noises that come as he moves his fingers in and out of you spurring him on, as well as the cries of his name, the tears that threaten to spill from his overstimulation, “Are my fingers too much for you, little wife? How can I ever expect you to take my cock?” Jace taunts.

His words send you over the edge, squeezing tight around his fingers and soaking them. Jace brings his fingers to your lips, pushing them inside your mouth, a silent command to lick them clean, which you acquiesce to immediately.

Jace knows you’re good and ready for him, so he wastes no time in thrusting into you, burying himself in your cunt. You let out a strangled moan of his name as he begins bucking his hips against yours, his cock so long and thick that it fills you completely, each thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge once more. With every move, he bullies against your sweet spot, and with how many times he’s made you peak already, it takes very little to bring on a fourth one. Jace adores the sight of his cock spearing you open, the feel of your warmth enveloping him as he fucks you through your climax.

“Going to fill you with my seed, my love,” he growls, his hands moving to grab your wrists as he movers over you, snapping his hips against yours, his own end approaching rapidly, “Going to watch you grow fat with my babe, make everyone remember that you’re mine. My queen, my wife.”

“Yes, my dragon,” you cry out, legs wrapping around him, allowing him to hit you at an even deeper angle, “All yours. Only yours.”

Jace increases his pace, watching the slight bump in your stomach every time he thrusts into you, “You can hardly even take me without breaking,” he taunts, moving one hand from your wrist and pressing down on the bulge, reveling in the squeal you let out, “Soak my cock again, my queen.”

His thumb moves to draw lazy circles on your pearl, bringing you to the edge yet again, your own release triggering his as you squeeze around him, impossibly tight. Jace spills his seed deep inside you, hoping that it takes. He collapses against you, holding you tightly to his chest.

“Shall I have the servants run us a bath?” he asks after a few moments, running a hand through your hair, “Was I too rough?”

You shake your head, “No, my king. You were perfect.”

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msgexymunson · 1 year

Text

Rumour Part Three: Roles

Description: as you and Eddie establish your relationship, it seems like no one can get in the way of it. Or can they?

Warnings: NSFW minors DNI or I'll poke you with a sharp stick, a trifecta of angst, fluff and smut, male oral receiving, fingering, slight switch dom!older!pierced!eddie x slight switch sub!fem!reader, unprotected sex, slight pain kink

A/N: I'm so glad you lot are enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it, makes me very happy to see all your comments and reblogs, thank you!! Also I apologise to anyone called Estelle or Matt ;)

❤ If you enjoy this, please reblog the hell out of it, pretty pretty please! ❤

5.6k words

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Lying in bed with Eddie was everything. It was two in the afternoon, and neither of you wanted to get up just yet. A warm glowing bubble had settled over the both of you and you were loath to break it. Eddie's wearing a pair of black trunks, you're in an oversized t shirt and no pants, since Eddie had pulled them down three times last night and it seemed an exercise in futility to put them on again.

Your legs were tangled together comfortably, like a pair of puzzle pieces finding their perfect match. Stroking your hand over his chest, you were tracing the lines of his tattoos.

"How many do you have? Tattoos I mean," you clarify, circling a devils head and horns just by his mass of chest hair.

"Pass. I've no idea sweet thing. Dozens. A hundred? I dunno." His hand travels to yours, helping you trace around a scorpion on his abdomen, muscles flexing underneath your touch.

"Well, which ones the oldest?"

He shifts to show you his arm. "See these bats?"

You nod, fingers whispering over his skin to rub at the flock of faded bats on his forearm.

"Got them when I was 17. No real reason, just thought they looked metal." He snorted a little laugh at his past self.

You smile at the glimpse of the past he's allowed you to see. Gazing up at him, you ask "what's your favourite one?"

He grins and winks at you. "Oh that's easy. Shift over a little?"

You move backwards a bit whilst he switches positions to lay on his side away from you, displaying his completely tattooed back.

It's the only tattoo he has in colour. A full back piece of a monstrous dragon with five heads, wreathed in flame. The art is incredible, so intricate and beautiful. You run your hands over it, marvelling at the details.

"Its pretty awesome Eddie."

He rolls back over to face you, fingers fluttering over your figure.

"I love it. Its Tiamat, the five headed dragon Goddess, from Dungeons and Dragons."

You laugh, shaking your head. "You nerd."

He chuckles back. "Yup, 'fraid so."

Nuzzling his face into your side, you hear his muffled voice "what time is it?"

Nearly 2:15."

"Urgh, I need to be in the shop at 3:45." He sighs into your shirt, then sits up.

"I'm gonna take a shower." After pecking you on the cheek, he swings his muscular legs off the bed and makes his way to the bathroom.

You sigh in contentment at the empty room, then pad your way out to the kitchen area to make some coffee for the pair of you. Once the pot is done you pour one for yourself.

Busying yourself in the kitchen, seeing if there were enough ingredients to make pancakes, you hear Eddie's voice from the doorway.

"Oh you made coffee, thanks sweets."

"No problem baby- oh."

Well fuck me.

There he stood, completely naked, roughly rubbing a towel through his wet mane of hair. Body glistening, steam rolling off his skin, tattoos darker and gleaming wet. His muscles shone in the light, taunt frame perfectly on display. Damp chest hair dripped deliciously down to his happy trail. Your eyes were inevitably drawn to his impressive length hanging between his legs, slightly pink and heavy looking, piercing glinting, inviting you over.

Glistening in front of you, so effortlessly, he looked like some sort of heathen God. You'd happily get down on your knees and worship him forever.

"What you staring at? Something you like sweet thing?" Eddie tips his head at you, smug smile creeping across his face.

Your mouth is hanging open. Snapping it shut, cheeks glowing, you walk over to him.

"We had sex like, three times last night and you still blush at me naked? You're too cute." He chuckles at you.

He stops laughing when you reach him and drop to your knees, hands trailing up his thighs.

"Woah, pretty girl, what are you doing?"

You take his member into your hands, running your palms over his length, feeling it harden quickly from your soft touches.

"I wanna, I wanna give you head."

He smiles softly at you. "Sweets you don't need to do that."

You keep running your hands over him, one dipping to cup his balls, rolling them gently in your hand. He lets out a shaky breath.

"You always take care of me, you never let me." You frown. "But I want to. Please Eddie?"

He moans, eyes rolling back. "Always so fuckin' polite. Shit."

Running your tongue up the length of his fully hard cock, you cover it with open mouthed kisses, licking and gently sucking at his shaft. Eddie hisses; you hear the towel he was holding flump to the floor, large hand coming to rest on the back of your head, engulfing your hair.

Taking his tip into your mouth, you trace around each cold steel ball with your tongue, swirling around either end of the piercing, swallowing pre cum. Eddie groans loudly, thumb rubbing the back of your head with encouragement.

Rubbing your tongue back and forth over his slit, you use your hands to work his shaft, dribbling spit to help glide across him. His slippery hard length is pulsing in your hands.

"Holy shit, pretty girl, that's- fuck, that's really good."

You moan around him, humming at the praise, doubling your efforts. You need him to come. He makes you feel so good all the time and you need him to know.

Trying your hardest to please him, you take him into your throat as much as you can. Granted, it's only just over halfway down his dick, but from the noises he's making it's enough. You feel the strange bump of steel at the back of your throat. Using your hands for the rest, you stroke him firmly. Each movement conveying just how much he means, how much you want to worship him.

"Oh sweet thing, God that's- oh fuck, hmm." Eddie's lost the power of speech which you take as the highest compliment. He's listening to your prayers.

Releasing him from your mouth, you stroke him with your hand and gently take one of his balls in your mouth, suckling gently, running your tongue all over it. Eddie was clearly not expecting it; you feel his legs shudder and a high pitched whine expel from his mouth. You smirk, taking the other in your mouth for the same treatment whilst firmly stroking his dick, endeavouring to show him your devotion.

"Oh fuck I'm gonna- shit, please- let me cum in your mouth" he's breathless and twitching, flushed red, practically quivering at your reverence.

You take his cock back into his mouth and hollow your cheeks, bobbing up and down his length quickly, squeezing his balls in your hand.

"Oh fuck, I'm, fuck-" as he shoots his load into your mouth. You swallow and swallow around his length, not stopping until he's whimpering, empty, his fill of your worship well and truly taken.

Halting your movements you behold him through damp lashes.

"Was that ok?"

"Fuckin' hell sweet thing, it was a little bit more than ok. Jesus H. Christ, I've got to go to work. Fuck, how am I this lucky?"

You blush and stand up, placing a kiss to his full lips.

"You want your coffee now?"

"Yeah, and a cigarette, before I do anything else." He crumples onto the couch, grabbing the towel to hide his modesty.

You get his coffee, add sugar and creamer, and bring him his cigarettes. Beaming at you, he takes you into his lap.

"What's this all about? Being all sweet to me."

You hide your head in his chest, suddenly shy. No matter how much confidence you portray in the world, the minute you get a look from Eddie it dissolves.

"I dunno, I just, I wanna take care of you Eddie."

He flashes an soft grin and holds you close, planting a sweet kiss on your forehead. "You already have sweet thing."

********************

Later that evening you're wiping down tables at the bar and collecting stray glasses.

"Hey, you may as well go, I'll finish up tonight, it's dead anyway." Your manager shouts over to you.

"Thanks!" You deposit the glasses in the dishwasher, hanging up your apron.

You check the time, 11pm. I wonder if he's still at the shop?

Eddie works late sometimes, he never wants to get up before noon so his client base tended to be night owls like him. Deciding to take the risk, you throw on your jacket and march into the chilly night air, walking the couple of blocks over to the tattoo shop.

Turning the corner, you see the shutters are down but the light is still on upstairs. You give it a minute, stopping to smoke a cigarette that Eddie had pre rolled for you. As you smoke, you hear voices, and a woman's laugh, clear as a bell.

Your stomach drops out from under you. Feeling your heart skipping a sick thud, then rushing blood, faster; faster than should be possible whilst standing still.

Ok calm the fuck down.

You take a breath, trying to calm the anticipated anger that's buzzing in your system and clouding your brain. It's stupid, you know, entirely unwarranted. It doesn't stop your mind leaping to the worst possible outcome.

Suddenly the door swings open and some Hollywoodian goddess swans out the door, all blonde mane, bust and teeth. Eddie walks out with her, giving her an embrace.

"Thanks Eds, you're the best!" She keens; shooting you what can only be described as a Look, then sways off on her too high heels.

"See you sweetheart!" He waves. The nickname forces an angry blush to the tips of your ears. Eddie turns to go back inside, then sees you and looks surprised.

"Hey pretty girl! What you doing here?" His grin is sugary and warm at your unexpected presence, settling the angry rolling feeling in your stomach. The rage is still there; no longer an explosive boil, but a simmer.

"Came to check, see if you were still working. I got off early."

"Come in then sweets, I gotta tidy up before I leave." He takes large strides back inside and you struggle to keep up with him.

Making his way back to his workstation, he's throwing away leftover bottles and paper towels covered in ink splotches, whilst you try and act as normal as possible.

"So, who was that?" Voice quivering ever so slightly as you take your coat off.

"Oh that's Estelle, finished her lower back piece today." He says, not even looking up, removing his gloves.

Ah, tramp stamp, I knew it.

"There's a band playing tomorrow night, at a bar not far from here, she said. Not too heavy, you should like it. What do you think sweet thing?" He looks up at you, eyebrows raised.

"Huh? Oh sure, whatever. Sure she's got great taste," Shrugging at him, you look around the walls of the shop at the various artworks hanging up.

"Woah, you being a bit judgy pretty girl?" He smirks.

"Why? She a librarian or something?" You bite back, eyes narrowing.

He laughs, "no she's a stripper."

"Oh course she fucking is," you mumble, cheeks burning.

He perches on the leather chair, arms out. "Hey, c'mere."

You huff, but move closer, allowing yourself to be hugged, arms pinned at your sides.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He brushes your cheek and you flinch, jaw clenching. Concern fills his eyes, brows heavy with confusion.

"Don't call me that. You just called her that."

You see realisation dawn on that stupidly handsome face of his, and his gaze grows softer.

"Oh, pretty girl, are you jealous?"

You look down at your own hands sandwiched between the two of you, unable to meet his eye. A firm grip holds your chin, pulling you to face him, smooth smile with a hint of smirk pervading his features.

"Listen, you have nothing to worry about. That woman's got more silicone in her than a Barbie doll. Not my thing." You giggle slightly, a small smile threatening to push your mouth corners upwards. "I call everyone sweetheart, it's nothing."

You pull away from him, eyes narrowing. "Yeah? Why call me sweetheart then?"

He holds his hand to his chest, miming being hit. "Ooft, you got me there. Force of habit."

He grabs your hand, kissing your knuckles.

"I don't call her sweet thing." He pulls you closer, "or pretty girl." His hands begin stroking up and down your sides. "Those are reserved for you." Slow, soft kisses are planted on your neck. "I don't call her my good girl. I don't call her my girlfriend."

Girlfriend.

He's not asked. And why would he, what are you, twelve?

"I'm your girlfriend?" You look at him with wide eyes and a wobbling lip.

"Well I fuckin' hope so, I've said you are to everyone I've seen today. I think Estelle was pissed at me for not shutting up about you to be honest."

You can't help but giggle triumphantly at that. Staring at him, you look at his neck, the side untouched by tattoos. Mischievous look adorning your features, you bend and kiss into his neck. Softly, at first, so he melts into your touch, then you grip him, and suck.

"Pretty girl, oh fuck, what are you doing?"

You release his neck with a wet suck, looking pleased with the purplish mark that's beginning to blossom.

"Marking my territory."

He puffs out a laugh "oh my little jealous girl," and strokes your head.

Somehow that's makes you madder. You're not a jealous girl. You're a woman.

You shove him a little. "Lie back."

He smirks at you, but he listens, lying fully in the reclined tattoo chair, eyes trying to work out your next move.

Clambering on top of him, you tug at the hem of his t shirt. He pulls it over his head, exposing his torso. You run your fingers down, finding spots to suck bruises into, taking small mouthfuls of whatever exposed, ink free skin you can find.

"What you doing sweet thing?" He chuckles.

"I'm trying to find blank bits to hickey!"

He laughs out loud at your frustrations. Until you sink your teeth into his soft flesh.

"Oh pretty- oh fuck!" He practically yelps, hips thrusting upwards.

You gaze down at him, taking in his flushed cheeks, round eyes and heaving chest.

Oh.

"Wait, does that turn you on?" You raise your eyebrow at him, fingertips ghosting his sides.

"Is it that much of a stretch to think I've got a thing for pain?" He says it confidently, gesturing to his inky body whilst cockily smirking; yet this appears masked, false. Looking in his eyes you can tell how much you've affected him

Not saying anything, you merely pinch one of his nipples and twist it lightly. Eddie's mouth falls open, pretty little moan escaping those full lips, eyebrows knitted.

Grinning deviously, you bend over him and take the other nipple into your mouth, rolling your tongue around it, before nipping at it and pulling with your teeth.

"Jesus H. Christ! Fuck."

You look up at him. Eddie's flushing the prettiest pink colour, mouth practically drooling, eyelids heavy with lust. You've never seen him like this before, losing control. Wait, that's not it. He's relinquishing control, giving himself to you.

You stand up and he huffs at the loss of contact, until you begin stripping off your clothes. He hurriedly pulls his jeans and boxers down, not even bothering to take them off, just bunching them at his ankles. His dick looks painfully hard, almost dribbling, angry red at the tip. Swinging your leg back over you straddle him, sliding your pussy over his length, back and forth. Your nails drag harder down his chest than you ever would have dared before, leaving scarlet paths joining up his inked frame. He bucks, shaking underneath. You continue to glide your sopping heat over him, grinding over the shaft, relishing the tingle of his piercing when it flits over your clit.

"Please, sweet thing." His whole demeanour has changed, begging you, pleading with you. An idea pops into your brain.

Leaning forward, you whisper low and quiet in his ear, "are you gonna be a good boy for me?" The low groan he releases resonates from his chest and into yours, firm hands coming to settle on your hips.

You take his hard length in your hands and guide him into you, slipping gently onto him inch by inch. No matter how many times, it still feels like the first time. Your face scrunches up, discomfort evident.

"You ok sweets?" Eddie's rubbing your hip in consolation.

"Yeah, just... really fuckin' big baby."

He smirks, as always. "Never get tired of hearing that."

Stroking your hands down his chest, you hold onto his sides firmly, possessively, rocking into him. Each movement, each flick of your hips produces a ripple of pleasure. You grind down, rocking hard, back and forth, building up the rhythm, the pressure in your stomach building, your throbbing want intensifying.

Once you start bouncing up and down Eddie's done for. You see his face, desperately trying to keep some measure of control whilst he stares at your tits bouncing right in front of him, at his dick being swallowed up by your hungry cunt.

The noise of squelching sex surrounds you, moans and whines adding to the pornographic soundtrack. You can tell Eddie's barely holding it together, as he quickly reaches for your clit, rubbing almost vicious circles, eager for you to come before he does.

The tell tale tingle grips hold of you, a buzzing through your core and up your spine. The shattering of nerves; a delivery of white hot light spills from his fingertips and into your being, filling you to the brim with his rapture.

You throw your head back at the intense feeling, letting out whimpers of devotion to him, rocking back and forth, willing the moment to continue. You're barely aware of his own release, only realising when you finally snap your eyes open to see his slam shut, tensing beneath you, letting go in a gun shot, tension ripped from his body by your gripping walls.

Leaning forward, hot panting breaths mingling with each others, you press your lips into a searing kiss.

In between pants, Eddie manages, "not that I mind, but fuck, what's gotten into you today, pretty girl?" He chuckles, stroking your cheek with a rough thumb pad.

"You're mine." You simply say, protective hand laid onto the middle of his chest, over his heart. He grips your hand in his, and smiles.

********************

The next evening you're perching on a stool at a moderately busy bar, twisting a napkin in your hands. Nerves have you in their grip whilst you wait for Eddie to arrive, bubbling away in your tummy. It seems strange, but this is technically your second date, the first being when he took you to lunch. Eddie hadn't exactly courted you, he claimed you. If you were honest with yourself, you were his the first time he laid eyes on you.

Still wanting to impress him, you'd decided to dress up. Kitted out in a short black dress with a cute cherry pattern, lower cut than you would usually dare, fishnet hold ups and ankle boots, you were confident he would be pleased.

You had certainly attracted the attention of a few men dotted around the bar, lone sharks circling. Paying them no mind, you sipped your drink and waited on Eddie.

It was a pretty decent looking place, certainly nicer than the dive where you worked. The ceilings were high, with huge light fixtures hanging almost like art pieces, letting out twinkling light, bathing the crowd in spots of colour, sparkling on the red linoleum floor. The atmosphere was buzzing with anticipation for the upcoming band, people smiling, waving at friends, rushing back and forth to the bar to get drinks. You sat on a stool at the end of the bar, neatly tucked in a corner. The light was good here, and it was opposite the main entrance, perfect for spotting Eddie when he eventually got here.

Looking up to check the door again you lock eyes with another man. He smiles and starts walking over.

Well that's typical.

You roll your eyes, but as he gets closer, you breathe a sigh of relief. It's one of the regulars at your bar. At least you may not have to wait for Eddie alone.

"Hey Matt!" You smile as he walks over, giving you a brief hug.

"Hey darlin! Never see you in here, you're always working!" He grins at you. Matt always chatted to you when you were on shift, checking how you were doing. Objectively, he was a handsome guy. Broad shouldered, with a mop of messy ashen blonde hair and perfect teeth. He looked like he was around his mid twenties, and definitely a former jock judging by his physique.

You usually saw him with his girlfriend, an almost frightening replica of him in female form. In your head you'd nicknamed them the Cheer Clones since they reminded you so much of the cheerleaders in your high school.

"Where's-" don't say cheer clone, don't say cheer clone, shit what's her name-

"Jessie? We broke up." He frowns, looking down for a second, then waves at the bar tender.

"Oh, so sorry to hear that, you ok?" You pat his arm in consolation.

"I'll be ok, really. You want a drink?"

"Sure, bourbon and soda please."

He orders and pays for the round, sitting on the bar stool next to you.

"So, hot date?" He asks, waggling his eyebrows.

You giggle, hiding your face in your hands, "yeah how did you know?"

"Er, girl, you live in jeans! He must be pretty special." He grins at you.

You flush at the mere thought of Eddie. You can't deny, these past few weeks had been pretty spectacular.

"Wow, you've got it bad, huh? Pleased for you." He says, sipping his beer, looking just over your shoulder and flashing a small smile.

Before you can turn, an arm is thrown over your shoulder; rough stubble and soft lips touch your forehead.

"Sorry I'm late, sweet thing."

"Eddie!" You smile, looking up at him, but his stony glare is cemented on Matt.

"Baby, this is Matt, he comes to my bar. Matt this is Eddie, my boyfriend." You gesture between the two.

Matt sticks his hand out. Eddie looks at it briefly as if it offends him, before staring back at Matt's eyes.

"Pleasure to meet you." Matt puts his hand down but still flashes a winning smile at Eddie.

"Yeah, nice to meet you too Mike." And he motions his hand at the bar tender, immediately getting his attention and ordering a beer, arm never leaving your shoulders.

"Its Matt, actually-"

"Yeah, sure thing champ." Eddie says dismissively, slaps a note down to pay for the beer, and nearly drags you to your feet.

"Bands about to start, let's go my pretty girl."

You move, being pulled by the wrist, and mouth a 'sorry' at Matt. He just smiles and salutes you as you go past.

Eddie stops once you are free from Matt's gaze, stepping back to pull your arm in the air above you, making you turn for him so he can admire your outfit. You cannot help but admire his.

Eddie's dressed up for you. The first thing that grabs your attention and refuses to let go is the fact that your very sexy boyfriend is wearing eyeliner. That fact alone has you weak at the knees.

He's wearing a black button down, undone to the point of unholiness, exposing his chest tattoos and a thin silver chain just kissing the tops of his pecs. His black jeans are tight, hugging every muscle, leading down to chunky army boots. There's no other way to describe it; he exudes sex. It's as if every fibre of him was made to ooze this animalistic aura; you could nearly smell it in the air.

"You look really great Eddie."

Meeting his eyes, you see his pupils are blown, drinking in every ounce of your figure with blasphemous intention.

"Sweet thing, you look incredible." He pulls you close to wrap his arms around you. "Remind me never to let you wait for me inside a bar again."

You laugh, love drunk eyes roaming his face, "you jealous Mr Munson?"

He kisses you full on the lips, a fiery kiss, hot and messy in its delivery, tongue chasing yours. When he breaks away, you lean forward in hope, missing the contact.

"Why should I be? I already have you." He winks, then pulls you so your back is flush to his chest, manoeuvring you both to face the band who have just come on stage.

The band are indeed decent, and pretty soon the heady atmosphere, the bourbon, and the warm glow of Eddie's arms around you have you grinning and swaying to the music. You're moving your hips, ass against Eddie, enjoying the moment.

Eddie's large hands never leave you. If he's not wrapping his arms around your neck, he's holding you protectively by the hips, keeping you close to him. If anyone in the crowd got too close or rowdy, he was there, keeping you safe.

The band takes a break and Eddie whips you around to face him, hands rubbing up and down your sides, predatory gaze fixed on you.

"If you're gonna keep dancing like that pretty girl, I may just have to take you home." He smiles, biting his lip.

"Hmm, I think you can wait a couple hours." You throw your arms around his neck and press a kiss to his lips.

"Ok, I'm gonna go to the bathroom," he fishes out a note from his pocket and hands it to you, "go grab us some drinks on me."

You take the money and peck him again, scooting your way back over to the busy bar.

The crowd has merged and flowed, making their way to the bar, dam about to burst with the influx of people wanting the same thing.

You queue, waiting for service, when you notice a friendly face next to you.

"Hey Matt, how's your evening going?" You say, touching his arm.

"Great thanks, the bands really good. Look, sorry if I upset your boyfriend there."

You giggle and roll your eyes "don't worry about it."

"Seriously, I didn't mean to offend him I just-"

Suddenly, Matt has disappeared and you are staring at Eddie's torso.

"Come here sweets. Say goodbye to Mark."

You here a small voice say "it's Matt, actually-"

"Whatever kid" Eddie growls, leading you away from the bar.

"Eddie, what are you doing I haven't even got drinks yet-"

"Just come with me."

You allow yourself to be lead, pulled helplessly by the wrist. Eddie snakes around the crowd, leading you past the backstage area and into a small bathroom. It's strange that he seems to know the layout of the place so well. You stop him in his tracks, annoyed by his behaviour.

"Eddie, seriously what's up with you? You know I'm not just gonna leave you right?" Soft eyes meet his.

"I know sweet thing," and he presses you against the wall so fast it makes your head spin.

"I just need everyone else to know that."

Without further warning his hand is stroking up your thigh, fingers grazing your clothed pussy. Given his urgency, his clear need for you, his touch is soft. His other hand snakes to the back of your neck, forcing eye contact. The eyeliner only focuses how intensely he looks at you, dark circles drawing you in.

"Can I make you feel good sweet thing?" Fingertips fondling your heat, hot breath asphyxiating. Eddie overwhelms you, exuding heat, passion making it difficult to breathe.

"Yeah" you manage breathily, devastated by his presence, trying to keep some semblance of self. It's so difficult to when Eddie tears you apart by simply being there, in your space.

Rough fingertips pull your underwear aside and massage across your slit, finding your clit immediately. Your breath catches in your throat, shock of delectation pervading your senses.

Eddie slides two thick fingers deep inside you making you gasp. He rocks them into you, setting a ruthless rhythm, eyes never leaving yours.

"Now, I'm going to make you come pretty girl, twice in a row, and you're gonna enjoy it, ok?"

You mumble some semblance of yes, ability to concentrate considerably lessened by the sure movements of his hand. He curls his digits into you, hitting the spot inside you that makes your toes curl inside your boots.

"Eddie, fuck, yes" you keen and writhe against the wall, eye contact stripping you of any modesty, any thought.

Eddie's relentless movements continue as he sucks bruises onto the tops of your breasts, purple colouring blossoming against your chest, a blooming floral display of blood soaked skin.

"Oh my God Eddie," you moan, his sure hands coaxing pure bliss from your core, sopping wet noise of your arousal echoing through the small space.

"That guy out there, your friend, what's his name?" Eddie's eyes bore into yours, hand not stopping.

You're pulled out of the pleasure pit he's thrown you into, visibly confused. "You- you mean Matt? He's just-"

Eddie doubles his efforts, curling his fingers into you harder, palm rubbing hard against your clit, reigniting the fire in your belly.

"Oh my God Eddie, fuck-" you grind yourself unabashedly against his thick fingers, immense feeling towering over you, threatening to topple at his very command.

"You gonna come pretty girl? My pretty girl?" He says, dark eyes piercing into your very soul, "come then, come on my fucking fingers."

His gravelly voice and confident manoeuvres are pushing you over that edge, emphasis on his swear word singing through your nerves and into your cunt. Unable to process such feeling, such unbridled ardour, you moan loudly into the air without a care of who could hear you.

Your release pushes through you with all the force of a natural disaster. Whipping through your soul like a hurricane of sensation, cunt throbbing with the complexity of feeling. It rips away any insecurities, making you moan as loud as your body needs without fear of repercussion.

But it doesn't stop, not yet. Eddie's not through with you. His movements continue, coaxing you through the orgasm and into the other side, relentless and unabating.

"Fuck Eddie, please, its too much-"

Eddie's free hand grips your chin, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

"Do you want me to stop." The question is real, but your commitment waivers, enjoying the relentless hold he has on your pussy.

"No, please-" you moan, your flower continuing to open to him, flesh yielding and soft as putty in his hands. A fuzz settles over your brain; you mind clouded, filled with Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Your eyes roll back, unable to control your gaze. Eddie shakes you lightly by the chin, forcing you back to reality.

"So what's that guy's name?"

You look at him through damp lashes, tears building in the corners of your eyes, utterly incapable of speech.

"I said, what's that guy's name?"

"Eddie, fuck I- wha?" Words a slur, body limp against the wall; the only thing keeping you upright is the burly hand firmly between your legs, fingers deep inside; your Eddie's marionette.

"Good girl. That's what I thought." Eddie smiles smugly, running his thumb over your clit in swift motions, fingers continually hitting that spot inside you.

Your second release feels even more powerful than the first, ripping a passionate whine from your throat. The noises you're making are incomprehensible as your whole body seizes up and your slick shoots out, coating Eddie's hand, your thighs, and even the floor.

"Jesus fucking Christ you are the devil." It comes out as a rush, almost one word.

Laughing deviantly, Eddie moves his hand and you nearly crumple to the floor. He catches you, pushing you against the wall with his body. Your eyes are drawn to the deep v in his shirt, to his inky muscled chest.

"Eddie?" You look at him and he stares back, faces impossibly close.

"Yes sweet thing?"

"You've ruined my underwear."

He laughs deeply. "What can I say, it's a talent. Can I take you home my little super soaker?"

You flush with embarrassment, hot cheeks aflame. "Eddie!"

Straightening your clothes and attempting to sort your hair out, you look down, taking in your love bitten chest for the first time. Purple red welts adorn the swell of your breasts in a low necklace of ownership. You'd be mad at him if it didn't make you throb inside.

He leads you back to the bar and towards the main entrance, attempting to get you home as quickly as possible to finish what he's started, when you're stopped in your tracks by cloud of perfume and blonde hair.

"Hey Eds!"

"Hey Estelle, you good? This is my girlfriend I told you about."

You smile at her dutifully, and spot a familiar face yet again, hovering by, his eyes trained on the marks on your chest.

"Estelle, nice to meet you! Hey, have you met Mark?" You gesture at him to move closer while Eddie snickers next to you.

He sticks his hand out to her "it's Matt actually."

Oops.

Masterlist

Tag list part 1- rest will be in the comments

@angelsarecallin @cutiecusp @pxrxcxa @spencerinmydrawls @munsquinns @sillypurplemurple @tiannamortis @walleloveseve @sinczir @biblichornerd @frogers @lauraasiain @madiisixx @leftdonkeygothgoop-blog @rafestarkeysblog @kittykatvenom @southside-serpent-bae @psychedelicsandsunsalutations @biblichornerd @angelina16torres-blog

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dr3c0mix · 11 months

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Okay hear me out: yandere harpy. The reader is on a hike or something and he notices them and is immediately enamored. He grabs them and keeps them in his nest and because it's so high up they can't get down on their own 😳

Lovey Dovey

Harpy x GN Reader

CW: kidnapping, stockholm syndrome

first day back from my hiatus and were already on some more sweet sweet terato ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡ ive never written a harpy before but by golly ive been wanting to for a while! thank you smallcactus22 for requesting!

🪶 All you wanted was a fun adventure away from work, a breath of fresh air after being trapped in a colorless cubicle for god knows how long.

🪶 You wanted, no, needed a vacation. You looked through the many websites that showcased lovely tourist spots like beaches and retreats, all either a little too shady or way too expensive.

🪶 One caught your eye though, an ad for a hiking trip across a mountainous landscape filled with lush greens and lovely pink flowers, it was pretty affordable too. You immediately booked a spot on the hiking trail and wrote up a letter to your boss that you'd be on vacation for a few days.

🪶 When you finally came, you were already enamored by the scenery. Everything was a pink and reddish hue from all the petals that fell from the trees. You saw a person holding up a sign that said, "Hiking Trail!" and quickly ran up to the group of people supposedly taking the same hike as you.

🪶 The tour guide explained the history of the trail, it sounded more of a legend or myth however, with him speaking of an ancient race of humans with the ability to fly.

🪶 You thought nothing of it, probably just a part of the place's culture or something, you then followed the rest of the group to start the hike.

🪶 You couldn't help this uneasy feeling of being watched while on the trail, like there was something following you as you continued along the red path surrounded by pinks and blueish greens. It was probably a wild animal or two, you were in a forest after all.

🪶 On the other hand, Kalva could do nothing but watch you from the dense flora he was perched within. He's seen humans travel through the harpy infested woods before, all of which were uninteresting as a dried leaf on the ground.

🪶 So when he laid his eyes on you, it felt like an arrow to his chest. He was taken aback by how cute you were, so soft, so graceful. With the shawl you had on he would've mistaken you for one of his kind if it were not for you walking alongside other humans.

🪶 The harpies were very weary of humans, especially tourists. Only the few that have grown up near the mountains know of their existence, one that is protected lest danger falls on them like the old dragons of legend that was wiped out by greedy humans who thought of themselves as divine saviors in a world of evil.

🪶 Even with all these thoughts swirling in his head, he thought you were different. You didn't look at all like the other tourist who were babbling to themselves about who knows what with their funny black bricks that sparked now and again. They were so clumsy and ditzy compared to you who was just admiring the scenery around you, truly in the moment unlike the others who only cared for a nice photo or two.

🪶 After about an hour, the group stopped at a rest stop to take a break, you kept watching the flora dance and sway as everyone else drank and rested their feet. You treaded deeper into the pink forest, making sure to keep the rest stop in sight.

🪶 Just then you hear rustling from above, a large shadow gliding past you from overhead. You would think it was a bird if not for the size of the shadow. The shadow circled around you, as the shaking of the leaves above grew louder and louder.

🪶 Now your uneasiness is back tenfold, your heart racing as you frantically look around.

🪶 There was nothing there however, and you breathe a sigh of relief before turning to go back to the rest stop.

🪶 You yelp as you are, however, met with giant yellow eyes staring at you. You trip on a tree root and fall on your butt as a man half covered in feathers stared at you, penetrating your very soul.

🪶 You try to scramble away but the creature keeps walking nearer and nearer, his head cocking to the sides like that of a bird.

🪶 Your back meets with a tree as you're left in the mercy of this massive birdman in front of you. You feel tears starting to form in your eyes as a taloned hand reaches to your face.

🪶 You were surprised at the gentle touch you felt on your face as Kalva wiped your tear away, cooing softly.

🪶 "uhm...hello there?" you mutter.

🪶 "hello..." He replies in a raspy but quiet voice.

🪶 "Wh-who are you?" you ask, the tension in your body dissipating as you get more comfortable with him, well not really comfortable, just a little less tense as you were before.

🪶 "My name is...Kalva..."

🪶 "Kalva..I'm (Y/N).."

🪶 His pupils dilate at the sound of your name. He mutters it to himself like a word he wished to remember.

🪶 He sniffs at you, all over your body and clothes, focusing then on your bag. You reach inside and take out some crackers you packed for the hike and gave it to him. He was confused at first, never seeing a seed or insect like it, but was then greeted with a wonderous sensation of sweet and salty. He squawks happily, nuzzling his head into your chest, making you a tad bit surprised and unsure of what to do now that a bird man creature thing is cuddling you in a forest. You placed a hesitant hand on the back of his head and started petting him, he started cooing very softly, that must mean he's happy.

🪶 You then hear the tour guide call for everyone to continue on the trail, you greet Kalva goodbye and try to walk away when you're suddenly grabbed by your shoulders and lifted up. You yelp and scream, asking to be put down but the harpy ignored your pleas and flew high up into the mountains.

🪶 Oh what a day it was for Kalva! He knew the little human was the one! They fed him, they preened him, just like a good mate would! He must have been very good as his courting! Of course, his little mate couldn't have seen it from down below, but they surely would have if they accepted him so quickly right afterwards!

🪶 Finally they reached his perch atop a tall mountain. It was a giant circular hut of some kind made of branches and lined with colorful flowers and leaves. Inside, his nest was filled with cotton of the softest kind, only the best for his mate! Little baubles and shiny trinkets hung from the curved ceiling and trinkled softly as they shook. He placed them down as they shook in fear at the height.

🪶 Kalva landed next to them cooing and chirping comfortingly, don't worry my lovely! You won't fall from here! I will protect you!

🪶 It was like this for days; you trapped a thousand miles high in a nest you can't escape from otherwise the harpy would find you and carry you back. He would leave for hours at a time, offering you food and small gifts he's found he thought you might like, some of them things left behind by other tourists like a water bottle, a book, a hat and a few others.

🪶 At night, he'd pull you into a warm embrace under his wings. He can't help but stare at you as you snore peacefully under him.

🪶 Of course you were frightened to the core the whole time, but you tried your best to explain to him that you weren't his mate and that you needed to go home, but he kept insisting that you two were meant for each other, for him to coddle and fed you and you to love and preen him when he returns home.

🪶 He dreams for you both to have chick of your own, the idea of coming home to the happy chirping of little hims and yous gave him a happy giddy feeling.

🪶 After a while you figured getting down on your own wasn't an option and Kalva was your only hope in returning to the familiar world below.

🪶 You started talking to him more, books he would bring home, you'd read to him, food collected would be shared between you two.

🪶 And somehow, throughout this whole process, you managed to grow quite close to the man.

🪶 He understood English more, now collecting other foods like stolen snacks from tourists instead of bugs and wild fruits he'd usually eat.

🪶 You found yourself missing his company when he was away. He'd chirp happily as you rushed to hug him as he lands in your shared nest after a hunt.

🪶 Soon enough, he'd trust you to explore the mountain's peak outside of the nest. There was a lovely little lake next to his abode with a tree bearing red fruits. In the distance you could hear the faint calls of other harpies.

🪶 All you wanted was a fun adventure away from work, and you were given more than what you've bargained for, a glimpse into a hidden world of creatures far beyond your imagination, with one of them being your very loving mate.

and as a bonus, Kalva doodle for yall <3

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i-cant-sing · 19 days

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Spill more abt barbarian bkg mother🙏

Hmm, barbarian bakugo has a mini zoo that travels everywhere his tribe goes, because as much as he doesnt want to- he has a habit of unintentionally pissing u off, so its always good to have some animals to gift you as pets and try to cool your anger? I mean, imagine Barbarian Bakugo just climbing up your window with a baby sheep strapped to his back, using it as a shield when you yell at him for pushing your knight Izuku down the stairs (because katsuki said "back off from the princess. I can protect her")

Barbarian Bakugo loves to feed you with his own hands, especially when he's hunted the meat/cooked it on the camp fire. Like I can just see him pulling reader into his lap and giving you the first big bite with his hands, and then he eats whatever is left of the morsel himself before giving you the next bite. You dont understand his affection at first, chalking it upto his barbarian traditions youre unaware of. Your teeth sometimes graze his fingers when he feeds you, and Katsuki makes sure to lick that area particularly when he feeds himself the morsel. Oh also, youre not leaving until he thinks youre full. You could be feeling nauseous, ready to just about burst, but Katsuki thinks you can eat a little more. Besides, in his head, hes just training you to consume an average healthy barbarian diet.

Child bakugo and child reader were absolutely adorable- i mean, the number of times the servants have walked in on the two playing "wedding" where bakugo keeps on proposing to you with different exotic animals but you keep saying no because Emperor Kai has already gifted you all those exotic pets, and Katsuki is just on this mission to find you the most unique creature because then you'll just have to say yes to him. So... he steals a dragon egg.

Also- Bakugo and Empress Momo have been at each other's throats since they were kids- always fighting for your attention at royal playdates. Meanwhile, youre trapped under your lazy fat tiger- Rice Puff, who refuses to let you venture out of the castle to "invite a bear for tea party".

Knowing how much you despise concubine Keigo, Katsuki does take any oppurtunity he can to subtly disrespect him/frame him/get him in trouble in front of King Dabi (a difficult feat) and Prince Shotou (a much easier feat since SHotou already hates Keigo).

Bakugo- even tho hes a barbarian, has learned the waltz and other fancy shit royal families do, just for you. He wants you to be proud of him (not that he realised that you already had 2 left feet, but he doesnt mind u stepping on his feet), and knowing how protective Dabi is of you, he doesnt want any short comings from his part.

#yandere katsuki bakugo #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere bakugou #yandere hawks #bnha headcanons #yandere bnha #yandere mha #bnha imagines #yandere dabi #yandere royal gay au

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vincentsambershades · 8 months

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How not to tame a dragon

Cregan Stark x Targ!fem!reader

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

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

Word count: 2.5k-2.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Around that time, their journey to Dorne began.

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

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

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

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

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

He had come to terms with that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was when it hit him.

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

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

"Have you seen my Lady around?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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gglitch1dd · 6 months

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Sun of my life (Dragon Eijiro x Dragon Reader)

Day 6 of Breedingtober (HAPPY BIRTHDAY EIJIRO)

You finally get married to the love of your life.

Warning: SMUT, SEX, Fire, (fake) religious ceremony, BLOOD, LIKE A LOT OF IT, not during sex though, dragon anatomy (Eijiro doesnt have 2 dicks mostly cause i didn't know how to write that yet, but mention of his wings and tail do appear), VOYEURISM, BREEDING,

Words: 8,2k

“You look so beautiful, Y/N.” You smiled as you looked up at Tamami as she carefully put the last ring around your horns.

You reached up and put a hand to her face. “Thank you, sweetheart.” You spoke genuinely before looking back at the mirror in front of you.

Behind you all over the room were draikanas of the Kirishima family, in laws or born into the family, that were helping you with your preparations for tonight. You were decorated in gold and jewels that matched the traditional draconic wedding attire you adorned on your figure. Your skin had been decorated in traditional wedding paint that would leave in three days but was done in the patterns of the family you were now marrying into. It had taken a good few hours yesterday to get it done with how intricate and detailed one had to be with such designs.

Today was a special day. It was one heavily awaited by you and the love of your life. It was your wedding day, a beautiful day meant to join the both of you together and the day you officially joined his family and became part of the royal family that led the dragons in Yuuie.

It was a special day and a closed affair. Dragons didn’t really like people from outside coming in when celebrating special occasions, royal weddings were one of them. However, there were exceptions, like the barbarians. The barbarians practically worshiped the dragons, believing them as being closer to their god, the Starry Flame, the god of stars and fire.

But you were just happy that today would be the day that you and Eijiro would finally be one. Husband and wife. Mates, with the stars and all of your family and friends as your witnesses. It was a day you dreamed of as a little hatchling and finally it was coming true.

The day you got to marry your biggest fancy and nestmate. You had known each other since you had both hatched and grew up along side one another, as well as other hatchlings. You weren’t anyone special like him, just a draikana that grew up to do her part in the community that was the left over dragons of Yuuie Island. There weren’t as many as you as there were a generation ago, according to your parents, but you were enough.

You were always friends with Eijiro but you never made an attempt at romance. He was the prince, after all. The crown prince, after his two eldest sisters unfortunately died due to humans when he was younger. You watched him. You watched him grow out of his black scales and reach his coming of age where he got the red scales of his mother. You watched as he left the community, to much worry of your community, to travel and represent the dragons in Yuuie with the rowdy barbarian prince that claimed to be his rider. You watched as he came back three years later, stronger, taller, wiser, with scars to tell tales of and just happy to be home.

That’s when you also noticed his eyes on you. You weren’t entirely sure what prompted him to be interested in you. Actually, you still weren’t sure about that to this day. All you knew was suddenly he was asking you to dance whenever the music played and drinks were being passed around. You were suddenly never found in your family den and was staring up at the stars outside the safe network of caves that kept your community safe, with Eijiro right by your side. Suddenly you found yourself staring into beautiful ruby eyes wondering how on earth you managed to fancy such a drake.

Eijiro was as large as his father, or any Kirishima male dragon. He had a loud laugh that would make you smile and the gentlest ruby eyes that made you feel like you were something special. He was constantly helping out in the community and you could find him doing all sorts of things at random. You always found him rather chivalrous with the way he treated others and loved the amount of respect he had for his elders. He was always willing to learn and teach what he has learnt in turn to those younger.

You, however, didn’t expect for him to ask to court you, a gem he had found himself, presented to you in offering. It was a shock to your system, and honestly you thought it was all some big joke. But he wasn’t joking and he was very persistent. Very persistent. He wouldn’t leave you alone about it. You didn’t think yourself worthy of him but he surely disagreed. He found you perfect for him in every way. He never stopped asking, and asking, and asking. It took his mother and father, Yua and Takeo, both to convince you that he indeed wasn’t joking and that they genuinely approved of you and their son, for you to realise how serious he was.

After that, the two of you were nearly inseparable and Eijiro was lovesick. More than just lovesick. He was head over tail in love with you. He followed you like a lost hatchling and honestly, you found it rather flattering. He spent every moment he could, trying to show you how much he appreciated you, from all the courting gifts, showing you just how great of a mate he was. He won every fight at every event he was in, he always brought back a kill for you, he got you gems and gold from his raids. He even brought you flowers (which you didn’t really understand why he would give you dead plants, but apparently it was a human thing so you found it cute).

Now it wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows. There were certain times you and Eijiro fought, but it was mostly because he would do something stupid, or because of the raids. Dragons were still a hunted species because of the human kingdoms and him going out there with Bakugou Katsuki, the barbarian prince, always had you worried sick. Yes, he was a large dragon and he was still growing in fact, but he wasn’t impenetrable. He wasn’t immortal. It was something you tried convincing him again and again, but your stupid lovable Eijiro, always found himself at any aid that called upon him. He was just honourable like that.

You wanted to hate the aggressive blond that was Bakugou Katsuki for always dragging your drake into such dangerous situations, however, when you had the great and powerful Bakugou Katsuki on his knees before you, head bent down at your sovereignty just for being a dragon… it was hard to hate him. Katsuki was a hardass mean tyrannical fireborne man to everyone but the dragons (minus Eijiro on occasion). His devotion to the dragons and the protection was always appreciated. Especially when he ordered the barbarians, a nomadic species at heart, to move closer to the mountain (volcano in reality) that the dragons reside in, as an extra form of protection.

It was hard to hate him. Not impossible, but harder than you wanted it to be.

But all of your qualms didn’t matter as long as Eijiro came back to you. And he always did. And now, you were both finally going to get bonded to one another, claiming one another in front of everyone as a declaration of love to one another. It was finally the moment you had been dreaming for. And you couldn’t have been happier.

Yua walked up to stand behind you, a smile on her face as she looked at you. Her long red hair cascaded down one shoulder as she looked at you with a proud look on her face. “He’s going to fall to his knees at the sight of you.” She praised putting a kiss to the side of your head. With all the ornaments going on, on top of your head, that was the best way for her to show you affection.

You smiled up at her, turning to face her. “Thank you so much, Yua.”

“Don’t thank me sweetheart,” She shrugged it off as she moved out of the way. She beckoned you to stand up. “Now come on, let me see you.” She said.

You chuckled as you moved to stand up, you looked down at the white stained cloths and rare furs that adorned your body. You found yourself better than you had ever been. You straightened up as you put your hands together. You let out a shaky breath and looked to Yua. She smiled, tears in her eyes as she gave you a firm nod. She motioned for you forward.

Tamami, Narumi and Natsumi all walked behind you, receiving baskets of white pebbles that they would scatter behind you when you walked. The curtain was drawn away in the opening doorway that led to a tunnel. Standing outside ceremoniously dressed was Kirishima Takeo. He turned to look at you but paused at the sight of you.

The large King of Dragons, with horns of obsidian and hair just as dark as that was frozen as he looked at you. His ruby eyes wide as he took you in. The large behemoth of a man, identical in features to your own Eijiro, blinked before a shaky smile went to his face. Tears filled his red eyes as he looked at you. “Oh pumpkin…” He let out softly, moving towards you. He looked you over another time sniffing. Then suddenly you saw his jaw vibrate as he held back a sob. He turned to look away from you, putting a hand to the stone wall as he tried to hold it in.

You felt tears in your own eyes as you neared him. “Takeo…”

He shook his head as he looked up to the ceiling. “I promised Yua I wouldn’t cry.” He said. He glanced at you before crumbling. He pulled you into a tight hug, holding you up against him in his warm embrace. His large soft muscles cradled you against him, almost as if you were his own blood and he was trying to keep you safe. “Pumpkin, you’re so beautiful!” He cried out as he held you to his thick pecs, not bothered by the weight of you, your clothes or jewellery. “You look like a fluffy white cloud. You’re so gorgeous, oh my stars!”

“Takeo.” Yua walked over to her husband in amusement as hot tears ran down his face. She took out a handkerchief bringing it to wipe at his face. “Be careful, we just got her dressed.” She chastised her large husband.

Takeo nodded as he carefully sat you down, moving to wipe his eyes with the handkerchief Yua gave him. He sniffed. “Okay, okay. I’ll be careful.” He took a moment to take a deep breath. He blew his nose, lighting the handkerchief on fire. Your eyes widened at the sudden appearance of flames. He handed the handkerchief back to Yua. “Thank you, dear.” He nodded sincerely. Yua gave him a blunt look with her handkerchief now on fire.

Takeo then turned to you, offering his arm. You smiled up at him and took it. You put your hand to his arm and took a place beside him. He motioned forward. The two of you walked ahead, moving through the torch lit corridors that made up the deep network of tunnels and caves of the dragon community. You reached the common hall, a large cavern that was large and spacious. This was the place you ate with the community, where announcements were made and where you ran around bare naked with nothing but your scales as a small hatchling. The both of you continued onwards, moving with Eijiro’s younger sisters behind you as your pebble girls. Takeo finally led you to what was decorated in wreaths and silks from the barbarians. Everything beautiful and laid out just for you.

Everyone was already standing and waiting for you, and suddenly it felt like all eyes were on you. All eyes except Eijiro, who stood at the very end of the made isle, with his wings flexing every so often showing how nervous he was. You couldn’t help but let out soft giggles as you moved down the middle with Takeo at your side.

You smiled at everyone who looked at you, their happy faces reminding you how lucky you were to be in this situation right now, with everyone who loves you and cares for you all around you. It almost made you want to cry. But you had to hold back the tears. Today was a happy day.

Once you reached the front, you looked over to Takeo, who smiled down at you proudly, crows feet by his eyes so prominent. The older drake was like a father figure to you and he loved you as though he was your sire. Often you wondered if your Eijiro would grow up to look just as his father and every day they looked the same, despite Takeo’s soft grey streaks in dark inky black thick hair that cascaded down his back. He cupped your face in large warm hands and placed a kiss on your forehead. You squeezed his hands in gratitude for all he had done for you so far.

You turned to the front, where Elder Park stood with Eijiro. Eijiro’s tail was swishing left and right making you giggle. You moved to stand next to him. “Hi.” You spoke softly. You hadn’t seen him all day, the wedding happening at sunset with all the celebrations going far into the night.

Eijiro finally was allowed to look at you, dragon tradition stating that the drake wasn’t allowed to gaze upon you until spoken to. “Hey, I-” All words left him as he looked at you. Eijiro’s red eyes widened in shock as he stared down at you in surprise. You watched him as he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back tears as he turned away from you as he covered his face.

You chuckled at the action along with others. You felt your own tears spring to your eyes. “Eijiro, you can’t turn away yet. We haven’t even gotten married.” You reasoned.

Eijiro sniffed as he tried rubbing the tears away, straightening up again. “I’m sorry.” He chuckled. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” He finally looked at you again, pupils big as he stared down at you like you were the sky and stars themselves. Love was so evident in his eyes it almost made you melt. He leaned forward and put his nose against yours with a loving rumble. “You’re so beautiful, my setting horizon.” He let out softly in a whisper, tears in his eyes.

Looking up at him now, you realised fully how handsome he was. His hair was done in ceremonial braids all for the occasion, golden rings decorated his obsidian horns as his bare skin that was not covered in scales had the tribal patterns of his family decorated on in white on thick hard-earned muscle. Your drake looked so handsome, and so perfectly and wonderfully yours.

Elder Park cleared his throat calling for attention. He looked at you and then at Eijiro. His face fell in annoyance as he rolled his eyes. “Great another Kirishima.” That brought a slight blush to Eijiro’s face as Elder Park started.

To be honest, you barely focused on the wedding when you had Eijiro staring at you as if you were gold itself. His eyes on you and only you. You were both too busy giggling every now and then, that Elder Park was growing more annoyed by your giggles.

Carefully the both of you moved closer together, Eijiro held you in his arms as he stared down at you. You knew the ceremony procedures and knew that now was time for you both to do as required. You bared your neck, exposing it to Eijiro.

Eijiro rubbed his thumb over the exposed skin that you showed him. Carefully he put a kiss to your neck, it was warm like everything about him, gentle and almost loving. A sort of apology, before he sunk his teeth into your neck. Sharp canines piercing your skin, tearing through flesh and muscle. You bit back a hiss, although painful there was a warm feeling that pulsated around the wound almost comfortingly.

He moved his mouth off of your neck. You carefully moved your fingers to the wound on your neck, covering your fingers in your own blood. Once you made sure that they were thoroughly dipped in deep dark crimson red blood you looked up at Eijiro with a happy smile. “I take you to be my drake, my rock and my foundation,” You moved your fingers to Eijiro’s face. His eyes closed as you carefully drew against his skin. “The other half of my heart’s flame and the one I return to. You, Kirishima Eijiro,” You drew two straight lines down the centre of his face, over his nose and lips till the very tip of his chin. He opened his eyes and smiled at you, making you pause as you took him in. You felt choked up a bit. You gave him a shaky tearful smile. “You are mine as I am yours. Till the world burns once more. My rising horizon and sun of my life.”

Eijiro let out a happy rumble making you giggle. Carefully, he bared his neck to you as well, exposing his neck for you to bite. You reached up, carefully kissing his skin, before trying to find a good place. It had to be perfect. Your bite wouldn’t be as big as Eijiro but you just needed to try harder in claiming. You moved your mouth over to the space between his neck and shoulder and bit down hard, the taste of his skin on your tongue as you broke skin. You tasted the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. You bit harder trying to make sure he bite would be deep enough. You let go of him. You looked down at the bite mark, proud of what you had done making Eijiro laugh lightly.

“I take you to be my draikana, my reason and determination,” He carefully dipped his fingers in his own blood, moving his thumbs over to the top of your hairline. You closed your eyes at the feeling of his warm thumbs on your face, trying to fight back tears at the overwhelming feeling in your chest. “The other half of my heart’s flame and the one I fight for. You, L/N Y/N,” Once you felt his fingers reach the bottom of your face, you opened your eyes to look at him. A lovestruck expression, his pupils big in adoration and hypnotised by your presence. “You are mine as I am yours. My future Queen as I am your future King. Till the world burns once more. My setting horizon and sun of my life.” He looked so undeniably soft and smitten with you and you couldn’t help but look up at him the same. His hands still cupped your face and you reached up and did the same.

He was yours. No one else’s, just yours.

You wanted him in mind body and soul.

A loving hot rumble came out of his chest, a dragon like purr, as his chest glowed red hot with the fire of his heart. You returned it with your foreheads pressed together, your own chest glowing with the fire inside you. A warm space only for the both of you as you stood together in each other’s arms.

“In fire and blood are they joined together, forever moving in that cycle as two halves that make a whole, that click together. With holy fire as their witness and in front of the eyes of all their family and loved ones, a drake and draikana become mates.”

You felt tears burn in your eyes with a soft giggle bubbling out of your chest. Eijiro couldn’t help but match your expression, too much emotions brimming in his chest as tears brimmed at his ruby eyes as he looked down at you. He swiped his thumb over your cheek. Not wasting a second longer, Eijiro kissed you. You kissed him back, the taste of blood and smoke on his lips only edging you for more as you held each other safely in each other’s arms.

Everyone was in great celebration as food was passed around in baskets and drinks were raised in cheers. Gifts of all sorts were brought forward to the new married couple as well as presented from the groom’s family to yours as gratitude for raising you and for giving you over to them. The celebrations had been moved to the main vent of the volcano, that was covered in igneous rock and a layer of soul and vegetation that almost made it hard to believe that this was indeed a volcano. The warm soil was a bit of an indicator, but dragons preferred their habitats hot anyways.

From the ceremony, immediately was food and there was almost too much to go around. Cows slaughtered galore, leaving a sent of beef and blood in the air. Cows were symbolically a sign of fertility and fruition, a symbol of the earth. That and the dragons really liked beef. The cups of sweet fruity wine made specially from the barbarians was in the cups of adults and elders old and newly coming of age scaled dragons as young as fourteen too. It was a joyous occasion, that would probably last the entire night. Music thrummed in the air from strong loud drums and string guitars and flutes. A heavy sound of constant dance and song.

Eijiro sat on a cushioned pillow, surrounded by more pillows and furs, with your place beside him empty. Much was happening but the main spectacle was you in front of everyone dancing like Eijiro had never seen you before. He was hypnotised and no one could blame him. His eyes only on you and the jingle of the bells around your feet that made noise with every step and the sway and shake of your hips that carried the heavy skirt that was made out of thick layers and jewels. Beads adorned your neck and head, a beautiful display as the only other thing that was covered about you was your chest by a cloth.

Katsuki sat next to Eijiro as his best man, the barbarian watched as you danced in the middle, the musicians playing an upbeat tune with the loud banging of drums and string instruments just for you alone. Your husband sat, hands on his knees, sitting up straight as he watched you with a smirk, a look of pure pride on his face with an upright posture.

The blond prince turned to look to Takeo who had a drink in hand as well as Mina who was talking to Yua. “Oi pink scales.” Katsuki whispered loudly, although there wasn’t much of a need to whisper at all. “This is the bridal dance, right?”

She nodded her head excitedly to tell him. “Yep.” She moved to kneel next to Bakugou’s pillow as she motioned over to you. “It’s one of the main events of weddings. The bride dances using a heavy skirt made by the groom’s family. The skirt is the same weight as an egg of the family. The bride being able to dance with the skirt so freely is a show of how she can carry the weight of the future of the family, and it shows her strength and agility. It also shows her devotion to her new family.” She informed him.

Katsuki’s crimson eyes moved to Eijiro, elevated above him for all to see, who watched you with a heated gaze. Katsuki knew what that look meant, and it was as plain as day what the redheaded dragon thought about your display. “So all that Eijiro has done during courting, the hunting and fighting and all that shit… that was his display of devotion to her?”

Mina nodded. “He proves it in action and she proves it now.”

Takeo let out a hum as he folded his arms over his chest. He looked like a proud father as he looked over at you. “And Y/N’s skirt is the same weight as Yua’s.” He stated confidently, before looking over to his much smaller wife. He put a kiss to her head making her smile up at him. Then he placed another one, and another one, littering her face in kisses making the draikana purr in happiness with giggles. “You were so gorgeous during your Bri’erdaral Drankerr’.” He whispered in a low growl, near her neck making her giggle with a blush.

Katsuki instantly translated the draconic to ‘bridal dance’ in the common tongue. Draconic was a rather confusing language if you couldn’t pick up the letters underneath the undertone of growls and rough speech, as well as the heavy impact that emotions had one the meaning of the sentence or words. Humans couldn’t speak the language often due to how rough it was.

Mina nodded her head before looking to you in awe. The brown skinned dragon with pink scales put her head in her hands with a proud smile. “Yua had a skirt double the weight of a Kirishima egg, around twenty pounds, and Y/N did the same. She practised so hard for this dance. You should have seen all the tape from Sero she had to use while practising. She danced everyday till her feet were raw and her scales were all stiff the following day.”

Katsuki raised his eyebrows looking over at you. You made it seem so seamless. Every step seemed precalculated and yet beautifully by chance and every wave of your arms was graceful and elegant. Like a dragon flying in the sky, you looked just like one. You held one side of your skirt as you moved around with sweeping yet hard planted steps, the jingle of your movements filling the air and matching the song being played.

Eijiro motioned to Katsuki, taking the blond’s attention. He pointed over to you with a proud smile. “That’s my wife.”

Katsuki chuckled. “I can see, buddy.”

Finally, your dance came to a stop instantly prompting cheers and applause. You wiped your forehead of sweat but a happy smile on your face at what you had done. You looked over to your new husband who had the biggest smile on his face as you neared him. You crouched down and carefully moved to the huge puffed out pillow that was set for you. Eijiro moved to put a hand to the side of your face and bring you in for a deep kiss. You chuckled against his lips, finding his need amusing.

You separated from him with a broad stupid smile on your face. You giggled. “Was it to your liking?”

A loud pleased rumble left his chest as he nodded his head, pulling you closer to him. “More than that, you were absolutely perfect, my love.” He praised, grabbing your wrist and bringing to his mouth for a kiss. You giggled at the gesture. A low rumble of draconic praise coming out of his mouth as he kissed your neck.

In the middle you watched as the young hatchlings had a time to have their own little dances in the middle. A display of the future of the community but also a hope for the both of you. Your husband had a broad smile on his face as one of his sisters waved over to him excitedly. He waved back with just was much excitement, motioning for her to follow the steps of the dance and not to get too distracted.

More dancing was in the middle now, a mixture of everyone enjoying their time as you got wine delivered to you to quench your thirst. The night was moving on with not a hint of tiredness from anyone. The moon was high in the sky almost directly above the main vent, a great big glowing circle in the sky despite the torches and fires.

Eijiro motioned to his father, who nodded as he looked to Mina. Quickly, Mina, Yua, Denki and other members of the bridal party made quick discreet work of shooing away all the hatchlings and those who hadn’t got their coming-of-age scales yet.

“Abba, let me go!” Tamami said as she beat against his back as he picked her up effortlessly and shooed her away. “Why can’t I stay! I already have my coming-of-age scales and by dragon law, I can stay!” She protested, conjuring her wings to try and beat away Takeo so he can let go of her. “I’m already fifteen!”

Takeo shook his head. “Next year.” He placed her down near the corridor where all those on hatchling duty were leading the young ones away. Tamami frowned up at her father with furrowed eyebrows and a pout. “I need you to be a good girl and go look after the hatchlings and all the eggs, it won’t be long till the wedding is officially over.”

“This is unfair.” She protested with her arms folded. “I’m old enough to see.” She whined.

“I’m the king, everything I say is fair.” She frowned as she looked away from him stubbornly. Takeo let out a breath but put a kiss to her head, “I promise to give you all the mutton you want tomorrow.”, which seemed to work as she left along with everyone else. Takeo motioned to Pony giving her strict orders to keep an eye on her.

With all of them gone, the wine was still poured, and the festivities grew less fast and more languid. It took a good ten minutes before you noticed that Eijiro had been more than just kissing your neck. He had an ulterior motive that you quickly noticed. You ran a hand through his hair as you turned to look at him. “Eijiro…” your voice was soft as you spoke to him, feeling his hot tongue swipe against the bite mark he gave you earlier making you feel weak.

“It’s midnight.” He let out lowly, a low ache coming between your legs. “And I’ve been aching for you ever since you put on this skirt.” He growled as he put an arm around you, pulling you closer towards him, making you chuckle.

You felt his sharp teeth pierce your skin again, his hot tongue dragging over your sensitive flesh. You bit back a whimper as you turned to look at him. His heated red eyes on you and you alone, pupils big. “I see.” You cupped the side of his face. You nodded your head, answering his silent question.

Getting the go ahead from you, Eijiro kissed you, deeply. His tongue instantly infiltrating your mouth and you couldn’t help but fight back. You could taste the wine on his lips and the smokey undertone of the fire inside him. You wanted him to burn you so that you could burn together in holy fire. You wrapped your arms around his neck, allowing him to pull you closer, a hand to the side of your face.

Eijiro hummed at the taste of you on his own lips, moving one hand underneath your skirt, a hand feeling your thighs, feeling every scale and exposed skin that only got hotter and hotter the higher up your legs he went. He grabbed at your ass making you groan as you dragged a hand through his hair.

Katsuki sipped on his wine, happily glad for all the free food and fruity wine he could have. However, his blissfully ignorance left as he noticed moaning next to him. He turned his head to the right, looking to the raised stone above the rest just two feet off the ground where you and Eijiro were cushioned and seated. You and Eijiro were deeply intertwined in each other’s arms, Eijiro holding you as if he was afraid someone was going to steal you away from him, your mouths against each other as he shamelessly grabbed at your body. His hands up your skirt as a glimpse of your inner thighs was flashed to Katsuki.

Katsuki spat out his wine as he choked for a second. Takeo cautiously pat his back, in an effort to help the blond. Katsuki beat against his bare chest with his fist, clearing his throat before turning to look back at the both of you. You both clearly didn’t notice the temporarily close to death barbarian on the pillow.

Takeo tilted his head in confusion. “Are you okay, Katsuki?”

Katsuki looked to the giant dragon in surprise before looking to the both of you. He motioned to you and Eijiro. “Is no one else noticing that or have I had too much fucking wine?”

Takeo looked to you and Eijiro before chuckling. “Oh them? They’re just consummating their marriage.” He spoke nonchalantly as Eijiro carefully pushed you down onto the cushions.

Katsuki’s crimson eyes widened in disbelief. “In front of everyone?” He asked in shock.

Takeo nodded with a smile on his face. “Of course. Where else would they do it?” He shrugged as he moved to take another sip of wine. He noticed Katsuki’s still distraught face and heavy blush on his face as he tried to ignore you and the redheaded dragon. Takeo put an arm around the blond. “Don’t worry. It’s a very look forward to event of the wedding celebrations. Not to brag,” Takeo started as he put a hand to his chest. “But at my wedding, you could hear Yua’s screams from the top of the summit.” He claimed with a proud smile.

A swat came to his bicep from his wife. The chief of dragons let out a whine with a pout as he rubbed his arm. Yua pointed at him with a glare, a slight pink to her cheeks. “Now’s not about you.”

Eijiro moved his sharp nails to the cloth that covered your chest. Without much feat, he tore the tight piece of cloth in two, exposing your chest to the nighttime air and watchful eyes. Carefully, his mouth moved from your neck down to your chest, taking a nipple into his mouth. You let out a keen as you felt his hot tongue on a sensitive area. You had to hand it to Eijiro that if there was one thing, he always knew how to pleasure you.

You almost didn’t notice the way his fingers prodded and moved up and down your slit. You gripped him tighter, closer to you. You opened your eyes, looking past Eijiro for just a second, at everyone who was watching you. Your community, the people who you loved and cherished, all watching as your drake was about to claim you. You couldn’t help but spread your legs, signalling to Eijiro that you wanted his fingers already inside you.

A thick finger moved to push inside you making you gasp and arch your back temporarily. You sucked in a breath as a small whine left your mouth. Eijiro smirked at the feeling of your sex wrapped around his fingers. A deep chuckle rumbled out of his chest, as he let go of your nipple and smirked at you. “You stretched yourself out before hand?” He asked amusedly.

You shrugged with a smile. “I tried.” You spoke softly. “I don’t know if it did any good.”

“It did much good.” He added another one of his thick fingers inside you. This wouldn’t be the first time you and Eijiro had sex. Dragons were never much like human customs of waiting till marriage. On the contrary, dragons encouraged sex. It was a prolific act that showed the closeness you had to your partner and the bond the two of you shared. It was a display of affection and a show of two being becoming one. It was passionate and beautiful in its own way.

Like right now, with you and Eijiro peeling the clothes off one another. You were both careful of your wings and tails that you had left in your more human forms just for this occasion. Eijiro let your moans fill the air, opting to kiss your neck so that everyone could hear your voice. Your voice that now was his as he was yours. He shifted your skirt up to better stretch you out without the thing in the way.

“Eijiro take the skirt off!” Katsuki whipped his head to look at Takeo who had just blurted that out. “It’s not going to make your job any easier.” The statement brought chuckles all around. Shouts in support of Takeo’s statement and other’s in rebuttal filled the air.

Eijiro’s ruby eyes snapped over to his father with a growl. “I’m keeping it on.” He said insistently, making another round of chuckles fill the air at his tone. He liked you with the skirt. It was a symbol of your commitment to his family, a commitment to him. He couldn’t help but find it arousing.

You knew you didn’t need much stretching right now, mostly because a draikana was built to take a drake much easier than any other species. You whimpered looking up at Eijiro, trying to convince him to stop and just fuck you already.

Eijiro let out a low rumble out of his chest moving to rip off his pants as you moved on the cushions to lay on your stomach on your front, moving your hips up for better access for him.

Eijiro looked down at you, presenting all for him. All on display before him. Eijiro put a clawed hand on your ass allowing him access to see your sex. A growl out of his chest at the sight of you. You lowered yourself down on the pillows wiggling your ass as you lifted your tail up easier. A sort of low shuffle almost like dance to try and seduce the drake into fucking you.

You knew Eijiro was perfect for you. He was big and strong, and just looking at him bare and ready for you, with a large thick ribbed leaking cock, you couldn’t help but know it was true. Carefully Eijiro guided his cock inside you. You gasped as you felt him slide inside you. Nothing could beat a dragons cock. Thick and huge, a low red with ridges on the underside that caused more pleasure to the draikana and allowed the two of them to slot together almost perfectly.

You keened at the feeling of his cock pushed inside you. Eijiro closed his eyes with a groan at the feeling of your sex wrapped around him and massaging his cock. He hummed, a low growl out of the back of his throat, as he slowly opened his eyes to look back down at you. He put his hands on down on your ass as he slowly thrust back and forth. A filthy moan stumbled out of your mouth at the feeling of his cock grinding against the walls of your cunt.

It felt amazing having him inside you, and you couldn’t deny that once you had the feeling of pleasure rushing through your body, you couldn’t get enough of him. The slap of his pelvis against your ass urged you to try and match his thrusts as best as you could, a purr rumbling out of your chest in pure bliss. You buried your face in the pillows, your eyes closed in pleasure as you fucked yourself back on his cock.

Eijiro let out a low growl. His pupils slowly turned to slits as his only focus was on pounding into you. Low grunts and growl were the only thing leaving his mouth as the only instinctual purpose that went through him was breeding you. His pace fastened as he saw fit, grabbing at your head and forcing your face up off the pillows so that everyone could hear your moans. It didn’t help that the sharp thrust that went into you hit that spot inside you that had you trying to close your legs and mewling. Eijiro loved your sounds. Your sounds meant that everybody could hear you, could hear how well he was fucking you, how he was treating you.

The two of you were one. You were together, connected in such an intimate and innate way. Nothing could replace this. The joining of the both of you and the creation of something special.

“Come on, Eijiro!”

“You can go harder than that!”

“Y/N, you lucky girl!”

Cheers and shouts of encouragement reached your ears which only made your sex tighten around Eijiro as you felt heat travel up your neck. You whined in slight embarrassment, but Eijiro made sure that any time you tried to hide your moans, he pulled you up off the pillows.

Katsuki was frozen in his seat. Part of him was wondering what on earth he was doing there and why on earth he was subjected to such torture. Such torture of your whorish moans and Eijiro's grip on you. You were pressed down in front of him, your body was jostling, your breasts jiggling as your ass slapped against his pelvis as he fucked you. Katsuki wanted to look away, he wanted to save himself the boner and sexual frustration of having to endure all of this.

“Katsuki.” The blond nearly jumped out of his skin as Mina appeared behind him with a bowl. The barbarian looked down to the huge bowl that was filled with… blood? Katsuki sat up at the bowl he was being offered. Mina chuckled noticing his confusion. “This is the blood of the community. Everyone puts their blood in and at the end of the consummation its put over the newlywed couple as a form of solidarity to them.” Mina explained.

That's when he noticed the open cut on her thumb that was there. Katsuki wondered how heavy that bowl was, but then he noticed other dragons around the guests carrying other bowls as well, working in the shadows while everyone else seemed to enjoy the spectacle that was you and Eijiro’s erotic display.

Katsuki sat up as he took the knife and cut open his thumb with little hesitation. He put his hand over the bowl allowing blood to drip out of his thumb. He shook his head with a tsk. “Dragons and their obsession with blood.” He let out with a grunt. “You sure have such vivid traditions.”

Mina chuckled as she tilted her head to the side, curly pink hair moving to the side as she did so. Her golden eyes moved down to Katsuki's lap with an amused smirk before giggling. “You sure look like you’re enjoying them though, Katsuki.” She pointed out. Katsuki stiffened with a huff as his ears turned pink, his already flushed face formed a scowl making Mina giggle. Katsuki glared at her making Mina laugh. “Don't worry. Everyone gets riled up by these things, but once the bride and groom are gone, you're gonna love the after party.” She winked.

“And what makes you say that?” He asked not convinced.

She stood up with the bowl in her hands, finished with Katsuki. She winked down at him. “I'll make sure you do.”

You wailed as you came around Eijiro's cock. A shiver went through you as your eyes rolled back and you pushed back against him in eagerness. Eijiro was relentless and the humanity gone out of his eyes as the beast that raged in his heart and mind was in control. His grip on you was hard as he made fast pace in pounding into you, his strokes hitting that part inside you that had you squeezing him like your life depended on it.

Eijiro leaned forward, moving to put his hands to grip the pillows underneath you as he put his chest to your back. He caged you down underneath him, and you could feel the heat radiating off his skin and scales, a comforting feeling of your new husband. Smoke puffed out of his mouth as he tried to keep control of the fire inside him. You looked back at him with a keen, moving to nuzzle your head against his. He pressed down closer to you, his pace now sharp as you felt his heavy balls slap against your cunt. Cum and slick dripped down your thighs as you pressed yourself further down mewling and begging for his release.

Every thrust inside you beat against your cervix, the slightly pointed end of his cock pressing you open so that his seed could go straight inside of you. With a final thrust, a loud growl came out of him as you shivered in ecstasy, as his dick throbbed inside you. A sob escaped you at the pain and yet undeniable pleasure of feeling the head of his cock reach into depths you had never felt before. You felt his hot load of cum spill inside you making you hum in satisfaction. Eijiro let out heavy breaths as he clung to you in earnest.

You felt him nuzzle his head between the space of your neck and your shoulder. A loving rumble coming out of his chest as he held you, sweaty hot skin against your own as he appreciated you and tried his best to comfort you. You were in such a daze that you could barely notice that celebratory cheers around you.

Eijiro moved to sit down, being quick as to sit you on his lap with you on his cock so that none of his seed could find a way out of your fertile womb. You sat in his lap, facing him with your arms wrapped around his neck as you rested your head against his chest. Eijiro held you securely to his chest with one arm, holding you against him with pride brimming out of him.

You were his wife, his draikana, his future Queen and everyone had just seen how well you could take him and how hopefully the seed inside you would become the future heir of dragons. He put kisses to the top of your head, moving his lips to your ear with soft rumbled comforting words out of him. “You did so well, Y/N. Dear Starry flame, you're so beautiful. I'm so proud and grateful of you. My wife… only mine.” He rubbed your back soothingly as you got the pleasure to lay satisfied and satiated on his lap.

“Eijiro.” Your husband looked up at his father who had blushing draikanas behind him. He had his arms folded over his chest with a raised black eyebrow but a smirk on his face. “You really couldn't let go of the skirt?” Eijiro let out a low growl making Takeo laugh. The King of dragons motioned to the draikanas, Mina included, to spill the blood collected in the grooved drains around the two of you on the stone that you were on. Takeo crouched down. “I don't blame you, it looks good on her.” He praised as he put a hand to the side of your face, making your eyes open. You looked to Takeo with a tired smile making him chuckle. “You alright, pumpkin? Hope my son didn't break you.”

You smiled and nodded your head. “I'm alright, thank you. I'm more than perfect.” You moved your head up to kiss Eijiro's chin making him puff up in pride.

Takeo smiled. “Glad to hear it. You took that breeding perfectly. Hopefully you can make us even more proud by keeping all that seed inside you, yah?” He asked with a hand to the side of your face, his large hand caring and sweet as he caressed you, almost overshadowing the implications of his word. Your face burned but you nodded your head. He chuckled as he noticed all the blood filled around the two of you. You watched as light filled Takeo's chest and with a blow, blue hot flames fell onto the blood, running along the perimeter it formed around the two of you, a ring of fire and blood. Takeo stood up clearing his throat. He turned to the guests with a serious expression. He motioned to the two of you. “Your prince and princess!” He announced causing cheers of celebration to erupt.

You looked up at Eijiro as he looked down at you. You reached up and put your noses together, tears in your eyes as you held onto each other. Married and joined as one. Eijiro giggled softly, “Sun of my life.”

You couldn’t help but reciprocate, placing your head against his beating heart. “Sun of my life.”

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