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circeyoru · 3 months

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The Raven’s Deer

[Alastor x Zestial’s Little sibling!Reader]

Part 1 (here) — Part 2

Zestial speaks in [archaic dialect redolent of early modern English], so something like Shakespearean English and you speak that same

Where as Zestial is a bat-like demon, you’re a raven demon with two pairs of retractable black feathered wings on your back. Your appearance was similar to that of an angel, but it was more of a mocking to them since you have an inky substance that would float around you

Different to Zestial who instills fear with just a look and/or his appearance, you tone it down and is arguably the more approachable of the two. Though others can’t see this as a free pass to bully you as you were more prone to violence than Zestial too

You do speak ‘funny’ as the modern sinners would whisper and sometimes try to instantly translate your words with their phones, especially those that were unlucky enough to meet your shopping requirements. But you can speak ‘normally’ in a way that everyone understands. You just don’t to watch them struggle more

Your big brother and you rule over your batch of souls in a small district that you two share and guard, your brother overseeing a mansion while you oversee the surrounding forest. Your people were your silent servants with powers that were useful to you and have signed contracts with you, soul-binding or otherwise

Being as old (do NOT use that word since you died young) ancient as you were, you’ve seen your fair share of the rise and fall of overlords. Though not one as interesting as Alastor. At first, you were merely enjoying some wine while you read whatever was in your collection. Then you heard screams of agony and pain in your room. You were positive there was no one being tortured at the moment, so where did it come from?

The radio had come to life on a shelve of yours. You twitched your fingers, bringing the radio closer to you, the screams were indeed from the device before you. But you never turned it on and this was the first time you heard such music. You left it playing to see when it would stop, to your delight, it never did

Well, until the culprit behind such an act came forward. The screams died down a bit, but not entirely gone as he made his name known. “Greetings, sinners and demons of Hell! I am Alastor, The Radio Demon!”

“Fitting.” You mumbled out as you listened, from then on, you’d leave the radio playing. Sometimes Alastor was hosting and other times it was those screams. You even talked about it with Zestial, expressing your fascination to this new demon

Your older brother, growing curious and intrigued, asked for Carmilla to host a meeting to see who were still surviving. As luck would have it, it was the day after the extermination. The pair of you were positive Alastor had been safe and alive since he was having a wonderful time broadcasting, all the while Carmilla, Zestial, and you listened and done your own activities in your safe underground room deep within the forest

Your ravens had been the ones to collect the angelic weapons for Carmilla to experiment and create her weapons, even perfecting her fighting style. Since you were more physical and violent than Zestial, you happily trained with Carmilla, even helping her. In exchange, she made sure your wings were even deadier than before, now having angelic coat. Your wings were your weapons

The meeting was uneventful to say the least, Zestial and you didn’t need it to see what Overlord was alive since Zestial could name every demon behind the scream on the radio. See, he was the one with more information and a nack for those things. The pair of you really do complete each other

What caught your interest (and maybe slight fancy) was Alastor. You and Zestial arrived right behind Carmilla and took your seats side by side, ignoring all the Overlords you passed by. Their aura and presence were lacking to say the least, it was no wonder Alastor could overthrow these bunch. You noticed Husk and Niffty missing though

The formal meeting between you and alastor came only when you were delivering some demon bodies to Cannibal Town. You dropped by where Rosie would be without checking if she had company, so you made quite an impression

Alastor blinked with his head tilted as Rosie suddenly got up from her seat and opened one of the bigger windows. Then you appeared, your wings undercovering from the cocoon you wrapped yourself around to enter through the window without breaking it. “Oh, so nice to see you!” Rosie hugged you, careful to avoid your wings even after you shifting it away from her. You returned the sentiment. “I always told you there’s no need to drop bodies for my people.”

“T wast a valorous way to ex’rcise. (It was a good way to exercise)” You waved it off. “Thy people w’re joyous to seeth me anyways, so I’m m’re than joyous to giveth those folk a valorous meal. (Your people were happy to see me anyways, so I’m more than happy to give them a good meal)”

“Oh, where are my manners? Here, allow me to introduce you to our rising Overlord friend.” Rosie guided you over to where Alastor was seat, he immediately got up when you neared. “This is Alastor, The Radio Demon, I’m should you’ve heard. And this is The Nightmare Raven.”

“Quite a pleasure to be meeting such a legend, I’ve heard tales of you!” Alastor bowed a bit, then taking your hand to kiss it. “Never in my weirdest dreams would I think we’d be meeting so causally, my dear.”

“Charm’d I’m sure. It’s a pleasure to beest meeting thee as well. Thy radio did broadcast given thee quite the nameth, broth’r and I has’t been listening and wast ent’rtain’d. (Charmed I’m sure. It’s a pleasure to be meeting you as well. Your radio broadcast given you quite the name, brother and I have been listening and was entertained)” You smiled back

Turns out, you and Alastor hit it off quite well and enjoyed your time well enough that Alastor started acting more intimate behind closed doors. A relationship even Zestial didn’t mind but he sure as hell threatened Alastor a bad time if your heart was broken in any way, shape, or form. Alastor swore, “I’d never leave such a beauty and terror alone. Why, I’d think your lovely sibling is worthy of all things!”

LIAR

The first year of his disappearance, you thought he was busy with a human contract up above. But there was none. The second year, you thought he was perhaps taking a break from interacting with you since you were a bit more clingy than he’d like. The third year, you thought an exterminator got to him. The fourth year, you accepted his disappearance and broke down. The fifth year, you were suddenly active when you caught wind that Husk and Niffty were alive but still bound by contracts, you searched high and low, but no Alastor. Not even his radio played new screams. The sixth year, Zestial comforted you and suggested you drop your interest in Alastor. The seventh year, you locked yourself in your forest. Only leaving and observing the city by your ravens

Alastor flinched when Zestial spoke of you, he eyed the raven on the ancient Overlord’s shoulder, it was on the side away from him, so he was a bit grateful. Perhaps it was a luck thing that you weren’t joining the meeting and Zestial came in your place with the raven. He did feel a shiver when Zestial spoke of your state, how you were not yourself and more drawn back and distant

He honestly never expected to leave for so long. 7 years, 7 exterminations. The times after the two of you met, both of you were tolerant of the other under your shared interest and use of the other. It was merely beneficial, like business partners. Yet he found himself more adaored by you as time passed. He had planned to confess and solidify the relationship between you two, but then came his disappearance

“May I see the darling?” Alastor asked, begged. He needed to make things right

Before Zestial could answer, or perhaps he was waiting for your cue, the raven on his shoulder screamed loudly, motioning its head as if to peck at Alastor. Then came Zestial’s cold tone, different from the previous carefree one when he greeted Alastor. “I believeth mine own sibling hast nay w’rds ‘r timeth to spareth f’r thee, Alastor. (I believe my sibling has no words or time to spare for you, Alastor)”

Note: Yes. I took a break from the requests. But you can still send your ideas for me to write. It's just taking time for me to come up with ideas on how to write it~ I love reading and writing some of your interesting and silly ideas~ Keep them coming!

Circe Y.

MASTERLIST

#alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #Circe's Nighty Writings #The Raven’s Deer

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pathetichimbos · 11 months

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Hii! May I request Thomas Hewitt overhearing reader talk with her friends and saying that she came across this very cute guy whom she smiled at when they accidently made eye contact? (The guy is, of course, Tommy <3) And maybe Tommy spares her afterwards and decides to hide her away so that Hoyt doesn't order him to turn her into a human stew-

Thank you!

You're Mine

Includes: Thomas Hewitt / F!Reader

SFW

TW: Hoyt is a creep again / Very very slight Yandere!Thomas

...

Thank you for sending in this ask! Sorry for the long wait time and I hope you enjoy!

The cool wind rushed across your face, whipping around your body and sweeping through your hair as you leaned back on your own hands.

Your eyes stared up to the bright blue sky, a few tuffs of cloud floating idly through the giant blue mass as you sped down the highway, your best friend behind the wheel.

You were sat in the passenger seat, feet planted on the dashboard as the radio blasted loudly enough to try and rival the open hood of the convertible.

Carly was screaming along to the music, open beer in hand as she swung around her seat behind you, loud laughter repeatedly breaking up her own singing.

Brooke was singing as well, pausing often to puff on the cigarette stuck in her left hand, the smoke immediately obliterating in the harsh winds as soon as it left her lungs.

You three had been on the road for two and a half hours, not even making it a quarter a way through your trip. Time was dragging on as Brooke sped past the desolate Texas fields, pushing well past the speed limits.

Carly's laughing suddenly dies down as she leaned past the front seat, turning the radio down to match her new tone.

“Hey, look! There's a gas station up ahead!” She pointed at the large red sign standing prominently on the side of the road, the faded red and white paint being about the only thing you can register about it as you quickly pass it.

“Oh, perfect, we're almost out.” Brooke sighed, flicking her cigarette butt to the road.

“I told you to fill up before we left!” You furrowed your brows as you looked your friend up and down, “We sat at that first place for twenty minutes, what gives?”

“Not the cute cashier, that's for sure.” Carly giggled as she wrapped her arms around your neck and leaned her chin on the seat, “You know how our Brooke is, always the romantic.”

You rolled your eyes and playfully nudged her, “Oh, like you're one to talk. Didn't you tell Freddy and Taylor you'd go out with them next week?”

“But I've got taste,” She insisted, “My men have to have culture. I don't just go for the first cute gas station clerk that comes my way.”

“Oh, get real, Carls,” Brooke scoffed, “The only 'culture' Taylor has is whatever's growing on his dick after sleeping his way through the entire town.”

Their smiles were wide as they continued to poke playful fun at each other, filling the few minutes it took to find the gas station with conversation and laughter.

The station wasn't anything fancy, no one in sight as the three of you parked next to one of the only two gas pumps out front.

The building was old and small, the white paint faded and chipping off the sides from the apparent decades it spent under the relentless Texas sun.

The glass door was smudged and unclean, the pumps rusted and stained, and the air was filled with the red dust Brooke's car had stirred up from driving through the dirt that laid out in front of it.

You couldn't help but think of how perfect this scene would be in a horror movie.

“Here.” Brooke dug a ten out of her small pink purse, shoving it your way.

“Why do I gotta go into the creepy old gas station?” You frowned, still taking the bill.

“Because I'm pumping the gas and Carly's already drank so much she's about to piss herself.”

You turned back to see Carly had already evacuated the back seat, hurrying off to look for the bathrooms.

You sighed and gave in, stepping out of the car and taking the opportunity to stretch as you made the short walk to the front door.

The metal was hot as you swung the door open, the creaky hinges screaming out as the heavy, rancid smell of old meat swept through your nose.

You couldn't help but cringe a little, nose scrunching and feet faltering at the old pig set inside the glass counter of the small deli to your left.

You brushed it off and stepped up to the counter to your right, greeting the older woman with a smile as she puffed on her cigarette.

She looked you up and down, a slight scowl on her face as she nodded at you.

“I need ten on, uh...” You glanced back through the door, “...The pump that's closest to the door.”

“Ain't got no gas.” She deadpanned, leaning on the counter with one hand as she looked down to the ten you had sent on the counter.

Your heart dropped and you sighed, crumbling the bill in your hand, “Is there another gas station around here?”

“Not for another fifty miles.”

“I don't know if we can make it that far. Do you know when you might get some more gas?”

“'Fraid those pumps haven't worked for the better part of five years.”

You let out a huff and chewed your bottom lip, “I- I don't, uh... I don't suppose you have any idea of what we could do?”

She let out a long sigh through her nose and rubbed the butt of her cigarette into the ash tray, “I can call the sheriff. I'm sure he won't mind taking you to the nearest station.” She punctuated her sentence by looking you up and down once again.

That implication made you more than a little uncomfortable, but knowing Carly and Brooke were with you was enough of a comfort let her call the man.

The lady turned to the phone behind her, spinning the dial as you tapped your foot impatiently.

You were looking around the station, taking in the old, dusty atmosphere as you waited for the sheriff to pick up on his end.

Flies buzzed, darting around the room as the dull lights flickered in the empty display fridge across the store, a couple of old wooden tables and matching chairs filling the space between it and the shelves.

A small radio sat stiff and silent on the table behind the counter, right beside the phone the lady was speaking into.

“Sure you ain't. And I don't know, only one of 'em came in.”

You balanced on the balls of your feet for a moment, letting out a short sigh as you finally tuned into the one side of the conversation you could hear.

“Watch your tone, boy.” Her voice was threatening as she pulled the phone away from her ear, “How many of y'all are there?”

Your brows furrowed as you stopped for a moment.

It was a bit of a strange question, but you supposed that he would need to know how many people he'd be driving, so you brushed it off and gave her an answer.

“Three, including me.”

“There's three of 'em.” She didn't acknowledge your answer as she continued speaking on the phone.

You pursed your lips as the faint sound of a loud man drifted from the phone, but you had no idea what the hell he could be saying.

“If you say so. I'll see you in a bit.” She finally responded before hanging up the phone and turning to you, “He says it'll be about five minutes.”

Hope blossomed in your chest as you thanked her profusely, “I'll go tell my friends.”

She didn't say anything as you hurried out the door, meeting Brooke and Carly at the car.

“The pump ain't workin', Y/N. What gives?” Brooke was repeatedly pulling the trigger as the pump sat in her gas tank.

“She said they don't have no gas, and the next station ain't for another fifty miles.”

“Oh, what the hell...” Carly groaned from the backseat where she had been laying out, sunglasses protecting her eyes from the harsh light.

“Don't worry, she called the sheriff and he's gonna come give us a ride!” You explained, climbing back into the passenger seat, “She said it'll only be five minutes.”

Brooke huffed as she put the pump back in place before climbing into the drivers seat, “Just our luck, eh?”

Carly shot up, beaming, “It could be! I bet the sheriff is an absolute hottie.”

You snickered, “In a place like this? He's probably a hundred years old!”

“Hey, Carly likes the gray foxes.” Brooke smirked, leaning back on her seat to face the two of you.

“Oh, sick.” She made a gagging face and grabbed her throat, “You are a freak, Brooke!”

“There's nothing wrong with an older guy!” You defended the idea, “They're more mature.”

“Oh, so you're the freak.” Brooke laughed, “It would be you, you've always been a weirdo.”

“True! Remember when we went to that haunted trail a few years ago and she hooked up with one of the zombies!?” Carly pointed out, making you groan.

“Don't remind me. He was such a clinger, I practically had to fake my own death to get him off my leg.”

The conversation continued flowing easily, as it always did between you three.

Before you knew it, the loud slamming of a car door caught your attention and halted your conversation as the three of you looked ahead to the sheriff's car parked some feet ahead of your car.

And older man began walking from the driver side, graying and white hair, a matching, thin, goatee stained by the dip he haphazardly spit to the ground.

“Oh, nasty.” Carly whispered, pulling a face, “He really is old.”

“Don't say that!” Brooke nudged her with her elbow before gesturing to you, “You'll give the old home's heartbreaker here a boner.”

You gently slapped her shoulder, “Shut it, he's coming this way.”

“Who's that in the passenger seat?” Carly asked no one in particular, sitting up further to get a closer look.

“Well, howdy there, ladies. What brings you to this little slice of paradise?” The sheriff drawled, a creepy smirk on his face as he finished crossing the path to Brooke's door, leaning a little too close for comfort.

“Just passing through, sir.” Brooke gave a tight smile, leaning back a little, “Ending up running out of gas.”\

He tsk'd a little, shaking his head, “Well, that just won't do, will it?”

You tried your best not to pull a face as your attention turned back to the sheriff's car, hearing the passenger door finally open and close.

Out stepped a man, much much different from the first person to emerge.

He was tall, towering over the car as he shuffled in place, head hanging low as his eyes stayed trained on the sheriff.

His long, black curls brushed against his shoulders, and seemed to be held down by the homemade mask covering his face, though you couldn't see any finer details from here.

He wore an old, dirty dress shirt, and black slacks to match, almost as if he were in his Sunday best, despite the stains and wrinkles adorning his clothes.

As you stared he seemed to notice, eyes darting to focus on you.

A deep heat flooded your cheeks as you flashed an awkward smile before shrinking into your seat, and mostly out of his line of sight. Staying up just enough to peek back out at him often.

“Oh, don't worry about it.” You tuned back into the sheriff, flashing his stained teeth as he finally stood straight again, “I'll just go in there and tell Mama to keep an eye on your stuff and then I'll take care of y'all.”

You could practically feel Carly shuddering as he stalked off towards the gas station directly across from your car.

“Thomas!” The man yelled as he reached the doorway, and you watched as he motioned the second man over before whispering something to him none of you could hear.

Assuming he was going back into the gas station, you turned back to your friends, who seemed to be avoiding looking at the gas station all together, thanks to the creepy sheriff.

“What a fuckin' sicko!” Brooke shuddered, “I don't want to go anywhere with him!”

Carly nodded, making a sick face, “Did you see the way he kept staring at our boobs? I don't trust him!”

“Who gives a shit what you guys are talking about.” You loudly interrupted their quiet complaints, “Did you see that second guy!?”

They both shook their heads, having been too focused on the creepy advances of the sheriff.

“Oh my god.” You groaned, running your hands down your face, “He was so fucking cute. I'm talking tall, dark, brooding, absolutely huge build. Guy looked like he lifts in his sleep.”

“Uh, you mean that guy, right there by the door, who can absolutely hear your bat shit talk?” Carly pointed to the man, who was standing a few feet away, completely avoiding looking at the car now.

You face dropped and you slunk into the seat, practically screaming, “NO, oh my god he must think I'm such a freak.”

“Um, you kind of are.” Brooke leaned down and whispered, “He's not that cute.”

“You are so stupid.” You let out a sigh, “That man looks like what every man wants to be.”

“Well, maybe he didn't hear you.” Carly offered a small smile, “Even though he definitely did.”

“Fuck.”

“Go talk to him.” Brooke nudged you.

“No way! I'm not looking to embarrass myself even more!”

“It's too late anyways.” Carly reluctantly gestured to the sheriff who was now returning.

Brooke rolled her eyes as she turned to climb out of the car, “Come on, girls.”

You sighed as you followed suit, Carly not far behind.

Brooke was the first to make her way to the sheriff's car, opting for the backseat, much to your and Carly's dismay.

Not even giving you a chance, Carly darted ahead, loudly announcing, “I'll sit with you, Brooke!”

You groaned, knowing it would be rude to try and insist to sit in the back as well.

You glanced back to the station door, noticing Thomas was coming over too. You sighed this time, hoping that he'd take the front seat, as he seemed to know the sheriff better.

But before that even became an option, you heard the loud protest of Brooke and Carly as they pulled faces at the open back door.

“There's stuff all over the backseat! We can't even fit.” Carly pointed out.

“Oh, yea.” The sheriff mused, “Well, c'mon then. Start grabbing stuff, we'll throw it in the trunk.”

He opened the trunk and your friends gave you looks as they started grabbing armfuls of various things crowding the backseat.

You finished walking to the car, planning on helping but walking slow so there hopefully wouldn't be anything left for you to grab.

Thomas was only a few steps behind you, watching as you stood beside the open back door, waiting on your friends.

His hands twitched, and his mind was torn.

His entire life he was ridiculed and bullied.

If not for his deformities and looks, than for his lack of education and inability to fully understand and control his emotions.

When people looked at him, they saw a monster. A freak.

But... You didn't.

You, a complete stranger, if even just for a minute, thought he was cute.

Cute enough to tell your friends and feel embarrassed by his opinion.

You treated him like a normal person, for a brief moment.

And he was hooked.

He craved more, more of that feeling. To have someone look at him like he was normal, like he was more than just a deformed monster hiding behind a mask.

He wanted to get your attention again, to selfishly hear your sweet voice say more kind things, things that no one had ever said before.

He stared holes into the back of your head, trying to will you to give him just a little more of your attention.

He thought you were beautiful too, and he wondered if you knew.

Could you tell, with the way he stared every chance he got?

God, he didn't even now your name, but he needed to. He would do anything to learn more about you, to keep you close and safe.

He was so lost in his own thoughts and emotions he didn't even notice how severe the situation had gotten between the sheriff and your friends until you darted forward.

Dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. His mind screamed, his hand shooting out to stop you.

The skin of your wrist was so soft compared to his calloused hands, he never wanted to let go.

He wondered if the rest of you was just as soft.

Your confused eyes flickered back to his own, questioning him without any words being spoken.

He shook his head, tightening his grip just enough to get his message across without hurting you.

You were his now. And he would give his life to protect you.

#slasher fandom #slashers #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x s/o #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x reader #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #Jamie Writes

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dreamescapeswriting · 2 months

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Shadows Of The Past ~ YJN [MATURE WARNING]

CONTINUATION OF THIS PIECE

WORD COUNT: 5.2K

GENRE: mafia AU, established friendships, friends to lovers, financial trouble, joengin helping the reader, always been there for her but she never knew it, SMUT MINORS DNI, protected sex, public sex (kinda) links into the other stories too ehe epilogue with everyone included <3

PAIRING: Jeongin X Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - February 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

When you'd agreed to go to dinner with Jeongin to talk business you hadn't thought he'd bring you somewhere too sophisticated and fancy and you suddenly felt out of place. You were dressed in your pencil skirt and a white shirt that you were almost sure had stains all over it and everyone in the restaurant looked as though they were dressed for an award ceremony.

The restaurant exuded an air of elegance, its walls adorned with muted artwork that all seemed to be signed by an artist known as "Little Muse" and you felt unease bubbling inside of you. Why did he bring you to such a nice place?

Soft jazz music drifted through the air, mingling with the clinking of silverware and the murmur of voices.

"Jeongin," You whispered as a waiter took you over to a table, your eyes widening as you saw them pull back some curtains to a private booth the two of you were going to be sitting in.

"Yes?" His eyes landed on you, sending shivers up and down your body something you wish you could shut off instantly. You'd had a crush on him as a kid but it had passed when he moved away, or so you had thought since everything seemed to be coming back up to cause trouble again.

"This is a business dinner, we should go somewhere...I-I don't know, better for business." You stuttered out as you took a seat across from him, your eyes looking down at the table that was draped in a white cloth with candles casting a warm glow on your private booth.

"This place is perfect for business, a friend of mine owns this place so we'll be left alone." He smirked at you, he wanted this to be alone time with you.

After not seeing you for almost 10 years he was desperate for some time alone with you, he hadn't seen you since the two of you were young but his feelings for you remained true.

"Okay, so I was thinking if you're serious about going into business with me-"

"Order something to eat first, you look like you haven't had a proper meal in weeks." You stared at him, a little taken back at just how forward he was with you, how did he know?

You hadn't eaten anything but ramen and something you could scrounge up from the hotel kitchen without being noticed. All of your money went straight back into the hotel, you hadn't even had two coins to rub together as of late but there was no way he could have known that. No one knew about it, not even your employees since you didn't want to have them worry about losing their jobs.

Instead, you cut your payout completely making sure they would still get paid and budgeted whenever you could, even leaving your home so you could sleep in your office. You sighed a little and nervously let your eyes flick over the menu, your eyes catching a glimpse of the prices and you instantly felt sick.

"About this business proposal," You said, your voice uncertain as you refused to look up from the menu.

"Yes, Cupcake?" The nickname made your hands clutch onto the menu. No one had called you that in years, no one but Jeongin had ever called you that and he only called you it because you always made sure to have them to hand if he was around.

Clearing your throat, you tried to shake off the memories that were threatening to overwhelm you. You'd been practically inseparable when you were kids, exploring the hotel together until you knew every inch of that damn place. But then Jeongin moved away when he turned 19, no warning, no letter, nothing he was just gone. Part of you thought he'd died until you were old enough to find out who he was and who his family truly were.

"I want to make sure we're both on the same page," You told him, forcing yourself to focus on the matter at hand.

"I put my heart and soul into this hotel, and I'm not sure if I'm ready to share ownership," You were but you weren't going to come across as too desperate to him.

Truth was, the hotel was going under and you were left to try and scramble to put it all together.

When you found out your uncle left you the hotel in the will you'd been over the moon about it. Ever since you were old enough you'd been working in the hotel, starting as a maid until you were promoted again and again till the point where you were practically running the place - your uncle still in charge of the books though. You now realised was because he was losing money left and right, taking out shoddy insurance deals or just flat out refusing to pay for some of the repairs only to do it himself and fuck it up more.

A bank had recently told you that you'd be better off starting a fire and claiming insurance on the place than getting out a load but you were determined not to give up on the place, not when it had been everything you'd wanted ever since you could remember.

Jeongin's lips curled into a faint smile as he watched you, he knew how much trouble you were in but he wasn't going to let on that he knew. He didn't want you to see this as some sort of pity party, he did this because he loved the place as a kid and couldn't stomach the thought of something happening to it, or to you.

His men had been watching you since he came into power, he refused to let anyone touch the hotel you had his protection and you didn't even know it.

"I understand your hesitation, Cupcake. But trust me when I say that together, we could turn that place into something extraordinary." You sighed a little, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass, you knew he was persuasive, and he seemed to be drawing you in against your better judgment. But there was something else lurking beneath the surface, something you couldn't put your finger on.

"What's in it for you, Innie?" Your tone was more assertive now but Jeongin smiled at the nickname you used for him.

"No one's called me that in years." He chuckled softly and you felt your cheeks warming up at how happy it seemed to have made him.

"For me, it's more than business, Cupcake. It's all about reconnecting with an old friend, someone who knew, before all of this." You stared at him, unsure of how to respond to him but luckily a waiter came over to take your order. Jeongin rattled off his choice of food and you couldn't help but admire him from across the table and then he ordered for you. Ordering more food than you'd ever be able to eat but you were grateful for it nevertheless.

Throughout the meal, you talked about everything and nothing, the easy banter of your childhood friendship slowly resurfacing. And as the evening drew to an end, you found yourself opening up to him in a way you wouldn't have expected to. You still hadn't told him about the money issues, you were scared if he found out too soon he'd bail on you.

"I'll come by tomorrow with my payment, we'll sign everything with a lawyer," Jeongin told you as you stood outside the hotel, he questioned nothing when you asked him to drop you back here instead of a home which you were more than thankful for.

"That sounds good," You smiled a little, you were still unsure of everything and you weren't sure if you'd be able to trust him but you knew time could only tell that.

The following day when Jeongin showed up he expected to find you at the reception desk waiting for him and he frowned not seeing you standing there. Lowering the bouquet of flowers he got for you he stared at the woman on the front desk.

"Is YN around?" He stared at the woman who nodded frantically.

"She's probably doing some tasks around the hotel, Miss YLN is a master of all trades." Jeongin hated that you'd resorted to fixing things yourself, he couldn't stomach the thought of something happening to you while you were fixing something.

"Will you make sure these are put in some water and on her desk? I'll try and find her," With that he walked around to try and find you, his footsteps echoing on the marbled floor of the lobby as he made his way to the elevators.

Eventually, he found you in one of the rooms, straightening out the bedsheets while a maid stood shaking in the corner,

"Did she take over?" Jeongin asked quietly as the maid bobbed her head frantically, and he nodded for her to leave and watched her run off down the corridor. Jeonmgin couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at you, with an amused smile playing on his lips.

"Isn't that the maid's job?" He teased gently, his voice laced with amusement. You glanced up from your work, heat taking over your body. You cleaned whenever you were stressed about something and it seemed you'd hardly stopped since waking up this morning.

"I...Uh...Just felt like doing some cleaning." You mumbled, the truth was you were stressing more now that you knew a lawyer was coming to help you and Jeongin signed everything over. You thought he was going to see the books and run for the hills and you worried you'd be left with nothing. The thought of it had kept you up for most of the night and you'd spent all of your time stress cleaning the entire place. Your office was the cleanest it had been in months and you showed no signs of living there and the toilets on the reception floor were spotless too.

"To relieve stress?" He arched a brow, staring at you as you placed chocolates onto the pillows and brushed your hands down the front of your skirt. The same skirt and shirt you'd been wearing the night before and looked as though you'd slept in, if you'd slept at all. Which judging by the bags under your eyes was a big no. You hated that he could see right through you, you hated that he could tell something was wrong without you saying a thing.

"Maybe." You grumbled a little, pushing the cart out of the room and into the hallway, going to move on to the next room when Jeongin stared at you, freezing you in place. His eyes bored into the side of your head as you let out a small sigh,

"Well, you certainly seem to have everything under control." He remarked, a little admiration in his voice. He was impressed with how well you'd kept the hotel going until now, he knew what his lawyers had found since he'd found it months ago but he said nothing. He knew if you found out about him knowing about the money problems you'd refuse his help, you were stubborn and always had been.

This deal was to keep the place he loved afloat yes but it was also to stop you from losing something you loved, he wanted you to be happy. He'd do anything in the world to make sure that you were joyful about something. It was the reason this place was still even going, no one was allowed to touch it under his strict rules and no one went against him.

Even some of your high-paying clients had been sent there specifically by Jeongin but it was getting harder to send them when the hotel was going under.

"Just trying to keep things in order." You mumbled, trying to downplay everything as you kept a casual tone.

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension and you felt your throat drying up and your heart beginning to race. Whenever he looked at you like this it made you feel as though all of your problems were melting away, that he would take care of everything.

"Listen, Yn," He began, his voice gentle as he stepped closer to you, his hand gently clasping your elbow and bringing you closer to him. Your steps fumbled a little as you crashed against his chest, your eyes never leaving his as you now felt how hard his heart was racing.

"I know we've got business to attend to, but I want to say...I'm grateful for the chance to reconnect with you..." You nodded at him, not knowing what to say or do, your heart was aching for you to reach out and kiss him but you needed to remain professional.

"Whatever happens with the hotel, I value what we have more than anything." Your heart fluttered at his words, despite your reservations about all of this you couldn't deny the connection you felt with him.

"Me too, Innie..." You replied softly, a small smile playing on your lips as he leaned down closer to you.

"Boss. The lawyers are downstairs, saying that something is wrong with the books." Your heart shattered into tiny shards, all of which felt as though they were beginning to pierce into your lungs leaving you breathless.

"We'll be right down," Jeongin spoke coldly, his hands holding onto you as you scrambled to get away from him.

"We should go downstairs," You mumbled, refusing to look at him and he missed the time you had before this.

"Yn." He tried to call out but you were already making a B-line for the staircase without looking back in his direction.

In your office the tension hung heavy in the air as Joengin sat across from you, flanked by his team of lawyers. Your hands were shaking as you stared at one of the mn,

"I'm sorry, Yn, but the numbers don't lie." One of them said gravely, you'd been introduced but didn't bother to learn either of their names since you knew this was all going to fall through.

"The hotel is haemorrhaging money, and if we don't act fast, it's going to sink further into debt." He explained, sliding the papers over to you as you stared down at the maths you'd already been working out long before they came into the scene,

"Our recommendation is to cut our losses and walk away while we still can." The other one said to Jeongin but his jaw tightened, his expression unreadable as he absorbed everything.

"Innie, I know this looks bad but...I-I can fix it. I can get another loan." You tried to scramble for something, anything to keep him from walking away from this.

"Every bank has turned her down." The lawyer stated coldly, making your blood boil as you turned to face him,

"I'll fire some staff, make more cutbacks. I'll stop paying myself." You weren't telling them that you'd already done that, you just needed to buy some time to get him to stay.

"You haven't been paying yourself for months, you've been sleeping in your office." The second lawyer stated making you stare at him, wondering how long he'd been watching you for them to know all of this.

"You've been watching me?!" You snapped at the lawyer who looked as though you'd just bitten his head off.

"Sir, we recommend walking away." They both stated, standing up slowly as you stared at Jeongin, your eyes pleading with his. A knot formed in the pit of your stomach, the weight of the situation pressing down on your shoulders.

"I'm not walking away." He declared, his gaze locked on yours, your heart thumping rapidly against your chest.

"I made a commitment to Yn and I intend to honor it. We'll find a way to turn this around, no matter what it takes." He told the cooly. The lawyers exchanged incredulous glances, clearly taken back by Jeongin's stubbornness.

"With all due respect, Sir, this isn't a wise investment." One of them insisted.

"You'll be throwing good money after bad." Jeongin shook his head at them, he didn't care what they said he wasn't going to walk away from any of this. They were only here to oversee the signing of everything, everything they found was everything knew already and didn't care about.

"I'm not in this for the money. I'm in this because Yn is my friend, and I won't abandon her when she needs me most. We'll figure out a solution together, even if it means taking risks." You felt a surge of gratitude swell within you, a lump forming in your throat at his unwavering loyalty. Despite the odds stacked against you, he was still willing to stay by your side and you knew you had a fighting chance.

"T-Thank you...I-I don't know what I'd do without you." Your voice choked up a little and he smiled at you,

"You don't have to worry anymore Yn, I'll always have your back, no matter what," He told you reassuringly, with that the lawyers got out the papers and you all began signing. Jeongin put down more money than he needed but he was willing to do it for you.

As the night stretched on, you and Jeongin found yourselves huddling together in your office, poring over the financial reports, and brainstorming ideas to salvage the hotel.

"We can have more functions held here, a friend of mine is having a wedding soon and I'm sure I can sway him to holding it here," He stated as you stared at him in complete awe. All night long you'd found yourself staring at him more and more.

"Sure. It's been a while since a wedding was at the "Celestial"." You giggled at the thought. You'd always loved hosting weddings but everything had died down when you didn't have enough staff to work the events.

"I can bring in other servers and we can slowly build everything back up," Jeongin smiled proudly of himself and you stared at him. The air crackled with tension as you thought back to your moment in the hallway earlier but you quickly went back to scribbling notes onto a pad. Your mind races with ideas other than weddings, you could host parties, charity balls, or anything you wanted.

Jeongin leaned in close, his presence comforting and yet electrifying all at once. You slowly looked up to meet his gaze and linger a little more than necessary. The years of unspoken longing bubbling to the surface, your defences crumbling like sandcastles in the side. Jeongin's hand reached out tentatively, cupping your cheek as he brushed his thumb along your skin. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding against your chest as you leaned into his touch.

"Innie," You breathed out, your voice barely coming out above a whisper as you searched his eyes for any sign of hesitation. But he said nothing, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that ignited a firestorm inside of you.

In that stolen moment, time seemed to freeze around you as you melted into each other, the weight of your unspoken desire finally finding a release. You wrapped your arms around Joengin's neck as he pulled you onto his lap, your lips moving together in a silent promise of love and devotion.

"I-Innie," You breathed out as you broke apart, completely breathless and dizzy with desire, you knew that you wanted him badly.

"Sofa," You whispered, kissing down his neck and softly biting into his skin as you moved together toward the sofa. Jeongin carefully set you down on the sofa and sank to his knees in front of you,

"Yn, are you sure?-"

"Yes...Just please, touch me." You begged him, a smirk tugging on the corners of his lips as he slowly rolled your skirt up your hips.

"I've wanted to fuck you ever since I saw this skirt," He moans out, kissing up your thighs until he reaches your underwear, yanking them down in one swift movement, your heart hammered against your chest.

"R-Really?" You felt your body heating up as he wrapped your legs around his shoulders, dragging you to the edge of the sofa quickly.

"Don't act shocked, Cupcake. I've always wanted you," He said plainly as if it was common knowledge for you to know but you'd never had any idea that he did.

"You never said anything to me when we were last together," You battled back with him but he smirked,

"I was planning on it before I was yanked away from you,"

"You never wrote." You mumbled to him, it wasn't the time to get into this now when you were laid bare in front of him but you wanted answers.

"Orders from dad, no contact."

"But-"

"Will you let me eat your pussy? I'm fucking starving, Cupcake." He growled out before you nodded, giggling a little but it was quickly replaced by a gasp as he ran his tongue up your slit. His mouth was hot and wet as he slowly ran his tongue against you, building you up as he ate you out like a man starved. Your head rolled back against the back of the sofa as you cried out his name. You couldn't remember the last time you'd slept with someone or even made yourself feel come but Jeongin was already better than any memory you had.

"F-Fuck," You hiss out, your hips slowly grinding against him as he hummed against your clit, vibrations chilling up and down your spine, as you cry out his name.

"I-Innie," You moaned out, raking your fingers through his hair and pushing him deeper into you, his tongue swirling around your clit as he slowly pushed two fingers into you. Thrusting them slowly and softly, curling them to that one spot that made your head spin.

"Just like that," You plead with him, your heels digging into his shoulder blades as you feel the tension building deep inside of you. Jeongin pressed himself closer to you, humming against your clit until it was too much your orgasm hit you suddenly, your legs shaking around him as he smirked.

"Good fucking girl," He groans, standing up and chuckling as you quickly removed his belt, throwing it against the room and pulling down his pants.

"Please," You beg as he lays you down on the sofa, kissing you softly as he carefully lines himself up at your entrance, your legs carefully wrapping around his waist.

"You're so hot when you beg." He moans out as he slowly pushes into you, filling you to the hilt as you let out a strangled moan. He was bigger than you'd been expecting and you whimpered a little,

"M-move," You urged, bucking your hips a little to let him know he was good to move and he smiled kissing you roughly as he slowly pulled out of you, only to slam back in a second later.

"F-Fuck yes!" You cry out, your eyes screwed shut as you clutched onto him, trying to adjust to his size as he continued to pound into you. His cock driving into you, hitting that one spot that made you scream louder. Your nails dragged down his back as you searched for something to cling onto, ripping holes into his shirt as your head rolled back in complete ecstasy.

"Jeongin!" You moan out, your clit grinding against him on every stroke of his cock, the pressure building inside of you hitting near its breaking point.

"Cum for me, cupcake. Let me feel you," He moans out, his thrusting getting faster as you finally felt the pressure snap and you came around his cock violently, causing your back to arch away from the sofa.

"S-Shit, Yn." He groans, unable to hold himself back anymore as he thrusts into you, slowly coming undone inside of you as you lay there. The wind knocked out of both of you as you let out small chuckles at one another.

Wrapped in each other's arms, you lay on the sofa together, the warmth of your embrace serving as a sanctuary from the outside world. Jeongin's fingers gently traced patterns along your back,

"My dad never wanted me to contact you after we moved away. He said it was best to leave the past behind us," He finally told you, his words hesitant.

"I regretted it every day...Losing touch with you was like losing a piece of myself. But now that I have you back in my life, I never want to let go." A smile tugged on his lips and tears brimmed in your eyes at the weight of his words.

"Innie..." You whispered, your voice cracking a little. Jeongin pressed a soft kiss to your forehead,

"I love you, Yn. I've loved you since we were kids, and I'll love you for the rest of my days." Tears spilt down your cheeks as you clung to him, your heart overflowing,

"I love you too, Innie." You confessed,

"I always have and I always will," You finished as he kissed your lips softly. In that moment, as you lay close to one another, you knew your love was a force to be reckoned with. That no matter what, with him by your side, you'd be able to overcome any obstacle that stood in your way.

"I want this place spotless!" You called out to the event hall of your hotel, everyone inside was rushing around at the last second to make sure everything was perfect for you. You placed your hand on your stomach and watched as one of your guards - Carlos - made his way over to you with some snacks,

"You're going to make it obvious," You mumbled to him as you took the crisps from him and started to eat from the packet. It seemed as though ever since you'd hit the 6-week mark of your pregnancy you'd been craving crisps or anything that was savoury and Carlos had been the man to help you. Mostly because he was the only other person who knew about it and he only knew because he found you crying in your office whilst holding the stick.

I think it should be obvious. Too much stress isn't good for the baby and have you told Mr Yang yet?" Carlos was far too comfortable with you, you thought maybe it was time to switch him for another guard but you'd grown comfortable with him also and you enjoyed your talks together.

"No." You mumbled with a mouthful of crisps, shaking your head at him. All week long he'd been trying to get you to tell Jeongin about the pregnancy but you were nervous about it. It had only been a few months since the two of you got together and you knew if he found out he was only going to stop you from working Jisung's wedding that your hotel was hosting and that was the last thing you wanted.

Everything you and Jeongin had been working toward was here and you weren't going to let someone else take the reigns on this.

"Don't you think you should?" He raised his brow at you but you mumbled what he said back to him in a mocking tone and walked toward your office. You opened the door and stared at Carlos with a weak smile,

"I'll tell him when the time is right after the wedding is over." You shrugged not realising that Jeongin was standing inside of your office and Carlos held back the smirk. He'd known about Jeongin coming to visit you and it was his intention to try to get him to overhear everything,

"Tell who what when the time is right?" You cringed as you heard Jeongin and you glared at Carlos.

"You're a backstabber and I hate you." You mumbled slamming the door in his face and making your way toward the chair behind your desk.

"Is there something I should know?" Jeongin chuckled, watching you closely as you shook your head

"No. It's nothing, it's just Carlos worrying for nothing." You hated the fact that you were lying to your boyfriend but you needed to make sure you worked this wedding. You'd been planning it for months now and you weren't going to let Jeongin or anyone else take it away from you, not when it was the first wedding in years.

"Is it about your pregnancy?" Your hand paused midway to your mouth and the crisps fell from your grasp,

"How-" Your heart sank as you thought about him finding out through someone else but you. The last thing you ever wanted was for him to be upset but he didn't seem it in the slightest, in fact, he seemed rather happy.

"Please, you've been eating crisps non-stop, you're throwing up and not to mention some of the maids were gossiping about it when they found the test in your trash." Jeongin had known for weeks and at first, he was a little upset that you hadn't come to him but he could understand why.

"Those little rats," You mumbled to yourself, sighing and looking at him, suddenly feeling the guilt take over you as you whimpered a little.

"I didn't tell you because I knew you'd stop me working." You defend but Jeongin eyes you up closely

"Did I though?" He smirked, raising a brow at you. Sure, at first he wanted to stop you from doing everything but he knew that would only make you worse and neither of you wanted that.

"Well, no, but-"

"I won't stop you working but as soon as I see you stressing that's when I'll put a stop to things." He reached his hand over the desk and squeezed yours softly,

"Thank you," You whispered, smiling a little as you thought about it.

"Jisung and his bride-to-be are waiting for us in the Restaurant," They were waiting to go over a final plan and you had a special surprise for them as well. You'd been working with a private contractor for a few weeks making sure that the honeymoon suite was perfect for them and it was finally complete which you were going to show them around after food.

The sun dipped below the horizon casting a warm glow over the gardens of your hotel you watched as your daughter ran toward Changbin's son - Rath - who was quickly running away from her.

"Your son is a nousense." Jeongin grumbled, his arms folded against his chest as your daughter continued to chase Rath through the gardens yelling for him to wait for her.

"Your daughter is the one with the crush, it's not my son." Changbin laughed as he wrapped his arms around his wife, your head shaking as the two men began to bicker back and forth with one another. It felt good to have nights like this together.

You found yourself close with all seven of the other wives Jeongin's friends were married to, each of you helping raise each other's kids or just being close friends, it was a bond that could never be broken.

"Wait till he hears that Jisung's son wants to date his daughter." Chan laughed loudly causing Changbin to yell louder and in Jisung's direction this time. You giggled a little lacing your fingers with Jeongin's as you listened to all the children laugh as they played games in the garden and you couldn't think of a better place to be than right here.

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fuyukohasnocreativity · 25 days

Text

-Gift-

featured character ☆ reo mikage

tag(s): fluff ☆

______________________________________________________________

༊*·˚

You sigh as you walk back home from school. It was a lot colder than usual and you hated it. Nothing's better than having a bad day and it's freezing cold outside. Great. Despite the fact that in winter, you simply wear a uniform, a black skirt, and extremely thin black tights every year. Each and every single day, nothing was interesting anymore. School was equally boring every day. Most subjects are taught by the teachers you highly dislike, except for music and art. To sum it all up, you have no friends. Reo, who was basically your one and only friend, (soon became lovers) left to go to Blue Lock. Who knows when he'll be back? After all, without Reo, your life has suddenly became monochrome.

As you finally arrived back to your apartment suite, you noticed a huge brown box lying by the front of your door porch. Obviously, you were very puzzled by this. Who would randomly leave a humongous brown box? You couldn't simply leave this... gift(?) by your door. Seriously, it was extremely heavy to even drag it inside your "house" but you had to manage. It took around fifteen minutes or so to push that huge box in your house. Now, you stood there thinking.

Maybe it won't hurt to open this?

Your hands trembled, a sign of being hesitant. Suddenly, your phone gets a notification; It was Reo.

༊*·˚ -Reo: y/n, did you receive my gift yet?

-Y/n: gift?

-Reo: yea, the brown box

-Y/n: u mean the humongous brown box that i couldnt even manage to drag it inside my house?

-Reo: uhhh perhaps

-Y/n: WHY DID YOU GIVE ME SUCH A BIG GIFT???????????

-Reo: why not?

-Reo: anyways im outside right now

-Y/n: ??

-Y/n: WAIT WHAT?????

-Y/n: OUTSIDE?????

-Y/n: REO ANSWER ME

༊*·˚

You waited a few minutes for Reo to reply but supposedly, he's not going to reply sooner or later. Finally, no more thoughts. Reo said he was outside so surely he's telling the truth. You just had to go down even though you were only in your pajamas. You quickly climbed down the stairs as fast as you could. Sure, you roughly tripped on a few steps and almost died but that's not the matter right now. As soon as you stepped outside, Reo was there right in front of you. There was still some distance but close enough for you run into his arms. He was holding a fancy, but cute (and quite big) bouquet with a variety of different colorful, fragrant flowers. Reo was wearing some casual clothes, that's no surprise. "Reo!" you jumped on him and he hugged you tightly, almost tripping and dropping the big colorful bouquet of flowers on the ground. "Y/n!" Reo was so happy, he laughed, he had tears in his eyes, his heart could definitely burst at any moment. He must have been so happy and excited to see you after so long. Your heart could have also exploded at any moment too. Sudden small teardrops streamed down your cheeks and you quickly bury your face in Reo's shoulder, feeling a little embarrassed. A very muffled "I missed you so much..." came out of your mouth. Once your tears stopped, the two of you headed back to your apartment suite.

༊*·˚

Reo poured some water in a kettle, then placed it on top of a stove. "Wait Reo, I can make tea-" "No, it's fine." Reo commented. Once the water started boiling and made an extremely high-pitched whistling sound, he removed the shiny silver kettle from the stove and carefully poured the piping hot water in two mugs with a teabag in each cup then handed you the white ceramic mug with tea to you. "Thank you." you smiled. The two of you sat on the comfy navy blue sofa, right in front of you two was the gift Reo delivered to you. The two of you were awkwardly staring at it until Reo finally decided to say something:

"Well? Open it, Y/n!" he smiled and had an extremely enthusiastic but happy, and excited tone.

You tried ripping the clear tape that sealed the box but you struggled too much and so, had to use a box cutter in the end. Inside the box had seven regular sized light brown teddy bears and a ton of stationary that could probably last you until you were ninety years old. Burried under the seven brown teddy bears and the stationary haul, there was a small box that looked like something from a jewlery store. Very carefully, you opened it and saw a silver necklace. Shocked, you glanced at Reo and saw that he also had a silver ornemental chain dangling on his neck too. "Thank you Reo!" you thanked him but you also had no idea that your cheeks were flushed pink, all the way to your ears. Once again, that urge to just burst out in tears again. Reo wrapped his arms around you and gave you a peck on the forehead. You made up your mind, telling Reo about how life was so boring without him. The two of you laughed, the two of you cried.

༊*·˚

Both you and Reo were snuggling in bed, binge watching Detective Conan. Later on, perhaps after 8-9 episodes or so you fell asleep on his shoulder. Reo noticed that you had fallen asleep. He turned off the TV and just stared at you in awe for a few seconds. He then gently kissed your forehead and a few minutes later, dozed off.

______________________________________________________________

unfortunately, reo isn't real... sobs in disappointment

thanks for reading :3

©fuyukohasnocreativity do not copy, repost, or translate. likes and reblogs are accepted and appreciated!

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little-sleepy-owl · 2 months

Text

ℍ𝕦𝕤𝕜 𝕩 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣,

who is a virgin and wants him to be their first. mostly gender neutral, but there's one use of "girl/boy", coz I couldn't come up with the alternative that would fit my vision.

damn, I didn't expect I will have so much fun writing this one. for all Husker lovers out there. hope this is good <3.

warnings: not explicitly, but still smutty, daddy kink mention (have you heard Keith David's voice? there is NO way I would ignore this opportunity), biting mention.

well, he didn't expect that.

forgive him if he laughs. “really, you died a virgin? how old were you, fifteen?”

actually curious how this even happened. were you never attracted to anyone that way? or was no-one attracted to you? if so, those people were blind.

somewhat surprised you want him to be your first. are you really sure? isn't there a better candidate?

well, he is not gonna reject the offer.

he's an old-fashioned man. he might look like someone who would just drag you to his room to do the deeds, but in truth, this fellow is a hopeless romantic.

you will get a proper date. not exactly a fancy one, but very thoughtful and sweet.

a table for two right in the Hotel, some lit candles, all other patrons and staff chased away for the evening. he will dress especially nicely for you and even prepare dinner.

(it's actually ordered, but you don't need to know that.)

quiet music, slow dancing. chaste compliments, but his voice is so deep and low, tickling your ear lightly, it still feels kinda suggestive. oh, he's very smooth when he wants to be.

his hands start to wander quite quickly tho. but can you blame him? the man can only have that much patience, and it's not like you both are not aware of what it is all leading to.

just remind him to retrieve into the bedroom, or else he might go on you right at the same table you both dinned on. unless that's what you want, of course.

a king of foreplay.

he takes things slow. madly so. it's almost like he's lazy. his hands move leisurely over your heated skin, and it takes so much time for his hot, wet kisses to go down the side of your jaw and cross your neck to finally reach your collarbones.

he purrs. you don't even have to touch him, he just marvels so much when he touches you, it gets him purring non-stop.

but also, try gently caressing the base of the wings. I assure you, you've never heard those noises from him before.

he doesn't talk much, but when he does… you can't help but blush to the tips of your ears.

hot breath, voice hoarse, a quiet praise, a small chuckle. doll, babe, sweetheart, good girl/boy.

if you respond well to the last one, expect him to use the “daddy” card, too.

don't think he will do all the work. quite the opposite, actually. he will lay down and make you strangle his hips with a sly smirk on his lips.

“don't you want to choose your own pace now, hun?”

truly the lazy cat.

oh, but don't worry. If you get tired, he will take his turn too. can't have you disappointed on your first time after all.

this man has technique. he makes you feel so good so seemingly effortlessly, it's crazy.

will ask if you're okay with a bit of a biting. it's really hard to resist for him, especially on the verge of climax.

mind you, he's not finishing before you do. maybe even before you do twice.

nope, no afterglow cuddles until you drink some water and at least have a towel to get a bit cleaner. after that, he's all yours.

covers you with his wings, while tackling you close to him.

initiates a lil’ talk about everything. did you like it? was there something you'd rather him not do?

he's not insecure, he just wants to communicate properly and prefers doing it as soon as possible.

everything's fine? good.

now you know he's purring when he sleeps cuddling with someone. what a cute kitty.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #husk x reader #how easy is to tell that i have a deep fascination with his voice?#romantic/sexual

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kushnovice · 2 months

Text

Spinning My World

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stark! Reader

Synopsis: Reader tends to the avengers wounds constantly and when Tony opens an emotional wound in the reader, Bucky is there to help.

wc: 2.4k

Warnings: my first bucky fic, medical, wounds, tending to wounds, sibling rivalry, mention of dead parents, fluffy love, slow-burn

AN: Female reader, fluffy, lots of mistakes, self indulgent (Pictures are not mine nor are any characters part of this)

What makes the earth go round? to most people it's money, to others it's family. To me, it's love.

I grew up with Tony Stark, my older brother. He was never that big on affection which was something he picked up from our parents and because of that, Tony and I aren't as close as we once were before our parents died. I spend most of my time making sure the house is always put together and cooking food for Tony and Pepper. I always feel a little guilty as I haven't achieved as much as my older brother and living with him and all of his fancy things just rubs it in. I also spend a lot of time studying. Since we have the money, I am attending an Ivy League school online. Unlike Tony, I don't like robots and technology, I prefer to help people. I am majoring in Medical Science as well as minoring in Psychology, which the amount of work is unbearable.

I sigh as I close one of my textbooks, my notebook, and my laptop, leaving them on the desk in my room. I make my through the long winding halls and into the kitchen, the tiles on the floor leaving my feet cold as I walk. I flick on the light as I walk in and take a deep breath, finally feeling at peace. The kitchen was always my safe space since Tony never cooked for himself, neither did any of the avengers. It was my own tiny world of peace.

I smile softly to myself as I make my way to the sink, I start to wash my hands while humming a song. "Friday, can you play (song name)?" As the song starts playing, I feel more comfortable as I start pulling what I would need from the fridge and the cabinets. I then fill up a pot of water and put it on the stove to boil and preheat the oven before I start separating and seasoning the chicken. I then start to cut up some veggies before checking on the pasta that I am making. After everything is cooking, I take the time to dance in the kitchen, just enjoying the music and how it flows through my body. That was until I heard the door open. I jerk my head to see who it is, only to be stunned by the sight in front of me. There he was, the most beautiful creature this world had ever created, but he was drenched in blood. Without thinking, I walk right up to him and start to examine him from what I can see. "Oh buck, what happened this time?" I ask as I eye him up and down for injuries, feeling better after not finding any serious ones. Bucky sighed deeply, "The mission was hijacked. I'm not the only Injured one." I sigh deeply as I take the food out of the oven and put the veggies and sauce into the pasta. Then, without a second thought, i make my way to the medical clinic, which I pretty much run.

I put my coat on and wash my hands again before putting on gloves. I make my way into the emergency room that we have to see Tony laying on a gurney. I immediately start to cut his shirt and pants off as I examine his body, the deep wounds showing no mercy as they continue to bleed. I sterilize the wound and start stitching him up and taking my time to make sure it's perfect.

After a few hours, I was done with making sure Tony was alright and had checked out all of the other team members. I look at the clock and sigh deeply when I realize that it is close to 1 in the morning. I make my way through the winding hallways again and I stand outside of Buckys room. "Hey Buck, are you awake?" I ask softly knowing his super human hearing can pick up my voice, and sure enough because the door unlocks and slides open revealing that he had just got out of the shower. I blush slightly as i try not to stare at his bare chest, "oh um...sorry I was just coming to give you a quick check up..." I shuffle awkwardly at his door but he nods softly and lets me in his room.

The smell of Axe Body spray and Midsummers Night circle the room. I sit Bucky down as I start to stitch up a few of his wounds. It stays mostly silent, neither of us knowing what to talk about until Bucky speaks up, "aren't you tired?" I furrow my eyebrows, "why would I be tired?" Bucky sighs deeply, "we go on these missions almost daily and you're the only one who gives us medical help, isn't it tiring?" I look up from his stitches to smile softly at Bucky, "No, it's not tiring. If anything, it gives me a purpose and makes me a hero like you guys." I giggle to myself at how corny that sounded before going back to stich bucky up.

After I am done, I make sure I didn't miss any dry blood before I stand up, "make sure you eat dinner, I don't know if the others did yet but you need to eat." I smile at him to which he gives me a small smile at the end of his lips. "I did eat already, it was delicious." I smile at him as I watch him put his shirt back on, "good good, I tried a new recipe today so I'm glad it is good." I smile to myself thinking about how Bucky enjoyed my food. "Did you eat yet?" Bucky asks with a furrowed eyebrow and I'm left shocked, normally i'm the one asking that question. "I was about too, then all of that happened," I smile at Bucky but his facial expressions don't change this time. "You really should eat." I nod my head and start to make my way into the kitchen to see a huge mess of plates and bowls and forks all over the place and all of the food gone. "at least they liked it" I smile to myself as I shrug off my coat and take off my gloves, "Friday, some music please" I speak as I start to pick up the plates and bowls and utensil's and place them in the sink. I then pick up all the trash and wipe down the counter while dancing around the kitchen. I spend a few hours cleaning, until it is spotless before I turn off the music and realize I wasn't alone. As I go to grab my coat and turn off the light, I hear a voice, "Aren't you going to eat?" I whip my head around, looking for where the voice came from until I can see Bucky, just outside the door. "there was no more left, i'm glad everyone enjoyed it." I smile at him but he doesn't smile back, he makes his way into the kitchen and starts grabbing stuff. "woah woah woah what are you doing?" I ask as I watch him start up the stove. "You need to eat. More than any of us." Buckys voice is stern and emotionless but I can tell that he cares. "I'm alright, I'll be up in a few hours to cook breakfast anyways." I look at the time and then at Bucky who then turns to me with furrowed eyes again his eyes studying me and trying to figure me out as he looks me up and down. "Why do you cook for everyone? Why do you go out of your way for everyone? I don't get how that benefits you." I sigh deeply, "I don't do it for me, I do it for you guys. You guys are heros and are saving the world every day. the least I can do is cook you guys a warm meal and make sure you guys don't get too hurt." "But why?" Bucky asks as he cracks open an egg and starts to cook it. "You guys deserve it, you deserve the best." I smile at him softly, watching his movements while I think. "Why do you save the world?" I ask while watching his movements. He seems relaxed and calm "Because if I can help save the world then there's hope to save myself." He speaks in a quiet whisper, "why do you save us? why are you so interested in medicine?" He asks with seriousness, trying to understand me better. "I was never taught self defense so I save the world in the only way I know, medicine." Bucky turns to look at me, "you don't give yourself enough credit, no one does." I can hear how he sighs softly. I let myself smile, knowing this was his way of showing he cared. Bucky finished cooking the food and he made two plates, setting one in front of me while he sat across the table from me. He immediately downs his food within seconds leaving me to take awhile to finish my food. When I'm finished eating, I grab our plates and put them in the dishwasher. When i make my way back into the dining room, Bucky is watching me as soon as I enter the room. "What? Is there food on my face?" I jokingly ask, with a smirk on my face as I make my way back to sit down. Bucky snorts softly at my comment, "No, I just don't get how someone could look so pretty after working for so many hours." Buckys voice is soft but his eyes are full of emotion as his hands fold on the table. I feel myself melt under his gaze as my cheeks start to burn, "Oh, uhm...thanks..." I giggle lightly, "You aren't too bad looking for someone who just got stitched up." I reply causing bucky to be taken aback.

"Why are you two up at 2 in the morning?" Tony asks as he walks into the dining room in his black robe that is barely covering his bare chest and his blazers. Tony somehow still has his shades on as well as his slippers on as he sets down some coffee and a sandwich at the table and sits down. "I was just making sure your sister ate after giving everyone medical exams." Bucky replied as he stared blankly at tony as he ate. "Interesting." Tony replied quickly as he started to eat. "I'm glad that your mission didn't go to badly, not many people were injured." I smiled at Tony as I recall the injuries that everyone had got. Tony sighed as he swallowed the food in his mouth, "Do I get bonus points if I act like I care?" I roll my eyes at how immature Tony still is after all of these years. "Somebody's cranky." I snort to myself, Tony glares daggers at me. "Somebody needs to shut up." I smile at Tony, now enjoying fucking with him. "I don't have enough middle fingers to let you know how I feel." I smirk at Tony, thinking I got the better up. "Frankly, I don't care. Just like how he never cared about Mom and Dad. You know who killed them right?" Tony asks as he glares between Bucky and I. "If you're insinuating that Bucky killed our parents then fuck you!" I yell in Tony's face, not able to control my anger as I get up and storm off. Bucky looks at Tony as Tony finishes his sandwich, not purposefully glaring but staring deeply at him causing Tony to get uncomfortable and scramble out of the room.

Bucky sighs deeply as he makes his way to my room, thinking of the right words to say as he ends up right outside of my door. "Hey...I know Tony's words really hurt but I'd like to tell you my story, not what you've heard from files but my life the way I lived it, when I had control of my life." Bucky expected no response honestly, who would want to talk to their parents murderer? Surprisingly the door swung open as Bucky looked in at my small trembling figure on the floor, a pang in his heart caused him to lose his breath seeing her in such pain.

I lift my head to meet Buckys soft eyes as he moves to sit on the bed next to me. His voice was kind but also firm as he told me all about his life, from his time in Brooklyn with Steve all the way through Hydra, he spoke about my parents last almost as if to save me the pain. "Your parents...they were a mission I had to carry out while apart of Hydra, or else I would have died as well as them...I wish I never had too..." Bucky sighs deeply as he looks at the ground. "You don't have to be my friend or even be nice to me, but I just wanted you to know that I never wanted to hurt anyone." Bucky softly got up, expecting to be kicked out before he felt my hands wrapped around his human arm. "I want to be your friend. It hurts knowing that you did that to my parents and I don't think that hurt will ever go away, but I do know that it wasn't you, that you didn't do it on your own will. I forgive you, Buck." I speak softly as I wrap my arms around Bucky's human hand, taking his warmth from him as it comforts my shaking body as I am able to relax into my bed and into Bucky, feeling safe and comfortable for once. I don't remember what happened after that other than my eyes forcing themselves closed as Bucky's mechanical arm softly strokes my hair.

I wake up to the sun shining brightly in my eyes causing me to instantly rub my eyes. I stretch with a small groan, wishing to be asleep still as I reach my arms above my head. I hear a rough chuckle beside me and open my eyes to see Bucky smirking down at me, "Morning, Doll." I feel my face go red at the nickname. I roll over to face him in the bed, "I'm sorry that I kept you here all night." I apologize softly as I yawn the sleepy feeling away. He smiled softly down at me, the golden sun reflecting off of his eyes making it look like tigers eye. "You have nothing to apologize for, darling." He used his fingers to swoop the stray strands of hair out of my face. "It was the best sleep I have gotten in awhile." He confessed as he pulled me a little closer, his body heat keeping me warm as he smiled down at me cheekily. "Don't smile at me like that, you know it drives me crazy..." I giggle at him softly as I place my hand on his face before leaning in. Bucky closed the gap as he took my lips in his, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in closer as he chuckles into the kiss.

"How else would I make your world spin?"

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader comfort #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky reader insert #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x fluff

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ellabsweet · 10 months

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[ੈ✩] 𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐋𝐓 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 • 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐒

synopsis: in which The Deadbeats band is a success, ellie as lead singer and guitarist, abby as a bassist, jesse on the drums and dina on the keyboard, despite their chaotic nature and eventual love affair with a certain groupie

pairing: rockstar!ellie x reader x rockstar!abby

warning: mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, very lightly based on the dynamics of daisy jones and the six, eventual nsfw content so minors and men do not interact, multiple part series

authors note: so im starting this little thing with a groupie!reader and very chaotic dynamic band au with rockstars!abby and ellie fighting for her affection, if you want to be tagged just let me know and i will add you to a taglist! enjoy babies

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄: 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐒

“Dina Woodward had a saying of her own lightly adapted from some childhood friend’s hip grandmother that went along the lines of: You either fuck it, or hop off the top. That was the mindset that led a group of young adults from a small town in Wyoming to ultimate stardom in rock circles all across the globe-” Ellie made sure to interrupt Jesse’s reading, clutching the newspaper off his hands and forcing it apart in even shreds.

“They made us sound like a fucking inspirational movie”

“I told you that’s what happens when you accept to be interviewed by these mainstream fascists Abby’s daddy can buy out”

“Well, Ellie, here’s a little tip then how about you stop snorting up all our gig cash and actually write some new fucking songs so we don’t have to depend on these interviews that are buying the fucking powder you can’t keep from shoving up your nose” Abby was angry as per usual, landing a soft blow over the table Ellie leaned over, scattering sprinkles of the white drug across the floor. Jesse prepared himself to get between them quickly, his own set of muscles basically newly acquired for these situations, a fiery Ellie and overtly stronger Abby was entertaining the first couple of times when bruised eyes could be hot accessories, but it’s frequency died down the style quickly.

“Fuck you and your moral superiority you only joined the band because you wanted to piss off your fancy rich parents and we only let you because we needed the investment”

“Els, shut the fuck up you know that she’s a good bassist” Dina sighed, looking around for the vacuum cleaner to avoid questions from her tennants later.

“And a better singer too” Abby smirked, her laugh echoing across the room as Ellie leaned in to punch her and was stopped by Jesse’s grip that she remained fighting incessantly.

She thought of Joel, her step father, wondered for a split second what he’d think of her in this situation and quickly shook the thought of her mind. It was irrelevant what Joel would’ve thought, because he was dead alongside anyone else she ever loved, like a plague. Cursed was the title track of their album and it explored the feeling of grief and anger better than anyone could’ve forced out of her in conversation. The other members went as far as thinking perhaps it meant something different, a change within. It never came. Ellie remained the same hot headed impulsive lyrical genius whose talent was wasted on her for always being too overly wasted herself.

“Can we please just get back to practice?” Jesse pleaded, his surprising patience wearing thin.

It didn’t matter, in the end. They were Ellie’s band. Abby was a bass goddess. Music saved Jesse’s life. Dina secretly thought it all to be amusing. They were incredible together, despite the drugs and screams and punches, breathtaking. The band would live on and so would the chaos. You either fuck it, or hop off the top.

taglist: @abbysvictim @lottiematthewsceo @sadeyedsugar @digit4lslut @r0ckgoblin comment to be added!

#ellie williams x reader #abby anderson x reader #the last of us fanfiction #ellabs x reader #ellie williams smut #abby anderson smut #rockstar!ellie #rockstar!abby #lesbian #ellie williams #abby anderson

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barbieaemond · 6 months

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Intrusion (part I)

moodboard by the queen herself @zae5

PAIRING: (modern) Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!reader

WARNINGS: angst, Aemond has no filter, drug use (very brief), mentions of overdose, suggestive themes, sexual tension (sadly nothing more but part II will be a helluva ride)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Sothoryos is a large continent in Martin’s universe. It is located below Essos.

WORD COUNT: 7k

Song for this fic:

taglist: @zae5 @chompchompluke @multyfangirl

“What’s up with the green light?”

Jason's voice came distantly, even though he was sitting right next to her. She looked up through her long eyelashes, scanning the mighty, green-lit Hightower from top to bottom, an emerald glow kissed her face.

“How dumb are you? It was a beacon once.” She said mindlessly, dragging her eyes away from the car window to watch her brother crouched on a little mirror with three lines of white powder on it.

“D’you want some?”

“I’m done with that shit.”

“I should hope so.” He chuckled, rolling a banknote between his fingers with the expertise of a magician ready to do his trick. “Dad is still paying the hospital to keep their mouth shut. Not to mention the papers…”

She heard him snort the substance, humming with delight as it reached his brain. She looked at him for a moment, green just like the glowing light on her face. It was so easy for Jason to surrender to the void. She struggled to do even that.

“Speaking of which” he said wiping his nose “he could’ve bothered to come.”

“And watch Otto Hightower gloat in his face? Dad would rather throw checks to the homeless.”

“Why are we here then?” he asked as the car stopped in front of the huge, tall building, the tallest in all the continent.

“Because he wants to remind everyone we are still the wealthiest in this wretched world.” She said she grabbed her little purse and got out of the fancy car as soon as the driver opened her door.

Blinding lights fell on her as photographers took note that the Lannister family had sent its scions to attend the annual Gala held by the Hightowers. A party that had always been held in the capital in the previous years, at least until what the newspapers had called the divorce of the century.

“I would not be so sure about that.” Jason said, squinting his eyes in front of the ruthless flashes. “Papers say Viserys is going to pay a fortune, for alimony and all that shit.”

“Miss Lannister! Here, please! On your right!”

She built a broad smile for the photographers, maneuvering her hair to let it slide down her shoulder, placing a hand on her hip. A well-thought-out act, repeated incessantly for as long as she could remember. A beautiful machine doll bathed in gold and diamonds.

“Do you still read papers?” she asked, not breaking her plastic smile.

“How else should I find out if I've done something illegal?”

“They’re a reliable source on that, less on others. They claim I had a thing with Cregan Stark when even walls know he’s gay.”

They claimed many other things. But she never confirmed or denied the rumors, because it was all part of the plan.

Any rumor of an alleged flirt or talk of an engagement with a scion from one of the old power families of the country only increased the height of the pedestal on which her father and mother had placed her. So that when rumors died, the vultures would come even more savage, raising the stakes to win the most coveted prize in their circle of starched shirts and centuries-old privileges that no longer had any value except in the small, greedy world inside their small, greedy heads.

She moved, swiftly but graciously, and stepped inside the building, followed by her brother and his giggles, and the photographers screaming at the top of their lungs, begging for another picture—just one more. The begging had started already.

The Hall of the Hightower Palace was a sight to behold. Adorned with green and dark tones, crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and yellow cocktail music pushing all the fine-dressed people to chat and laugh more loudly as if they unconsciously tried to imitate the lively ups and downs of the notes.

The Lannisters lingered on the entrance, immediately catching many pairs of eyes, greedy and green as the decorations around them.

“Are they waiting for us to go greet them?” Jason asked, watching the Hightowers at the center of the Hall. “Gods, why do they always act as if they were royals and us merely subjects?”

"Apparently, it has been proven they have hints of blue in their blood.”

“Who’s the blondie?” he asked, taking his sister’s arm as they walked towards the hosts.

“Helaena Targaryen.”

“Oh! The freak?”

“She’s not a freak. She’s a renowned entomologist.”

“And my point stands.”

Miss Lannister knew all the four Hightowers waiting to be greeted. After all, who didn't?

Otto Hightower was the most influential man in the country, although he liked to hide and pull his strings behind the curtains. They said that family and strangers made no difference to him. His daughter Alicent would agree with a stiff lip.

She wore the most lavish dress of all, but that was not what caught the eye, but rather the determination in her gaze and the way she stood. A woman free from the chains of a marriage she had never wanted.

“It is a pleasure to have both of you here.” She said smiling at the two Lannisters. Her father Otto was towering just behind her, a curious look on his face as his eyes rapidly scanned Miss Lannister.

In fact, he stepped in, saying “Indeed, Alicent. Especially Miss Lannister. I’m relieved to see you well.”

After what happened in Pyke, was the part he deliberately omitted.

The young woman looked at him, unfazed, building another one of her plastic smiles and then directed her attention to the youngest son of Alicent and Viserys Targaryen. Daeron.

The boy was no more than twenty, but he had a way of standing and carrying himself, which gave him at least five more years. That was the price of being doomed to inherit a heavy family name and all within it. The young Lannister girl understood it all too well.

As for Helaena, she seemed the most out-of-place creature, like watching a dolphin swim along sharks. The Lannister girl didn’t know her that much; truthfully no one did. Helaena was always far away from the country for her studies, traveling to the edge of the world to discover wild and rare creatures. She had a way of avoiding eye contact, Miss Lannister noticed, if not for brief and furtive glances, as if she was afraid that if she looked too much, she would see too much.

“And you don’t call that a freak?” Jason asked once they moved away from the Hightowers.

“You are just sour because she barely looked at you.” his sister answered, grabbing a flute of champagne from a passing waiter.

“Hey. I’m nice to look at!” he said gesturing to his figure.

“You tell yourself that.” she sipped her bubbly like water, barely tasting it, as her eyes roamed around the lavish hall, watching the same old play unfold, with the same old puppets. And she was one of them, perhaps the main star, ready to follow the script and never stray from it. It was her purpose in life. A well-trained parrot with a melodic laugh and the stillness of a porcelain doll.

She looked around and saw the eagerness, the anticipation as they bided their time before flocking to her, begging for flesh and money and power, each one of them so eager to sell one piece of themselves to be on a golden plate, the very same on which everything was always freely given to her. Things, places, people. The Golden Girl, they called her. She was born in it, she reflected it. She never had to ask, she never had to beg for anything. While everyone around her seemed to be able to do nothing else.

"Miss Lannister, we would love to have you as our guest in High Garden. Please, consider our invitation."

"Miss Lannister, did your father receive the gift I sent him last week? Please, have him contact me as soon as possible, I have another proposal for a collaboration."

"Miss Lannister, please, convince your father not to cut off the funds, I wouldn't know what to do without the invaluable support of your bank.”

“Miss Lannister, please—"

Please. Please. Please. Please.

They all came muffled, the beggars and their begging, as if speaking from the surface while she was deep down underwater, floating. Then the puppet would take over, moving haughtily and mischievously, promising lies with empty smiles and stolen words. The same old power play, to tell the world the Lannisters were far above it.

But amid the muffled chatter and greedy eyes, there was one in particular, stripped of all reverence, blue and cold as the eye of the scientist dissecting something under a microscope.

He had placed her under the lens out of pure boredom.

He never attended these kinds of gatherings, at least not after Sothoryos, not after Floris. He was there only because his mother had insisted, almost pleaded with him. This was the first public event after the divorce. It was essential to appear close, united.

The word tasted rotten in Aemond's mouth.

He had made sure Aegon would not attend, and had come in through the back, creeping into the hall like a spectre.

Alicent had seen him at once, her eyes widening with surprise as if she were certain he would not come. And they had barely talked.

She had kissed him on the cheeks with that look in her eyes, the one that rose tenderness and contempt at once inside him, twin flames mirroring and dancing around each other. His mother's lips opened and closed repeatedly, like a record needle cutting the same groove on and on without making a sound. And he had no desire to fix that.

Once, maybe. He had nurtured so many unspoken words that they had ended up souring and festering the more he held them back, locked in a dark corner where no light filtered. So, his mouth stayed sealed and silent, like a tomb.

He had withdrawn to a corner of the hall, watching as the people lingered with their gazes on his dead eye, half curious, half scared. Something he was all too used to. He found himself cursing under his breath for wasting time in such a vapid and useless way. He could have been at home, studying, or working in the basement.

But then he had spotted her.

It was hard not to.

The moment she had entered the hall with her brother, it seemed she had drawn all attention to herself, absorbing all the light from the chandeliers. It seemed that her golden dress was truly made of gold.

Aemond had seen her once or twice in the past and each time, two distinct thoughts had rapidly crossed his mind.

First: that she was a pretty doll with more money in her pocket than cells in her brain.

Second: that he wouldn't mind taking her doll's clothes off.

No man with sense would have denied her beauty, but the more he looked at her, the more he saw how dry she was, how cold, like a sculpture doomed to live the same moment forever.

It was all scene, all pose. And Aemond understood it at once since he himself had enacted the same play in the years past. He knew what it meant to be an inanimate thing waiting to be moved by others, for duty or loyalty. Things that had lost all meaning to him once he’d found out that the more he latched on these things, the more hollow he felt.

He watched the Lannister girl build fake smiles at each turn and he found himself grimacing, feeling pity for her, almost contempt. Perhaps she was just a tool, an extension of his former self for him to loathe, like spitting into a mirror.

But he just couldn’t stop watching.

She had a way of making the place where she stood like some kind of holy shrine and everyone around her kept scrambling to fall at her feet. She had a way of moving, slowly, like a creature living underwater. She would lean forward as she listened to people, only to retreat when it was her turn to speak, and she did it quietly, making the privileged speaker unconsciously lean towards her.

A tactic—a working tactic, though. Because Aemond had found himself craning his neck forward more than he would’ve liked to admit, and he wasn't even close to her.

“Choosing your next victim?”

He turned on his blind side as Helaena stopped beside him, handing a flute of champagne.

“Hāedar.” he said, taking the glass “Don’t say that. With all the shit they say about me, tomorrow they might title I’m a serial killer.”

“Well, you do have a dank basement in your place. And with the way you keep looking at the Lannister girl, it would be hard to beat the allegations.”

He looked down at the sizzling bubbles and curled his lips. Helaena did the same as her blue eyes scanned his face. Of all her brothers, she had always had the closest bond with Aemond. Born only one year apart, they had grown up as close as twins. Helaena did not look down when she talked to Aemond; she did not stutter or struggle to voice her thoughts as she did with anyone else. And his lips, which struggled so much to voice his emotions, always curled up in the most spontaneous way when they spent time together.

“You won’t get away with a smile, though.” She pointed out after a sip of bubbly “You barely talked to me earlier.”

“I was afraid our mother would stir up a hornet’s nest seeing me here.”

“She was sure you wouldn’t come.”

“I shouldn’t have. This place smells of coffin.”

She watched him for a moment, trying to guess his mood and, therefore, whether it was a good time to speak. “Did you get my message last week?”

His eye remained fixed on the elated crowd, but Helaena didn’t miss the slight twitch in his lips. “I did.”

“You didn’t answer.”

“What was there to say?”

“Aemond, I know you have your grudges, but... he’s our father and he’s severely ill. He wants to see us, all of us, at Summerhall, next month. I want to believe he’s changing and—”

“Must I remind you what happened the last time we had a family heart to heart?”

She did nothing but cast a single, saddened glance to his dead eye and all her willingness to talk and try to make things better withered like a leaf in a frosted land.

“He’s changing because he already has one foot in the grave. Quit the fancy words, Hel, he’s not changing. He’s just trying to relieve his conscience. A bit late for that, no?” and he downed his champagne in one gulp.

“Aem—”

“I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t care.” He said, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket and placing one cigarette between his lips. He glanced one last time at his sister and with the coldest distance he said “But do let me know when he dies. I'll toast to that.”

She had had three flutes of champagne while talking to a countless number of faceless beggars when she started to feel nauseated. She didn’t even know by what, whether it was the champagne, the people, or herself. Perhaps all of them.

The cold night air embraced her as she went out on the terrace, making the hairs on her arms stand and her half-covered spine shiver. She had not brought her coat with her, but she did not mind. The cold awoke her from her torpor, made her stop being a relic on a mantelpiece.

She slipped a cigarette between her lips and looked into her purse for the lighter. "No, no, no—" she said to no one, frantically feeling every nook and cranny of the purse. "Fuck!"

"Here."

She jumped, turning her head just in time to see a lighter flying towards her. She caught it, staring at the dark corner on her left. There was a man sitting there, wrapped by the shadows, except for a thin white hand laying on the table, long fingers, and half a cigarette resting between index and middle.

She squinted, trying to get a better look. “I can’t see you.”

“I do.”

It was just a simple statement, but his tone was strange, riddled with an edge of shrewdness.

She stared at the dark figure for a moment longer, then lit her cigarette and walked a few steps closer.

"I would like to know who I'm speaking to, stranger." She said, handing over the lighter.

A moment later the shadow stood up, and she had to lift her chin as she watched the glow of the lamps unraveling his face, sharp like a knife. The air hitched in her throat, her gaze inevitably caught by the blue of his eye, as well as the dead blue of the prosthetic. "Oh."

His arched mouth bent upwards. "Define your oh."

“It’s just a oh, you’re not a stranger after all.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, curiously tilting his head with a ghosting grin “What do you think you know about me? Aside from what you read on gossip papers.”

“I don’t read gossip papers.”

“Yes, you do. All the girls like you do that.”

“All the girls like me?”

“Dolls with a trust fund to squander before forty.”

She raised her eyebrows, quickly scanning the young man before her. He was clad in black, with a black turtleneck and a leather jacket, accentuating his sharp features and pale face framed by short hair, a bit curly but neatly styled. “You’re the one to talk, Mr. I have blue blood in my veins.”

“I don’t work for my family.” He said matter-of-factly “They don’t pay my rent and they don’t cover up my shit.”

“Mine neither.”

His eyebrow raising was enough to dismantle her lie right away. “Papers say otherwise.”

“Do you trust papers and their cheap rumors?”

“Hmm. Trust is a strong word. But true or false, rumors are often more revealing than facts.” he took a long drag on his cigarette, narrowing his eyes and she watched as the dead one remained unnaturally still. It was not disturbing, she thought. It gave him a sinister allure, catching her off guard.

“Then I should believe all the rumors about you and your...charming mystery.”

“They say I’m charming now?” he asked with a smirk.

“I believe they called you a sphinx” she deadpanned “before claiming you hit a journalist, a woman.”

“And which one do you think is more likely?”

She looked at him uncertainly. Well, he was charming. But he was a lot more mysterious. More than a sphinx, Aemond Targaryen was a living riddle.

Even before the accident in Sothoryos, from where he returned with an eye missing, the second-born son of Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower was a foggy figure, often in the shadows, more than often in the shadows of someone else, his half-sister Rhaenyra, his older brother Aegon. And after Sothoryos, he seemed to have grown his own shadows, distancing himself from his family and dropping his academic career to do Gods-know-what in a small flat in the oldest quarter of Oldtown.

“Both?” she dared.

He clicked his tongue, looking away with disappointment, and flicked the cigarette. “Too easy. And now you’re boring me.”

“I shall take my leave, then.” she chirped with a tight smile.

“Don’t expect me to follow you. I am not one of those wankers inside who come in their pants as you bat your fake eyelashes.”

The smile left her face instantly, and she glared at him, throwing her half-cigarette on the ground. “It is true, then. Royals do act like the rudest jerks.”

Instead of looking offended, her words seemed to do nothing but tickle his pride—some kind of gratification that poured like poison from the angles of his mouth. “I don’t act. But if I wanted to, I'd know who to turn to.”

“Meaning?”

“And you keep boring me.” his eye went momentarily below her neck, and he tilted his chin “Are those pretty diamonds slowing blood to your brain?”

Miss Lannister looked stunned. No one, ever, dared to talk to her like that.

She was used to being praised and begged and praised. A beautiful portrait framed by gold and hung on a wall for all to see. She should have been outraged, she should have used her last name as shield and threat. But for once, she was breathing on her own, free of any strings.

“Are they real?” he asked suddenly, and she stilled as his hand ghosted on her necklace, feeling his cold fingertips hovering above her skin.

“Of course they are.”

“Hmm.” He mused, pulling his hand back as he continued to stare at the necklace and then down at her dress. “They serve their purpose I’d say.” he said dragging his eye back to her face.

“Slowing my brain?” she asked with a little vitriolic smile.

“Hiding all the fake beneath them.”

“Who are you, a fortune teller?” she spitefully asked. “Do you possess the Third Eye as well as the Fake One?”

“One eye is enough to see right through you, golden girl.”

“And why were you watching me if I am so blatantly obvious?”

He almost shrugged his shoulders. “These parties are dreadfully boring. I was in need of a distraction, and you were hard to miss.”

“I could say the same about you.” Her gaze flicked for an instant to his dead eye. “Except that I don’t hide in dark corners from my own family.”

Whether he was stung by her words or not, his composure remained utterly impassive. A sphinx through and through.

“No. You do it before them.” An amused smile, spiced up with poison, curled his lips. “At least I have the dignity to disappear instead of begging for attention like a pathetic creature.”

Her words did not sting, but his surely did. And they shouldn’t.

They had crossed paths once or twice in the years prior, but effectively, Aemond was but a stranger to her. She wasn’t even aware of him watching her inside the hall, maybe too absorbed in her puppet play, or maybe resigned to scream into a crowded room of deaf mannequins.

She swallowed heavily, not dropping her gaze, waiting for all the gold to shield her, hide her, serving its purpose once more. But Aemond had a strange look in his eye. He was staring at her, and what he saw thrilled him.

He was sure he would see harshness, contempt, but not that. Not…anguish. It was buried in her pretty eyes and yet it just lied there in full sight, the darker shade of abyss beneath the crystalline blue of the deceiving surface.

If only someone had bothered to look.

“You remind me of someone.” he said almost mindlessly.

“Do I dare asking or do you wish to offend me some more?”

He seemed to ponder for a while, looking at her as if he were measuring an opponent.

“Come with me. I’ll show you.”

He moved, leaving the terrace without waiting for her, sure enough she would follow him. And she did.

Not immediately, though. She stared at his tall figure as he went back inside and thought she should go back to the party, go back to the script. There was something uncanny, almost eerie about staying close to him, like walking on the thin thread of a cobweb while being dreadfully aware to be walking towards the spider’s bite.

But the dread made her feel alive, made her heart pounding in her throat. So, she followed him.

“I didn’t know your family had it.” She said with a tinge of amazement as they stopped before the painting gloriously exhibited along one of the lavish corridors upstairs. “I thought it got lost during some war.”

“It was.” He said, stopping beside her, eye roaming on the canvas.

“Did I remind you of a lost anonymous painting?”

“You reminded me of the Maiden.” And his eye flicked to the left of the painting. Then he dragged his gaze on her, turning his head, and watched her. “Do you know the story?”

“The myth?”

“You don’t believe it to be true?”

“I don’t believe in Gods. Or myths.”

“That is strange, coming from a girl who spent so much time building her own.”

She turned her head and looked at him. He was smiling subtly, but it was different this time. There was no poison dripping from the angles of his mouth, but the clearest intrigue.

It stopped her heart for a moment. A sudden cut in the canvas, a crack in the porcelain. And she felt that this stranger was peeking inside, or perhaps she was.

Aemond looked back at the painting and laced his arms behind his back, making the leather of his jacket creak. “They said once there was a land inhabited only by Gods and Monsters. The Maiden was the most beautiful Goddess in the Holy Garden. She grew flowers from her hands, trailing behind her as she walked. But she was unhappy. The Gods only sought her for her gift, used her as a piece of ornament. She was beautiful on the outside, but inside—”

“Lonely and hollow.” she filled in.

“Just like the Stranger.” he said, and they turned at the same time, locking their eyes.

Aemond glanced back at the ominous figure in the painting and said “He was not allowed to enter the Gods world. He lived underground, blowing his mortal winds to call the souls into his realm of death. But then he saw her. He dried her tears through his wind until one day—”

“He took her.” she filled in once more. “He used the wind to tie her hands with the flowery branches she grew and kidnapped her from the Holy Garden.”

“Are you sure kidnapped is the right word?”

“According to the myth? Yes. You might have been a great scholar, but I’m not a goat.”

He chuckled quietly, and the sound made her turn again to watch him.

He held her gaze as amusement left his marbled features, and without taking his eye off her, he tilted his chin towards the painting “Look at her. Look at her face and tell me what you see."

She did so, observing the anguish, the dark trepidation on the Maiden’s face.

“She is frightened.”

“Is she?” he asked, and suddenly he was almost behind her. His breath tickled her ear like the wind on a hot summer day, and her breath hitched once more. “Look into her eyes.” he whispered on her nape “Is it fear to be taken…or desire?”

She swallowed, keeping her eyes fixed on the painting, and dug her nails into the expensive fabric of her little purse. “Art is not math.” she said with confidence “There is not one undisputable interpretation.” And she turned to face him “So unless you painted that, and I have some doubts, you say she’s keen on being taken. I say she’s frightened.”

Aemond stared at her for a moment with a strange new look on his face, as if someone had just issued a challenge to him. His blue eye was wide, and the little smirk was peeking through his lips. “Do you ever choose a position, golden girl?”

“I think I just did.”

“Allow me to rephrase, then. A less boring position.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but he was faster. “Let me show you something a little less ambiguous.”

"Wow, these are beautiful," she said as they climbed the stairs to the floor above the one where the glorious anonymous painting stood. On the angled wall, a series of photographs were exhibited—portraits, precisely—all in black and white.

"Are we complimenting each other now?" he asked, halting on a step.

She looked at him doubtfully for a moment before slightly widening her eyes. "What, these are yours?"

He gave her a simple nod, and she looked back at the portraits.

"My mother put them here. Her way to prove she cares, I guess." He said absent-mindedly, as if conversing about the weather.

The Lannister girl watched him closely, in search of something that would betray such a cold statement, but there were no cracks, no cuts.

"The great mystery unraveled.” She said forcing a dramatic tone “Aemond Targaryen is a photographer."

"I am not. I don’t do it for a living.”

“Yes, because you don’t need a job to get by.”

“Look who’s talking.”

She glared at him, trying with poor success to stifle a smile.

“It's just an interest." He stated.

"A passion." she dared to suggest.

"I wouldn't call it that. Passion preludes emotion, ardor. Photography is nothing like."

She watched him fold his arms behind his back in a peculiar way, grabbing his forearms with his hands. He had done the same thing earlier, in front of the painting. The gesture caught her attention then, as it did now.

"What is it then?" she asked, trailing her eyes back to his face.

He stared at her for an impossible long time before answering. “Revelation.”

She looked back at the portraits and observed them thoroughly. There were some men caught behind the camera, but the majority were all women. Young and beautiful women.

The portraits were majestic, she considered. He had found a way to toy with light which made these people look like glimpses from an otherworldly dimension, flashes of dreams.

No, not dreams, she thought.

The light was cruel, exposing, cutting. And all the subjects seemed to have been caught in a moment of great distress, flowing almost into a grotesque despair.

Flashes of nightmares.

The sight made her lips part, her skin shiver with eeriness and something else, something she could not name. The same basic instinct that had pushed her to follow him. These people, made eternal by black and white, were dressed, but their souls utterly naked before the eye.

“I wouldn’t call it revelation…”

“And what would you call it?” he asked, stepping beside her to watch the portrait, not missing her little startle when his elbow brushed against hers.

She took a deep, silent breath and turned her head to look at him. "Intrusion.”

“Hmm.” He mused, slipping his pack of smokes from his pocket “Intrusion of which kind?”

He placed the cigarette between his lips only to see her hand snatching it away, but slowly, just like she was used to move, so much that her fingertip brushed his upper lip. “Any kind.” she answered and his eye fell on her rosy lips closing around the filter.

His mouth twitched, as if her light brushing had lit his skin aflame, and he moved unconsciously, bringing the lighter close but pausing, his thumb lingering on the little wheel, and he looked at her, just as she looked at him.

When he pushed his finger to light the flame, the short metallic sound came through with a strange finality, a curtain dropping after the first act.

She lit the cigarette and took a long drag, glancing at the portraits and then back at him. “Did you fuck these women?”

“No.” was all he said, hiding a little smirk as he slipped another smoke between his lips. He saw her raising her eyebrows with clear disbelief, so he clarified. “Not all of them.”

“I bet they revealed themselves thoroughly.”

“They were more than keen to do it.”

“And did you?” she countered, tilting her head, lowering her voice so that once again, he found himself leaning towards her, like a moth to a flame. “Did you reveal yourself as well? Did you let them intrude?”

“Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.”

She clicked her tongue and laughed—the very first genuine laugh she could conjure up in the span of hours, or even days. “Now you’re just trying to impress me.”

“Yes. And unfortunately for you, it is working.”

She gave him a bemused look at his brazen statement, but she felt strangely exposed under his unblinking stare, a hand ending her ceaseless floating to anchor her against the seabed.

“I want you to come to my place," he said suddenly, his voice kept quiet, almost soft, to the verge of whispering. It wrapped her senses like a soothing lullaby.

“I want to take your picture.”

“Why? To end up on this wall and in your bed like dozens of girls before me?”

“Dozens?” he raised an eyebrow “I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be.”

“Hmm” he crooned, cocking his head to one side, a contented expression stretching on his face, much like a cat licking its whiskers. “Envy doesn’t suit a Lannister.”

“Envy?” she repeated, laughing scornfully. “You’re an arrogant brat, has anyone ever told you?”

“Many in fact. So, shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“Pity, I thought you had stopped boring me.” He said pocketing his lighter “Stay here playing the doll with those old fogeys, if you like. I’m leaving.”

She had only time to blink and he was gone, leaving her on those steps with the foreign, unsettling longing to follow. Her feet moved on their own, dragging her back to the party with an urgency shaking her bones, pushing her eyes to dart in every corner of the hall, moving amongst the people as if chasing the wind.

“Oh, there you are!” Jason pulled her to him, and she stilled, as she was used to, but everything inside her kept moving. “That Lonmouth smartass came at me screaming like a chicken.” Jason said with cocaine pupils, slurring words after words “as if it’s Dad’s fault that he’s an idiot. Put him in his place, would you? I’m too high, I might stick a fork between his eyes. D’you you want to hear something funny?”

“No, Jason. I don’t.” she replied absently, looking around once more “Listen, did you see Aemond Targaryen?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” She said, wriggling herself from his hold, but he was fast to pull her back “Sis, why are you looking for that creep?”

“Let me go, Jason.”

“Listen to me. First the shit show in Pyke and now Aemond One Eye? Dad would not be happy to know you are—”

“Dad would not be happy to know fucking anything that he has not concocted and told us to do. And I’m tired of it, Jason.” She hastily broke free from his grip, alerting the well-dressed people around them, but she ignored them altogether. “Just this once, you’ll have to play the puppet. I’m done for tonight.” she tugged the pocket square from his jacket and threw it at him. “And wipe your nose, for Gods’ sake. There’s coke on it.”

She wandered inside the huge hall like walking through quicksand, sinking a little more any time another man or woman stopped her to chit chat, to ask her about her father and the bank and the next slot in her father's agenda.

As if she had any clue. As if her father had not dismissed any of her natural vocations like wrong bills to be fed to the shredder only to make her study economics, only to frame her degree, and then instruct her himself to specialize in the sacred act of parading herself around like a rare stuffed creature.

“Here you are.” A hand slipped around her waist, and she found herself enveloped by two familiar hands. “I’ve looked for you anywhere.”

“Quentin.” She said, looking into the dark glinting eyes of Quentin Martell, slightly wrinkling her nose for the heavy male perfume in which he had apparently dunked his suit.

His eyes scanned her slowly, looking like he wanted to peel her dress off like an orange. “Always outshining anyone else, are you?”

She looked away, stifling an exasperated sigh, all too used to Quentin’s redundant flatteries.

“This party is dead, isn’t it? And rather self-celebratory from the Hightowers. As if they don’t owe their current position to Viserys Targaryen.”

She glanced at him and saw her father talking. It was one of his favorite refrains at breakfast, lunch or dinner. It made no difference to him. Any time was a good time to incense themselves as the best, the wealthiest, the proudest, and hundreds of more superlatives that made the food instantly go rancid in her mouth.

Distractedly, her eyes roamed around, numbing her ears while Quentin kept talking. It was then that she saw him. He had not left.

Holding a glass of some liquor, he seemed to be in deep conversation, or rather on the receiving end of a soliloquy from his grandfather, who was leaning slightly over him, almost talking to his ear.

His eye was absently buried to the floor, one long finger tapped against the glass. A couple of words she could not make from that distance slipped from his mouth, resigned as his whole demeanor.

She thought she was looking into a mirror.

“Honey, are you listening to me?” Quentin asked at some point, tightening the hold on her waist. “Who are you looking at so rapt?”

“No one.” she hurried to say. But Quentin was quicker to follow her gaze before she dropped it. “Aemond One Eye?” he said on the verge of mockery. “Baby, he is so out of your league.”

She cocked her head and plastered a tight smile on her lips. “And precisely, what do you know about my league?”

“You know what I mean. How blind can you be not to notice that your brother has been screwing your girlfriend behind your back for months? Oops, sorry, wrong metaphor.”

“Both the Baratheons and the Targaryens have denied it.”

“Sure, sure. Then why the Baratheons were not invited tonight? And why did the one eyed come? He never does. Oh wait, look at that, Aegon’s missing. Not surprising though, didn’t they say Targaryens used to fuck amongst their own in the old times?”

She lowered her gaze, lost in thought, and then turned her head, instantly widening her eyes, shoulders tensing when she saw Aemond looking straight at her, sipping his drink, straightening the cobweb’s thread on which she had been tottering until that moment.

“Baby, are you high again?” Quentin asked her, with a genuine, inquisitive tone.

“What?”

“You’re shivering. Greyjoy told me everything about that night. Said you went batshit crazy on coke. Depraved as he is, it’s actually a good thing that you OD’ed. That creep would have fucked you even that stoned.”

She immediately grabbed his arms, trying to wriggle out of his hold. “Let me go.”

“Oh, come on.” He nothing but hold her more tightly. “I know you like to get a little freaky once in a while. I do, too. In fact, why don’t we take a tour upstairs? We could cheer up this drag.”

“No. Quentin, let me go.”

“Come on.” He insisted, pulling her to his chest.

She had to step on his foot to shake him off. “Let me cut straight to the point. I won’t fuck you, Quentin. Not tonight, not even if you were the last man left on this earth.”

He grimaced, spitefully twisting his mouth like any man who's been denied the chance to feel like a man for a few minutes. “I had warned Greyjoy about this. I told him you’re a spoiled cunt. You know what? You should get with that Stark fag. He may fuck your ass, so maybe you’d feel something 'cause I’m sure as hell your cunt is drier than the Red Waste.”

The insults were also part of the play.

After all, the act might not please everyone in the stalls. “Just shrug them off. They’re praises, actually, disguised bitterly for what they cannot have.” her mother said “Besided, a lion does not concern itself with the opinion of the sheep.”

When she was younger, each bitter word was a giant finger pointed at her, a gavel sealing the next judgement. Her mother had tried with all her carelessness to teach her how to be exactly that. Careless, a river flowing in its direction no matter the filth that would pollute the waters.

But she was draining, ever since Pyke, perhaps long before that.

She was tired of pretending to be gold while her fingertips seemed to leave behind nothing else but ash.

Thank you so much for reading!! If you like to be tagged when I post part II, leave a comment below 🫶

#intrusion #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #ewan mitchell #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #Spotify

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fireismine · 7 months

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DAENERYS TARGARYEN APPRECIATION WEEK 2023

Day 6: House Targaryen → Targaryen Women + Love of Flying

Rhaenys the Conqueror

Rhaenys, youngest of the three Targaryens, was all her sister was not, playful, curious, impulsive, given to flights of fancy. No true warrior, Rhaenys loved music, dancing, and poetry, and supported many a singer, mummer, and puppeteer. Yet it was said that Rhaenys spent more time on dragonback than her brother and sister combined, for above all things she loved to fly. She once was heard to say that before she died she meant to fly Meraxes across the Sunset Sea to see what lay upon its western shores. Whilst no one ever questioned Visenya’s fidelity to her brother husband, Rhaenys surrounded herself with comely young men, and (it was whispered) even entertained some in her bedchambers on the nights when Aegon was with her elder sister. Yet despite these rumors, observers at court could not fail to note that the king spent ten nights with Rhaenys for every night with Visenya. - Aegon’s Conquest, Fire and Blood

Rhaena the Black Bride

At the age of nine, however, Rhaena was presented with a hatchling from the pits of Dragonstone, and she and the young dragon she named Dreamfyre bonded instantly. With her dragon beside her, the princess slowly began to grow out of her shyness; at the age of twelve she took to the skies for the first time, and thereafter, though she remained a quiet girl, no one dared to call her timid. Not long after, Rhaena made her first true friend in the person of her cousin Larissa Velaryon. For a time the two girls were inseparable…until Larissa was suddenly recalled to Driftmark to be wed to the second son of the Evenstar of Tarth. The young are nothing if not resilient, however, and the princess soon found a new companion in the Hand’s daughter, Samantha Stokeworth. - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

Princess Rhaena had many a suitor as well, but unlike her brother she gave encouragement to none of them. She preferred to spend her days with her siblings, her dogs and cats, and her newest favorite, Alayne Royce, daughter to the Lord of Runestone…a plump and homely girl, but so cherished that Rhaena sometimes took her flying on the back of Dreamfyre, just as she did her brother Aegon. More often, though, Rhaena took to the skies by herself. After her sixteenth nameday, the princess declared herself a woman grown, “free to fly where I will.” - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

Aerea Targaryen

Little and less need be said of the return of Rhaena Targaryen from Estermont after her daughter’s death. By the time the raven reached Her Grace at Greenstone, the princess had already died and been burned. Only ashes and bones remained for her mother when Dreamfyre delivered her to the Red Keep. “It would seem that I am doomed to always come too late,” she said. When the king offered to have the ashes interred on Dragonstone, beside those of King Aegon and the other dead of House Targaryen, Rhaena refused. “She hated Dragonstone,” she reminded His Grace. “She wanted to fly.” And so saying, she took her child’s ashes high into the sky on Dreamfyre, and scattered them upon the winds. - Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Their Triumphs and Tragedies, Fire and Blood

Alysanne Targaryen

The last years of Alysanne Targaryen were sad and lonely ones. In her youth, Good Queen Alysanne had loved her subjects, lords and commons alike. She had loved her women’s courts, listening, learning, and doing what she could to make the realm a kinder place. She had seen more of the Seven Kingdoms than any queen before or since, slept in a hundred castles, charmed a hundred lords, made a hundred marriages. She had loved music, had loved to dance, had loved to read. And oh, how she had loved to fly. Silverwing had carried her to Oldtown, to the Wall, and to a thousand places in between, and Alysanne saw them all as few others ever would, looking down from above the clouds. - The Long Reign: Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progeny and Pain - Fire and Blood

Alyssa Targaryen

The princess was seldom long away from the Dragonpit after that day. Flying was the second sweetest thing in the world, she would oft say, and the very sweetest thing could not be mentioned in the company of ladies. The Dragonkeepers had not been wrong; Meleys was as swift a dragon as Westeros had ever seen, easily outpacing Caraxes and Vhagar when she and her brothers flew together. - The Long Reign: Jaehaerys and Alysanne: Policy, Progeny and Pain - Fire and Blood

Laena Velaryon

Though Princess Rhaenyra had been proclaimed her father’s successor, there were many in the realm, at court and beyond it, who still hoped that Viserys might father a male heir, for the Young King was not yet thirty. Grand Maester Runciter was the first to urge His Grace to remarry, even suggesting a suitable choice: the Lady Laena Velaryon, who had just turned twelve. A fiery young maiden, freshly flowered, Lady Laena had inherited the beauty of a true Targaryen from her mother, Rhaenys, and a bold, adventurous spirit from her father, the Sea Snake. As Lord Corlys loved to sail, Laena loved to fly, and had claimed for her own no less a mount than mighty Vhagar, the oldest and largest of the Targaryen dragons since the passing of the Black Dread in 94 AC. By taking the girl to wife, the king could heal the rift that had grown up between the Iron Throne and Driftmark, Runciter pointed out. And Laena would surely make a splendid queen. - Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession, Fire and Blood

The Hightowers of Oldtown were an ancient and noble family, of impeccable lineage; there could be no possible objection to the king’s choice of bride. Even so, there were those who murmured that the Hand had risen above himself, that he had brought his daughter to court with this in mind. A few even cast doubt on Lady Alicent’s virtue, suggesting she had welcomed King Viserys into her bed even before Queen Aemma’s death. (These calumnies were never proved, though Mushroom repeats them in his Testimony and goes so far as to claim that reading was not the only service Lady Alicent performed for the Old King in his bedchamber.) In the Vale, Prince Daemon reportedly whipped the serving man who brought the news to him within an inch of his life. Nor was the Sea Snake pleased when word reached Driftmark. House Velaryon had been passed over once again, his daughter, Laena, scorned just as his son, Laenor, had been scorned by the Great Council, and his wife by the Old King back in 92 AC. Only Lady Laena herself seemed untroubled. “Her ladyship shows far more interest in flying than in boys,” the maester at High Tide wrote to the Citadel. - Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession, Fire and Blood

Rhaenyra Targaryen

At the center of the merriment, cherished and adored by all, was their only surviving child, Princess Rhaenyra, the little girl the court singers dubbed “the Realm’s Delight.” Though only six when her father came to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra Targaryen was a precocious child, bright and bold and beautiful as only one of dragon’s blood can be beautiful. At seven, she became a dragonrider, taking to the sky on the young dragon she named Syrax, after a goddess of old Valyria. At eight, the princess was placed into service as a cupbearer…but for her own father, the king. At table, at tourney, and at court, King Viserys thereafter was seldom seen without his daughter by his side. - Heirs of the Dragon: A Question of Succession, Fire and Blood

Baela Targaryen

“She is overly fond of boys,” the castellan wrote Baela’s father, Prince Daemon, after that incident, “and should be married soon, lest she surrender her virtue to someone unworthy of her.” Even more than boys, however, Lady Baela loved to fly. Since first riding her dragon Moondancer into the sky not half a year past, she had flown every day, ranging freely to every part of Dragonstone and even across the sea to Driftmark. - The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Triumphant, Fire and Blood

Rhaena of Pentos

During the first quarter of 135 AC, two momentous events were the occasion of great joy throughout the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. On the third day of the third moon of that year, the people of King’s Landing woke to a sight that had not been seen since the dark days of the Dance: a dragon in the skies above the city. Lady Rhaena, at the age of nineteen, was flying her dragon, Morning, for the first time. That first day she circled once around the city before returning to the Dragonpit, but every day thereafter she grew bolder and flew farther. - The Lysene Spring and the End of the Regency, Fire and Blood

Daenerys Stormborn

Memories walked with her. Clouds seen from above. Horses small as ants thundering through the grass. A silver moon, almost close enough to touch. Rivers running bright and blue below, glimmering in the sun. Will I ever see such sights again? On Drogon's back she felt whole. Up in the sky the woes of this world could not touch her. How could she abandon that? - Daenerys X, A Dance with Dragons

Then all of that had faded, the sounds dwindling, the people shrinking, the spears and arrows falling back beneath them as Drogon clawed his way into the sky. Up and up and up he'd borne her, high above the pyramids and pits, his wings outstretched to catch the warm air rising from the city's sun baked bricks. If I fall and die, it will still have been worth it, she had thought. - Daenerys X, A Dance with Dragons

#danyweek2023 #canondany #asoiaf #daenerys targaryen

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buzzkillers · 11 months

Text

WHITE HOUSE DOWN

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Black!Reader

Summary: You and Hobie fuck after he kills the President of the United States: Norman Osborne.

Tags|Warnings: Happy 4th of July (sarcastic), public oral sex, cum facials, enemies to enemies that fuck, exhibitionism, bratty reader, graphic violence, bad British slang, UNEDITED

WC:4k

In under an hour Fascism, Capitalism and President Norman Osborne died in the same way: pathetically and in a roaring beat of gunfire and raging anarchy.

It was so punk metal that Hobie reckoned he could've cried.

Maybe even let out a blood curdling scream before he joined his mates in celebration; in a fight that continued to roar beyond the thick walls of this stupid building. Of the world's now fallen symbol of false freedom, colonization and white supremacy.

All of it was dead now anyway, all of it was gone. So yeah Hobie reckoned he should’ve cried; maybe he even was crying but he was too pent up on adrenaline and rock and roll to notice. Who fucking knew. Who fucking cared?

What mattered was that Osborne’s head was detached, that his guitar was covered in guts and brain and enough idiocratic bullshit that it had clattered to the floor.

His weapon stained against the fancy White House carpet. He didn’t mind though, it added to the decor. You didn’t seem to give a shit either. For you, blood still stained your locs and your lips stayed wrapped around his cock.

And well Hobie didn't follow rules. They were barely a suggestion in his radar. Yet apart of him knew this was off kilter, even for him. Even for Spider Punk.

Spider Punk, the not-hero and the now killer who instead of killing capitalist and fighting corporate drones was here. Here with black nails that dug into your back and wicks that kissed the skin of your cheek.

It felt good.

This reward, you told him as you guided him towards the pigs desk. Your hands already at the buckle of his jeans before you looked up at him; eyes hazy and murderously dark.

It reminded him of foggy London nights, of polluted air and days where he gasped for his inhaler. Something that tried to be something else. It made Hobe feel triumphant, out of breath.

And yet this was ‘His reward.’ You growled again as if this was normal and you weren't you but something different, something new.

At that, Hobie couldn’t help but laugh. It was a pretty comedy after all, a neat joke as your palm— shaking and slick with sweat wrapped itself around his cock and your knees dug into the floor. The blood stained floor.

He inhaled sharply, either from the adrenaline or the genuine need to breathe before his smile slipped into something wide, dangerous. You shot a glare at him.

"Something funny?" You mouthed, as if your eyes weren't muggy, as if there wasn't a revolution going on a wall away. Hobie of course simply looked down at you, his own eyes liquid dark, but alight with adrenaline and fire and everything that made a corporate pig like Osborne underestimate him.

“Fuck yeah,” he rolled his hips up.

"Everything's a bit funny right now, love"

Below him, you only scoffed as if what he said wasn’t sick given the circumstances.

As if this was simply another one of those nights; those long nights where this would be your signal to leave. To keep your distance from Hobie Brown, the Spider Punk with too much venom on his tongue and righteous anger in his every word. But you didn’t, you simply looked at him, calculative, nervous.

Around them, the war raged on and the sounds of corporate drones getting their ass beat made the floors vibrate. None of them aware of their leader's demise before his team crushed them into dust. Below him you sighed, that gleam still in your eyes. (murky puddles and polluted skylines.)

"Of course you'd make this hard,"

"Can't just let me suck you off and shut up huh, SP?" You muttered, and you see Hobie would respond. There was always an excuse to be barked, a word to be said. But music still thrummed through his veins, the air was singing (screaming) and you were here.

Not with Osborne. Not in a lab, cooped up but here.

He smiled. "I'm not known for consistency,"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you rolled your eyes, "I've heard the speech,”

"can't be consistent, can't be bought, can't shut up,"

Shut up?

He licked his lips and tasted the metal, the blood. 'Im gettin’ tired of your mouth, boy.’ Osborne had sneered before Hobie broke his face in.

Yeah, he didn't listen to him either. He shrugged his shoulders. "Nah, I don't think so,"

You rolled your eyes. “Spider-”

“Aw, am I ruining your fantasy love?" You cut him a look.

“Catchin me off guard like this, you must’ve planned it, no?”

Your grimace deepened. Which was cute. Very cute. “So you’re just gonna keep talking?”

“—I mean I'm not against you knowin' your onions and all that, but between you being stuck in your lab and arguing with us who knew you had the time,” he whispered, before your eyes went sharp and your nails dug into his thighs. A warning, that only made his cock hard and his hands crack the lip of the desk. Cute. He thought again.

So bloody cute that he blinked and his heart raced like a drum, like a rip of his pick against his guitar.

‘Lay on your back’ you said, ‘drop the guitar.’ and he did.

You had demanded it with a trained nonchalance. Completely unbothered as if he didn't hear the way your lungs sharply inhaled when his guitar separated Osborne's head from his spine. Cartilage, tendons and a thick spinal cord crushed into dust beneath his rebellion before you pounced on him.

You gave him that same look now and it was wicked hot. He couldn't deny it. A fun mix of cheekiness and nerves before you cocked your head and, “You know what, fine,”

In a blink, his back was shoved harder against the desk. His hands twisted into your locs, while your mouth wet, hot and slick like honey, like blood enveloped him, turned him inside out and made him want to curl over and actually cry.

Not cause it felt good or spectacular or amazing but because it was you. Only cause it was you.

Below him you sucked him off like you had something to prove. Like it was a challenge. It would be a crime to look away. To not match rebellion with rebellion, your hatred with his faux indifference while your lips remained dry, your handwork sloppy and your rhythm off. It was honestly the worst blowjob he’s ever had.

But you were enthusiastic and you looked up at him as if you expected more. Like Hobie was supposed to fall to his knees and thank you. Of course, a flicker of frustration came out when he gave you the opposite: a slick smile and his eyes wide in wonder.

"Leave it to you too give someone an angry blow job," He cocked his head, "Reckon you’re overthinkin’ it, love?”

You choked in response. Your mouth off his cock and looking as if you were about to spit on the floor before you paused and Hobie watched you swallow instead. Something hot shot in his core.

“Never,” you sneered as if this was just another part of the battle, your own personal fight.

Hobie just snickered, a gleam in his eyes even as you went still, embarrassment hot on your face.

“Yeah that's what I guessed," he whispered, before gloved hands gripped your jaw. Tight and restrictive.

“Quick tip? You’re too rough with it love, let me guess didn’t watch enough videos?” he teased, before he realized where exactly his dick was.

You gave him a sharp smile, "want to repeat that?" No, not particularly. He rolled his shoulders.

“Slow down,”

“Where's the rush,” he teased before there was a thump and a scream and oh, he guess they've found the bloke's head. Took them long enough.

If Hobie remembered how hard he kicked it correctly; The fuckers skull was three rooms away with thick walls and flimsy doors in each of them.

His smile turned giddy, "We all the time in the world,"

"Please tell me you're joking," and there it was again, that look. That need for order and propriety. Hobie patted your cheek.

"What, getting nervous?" Your eyes shot to the door. To the distant footsteps that only got closer to the currently unlocked room.

"Hobie,"

"Fine," he shot the hinges up with webbing. It wouldn't last. But you didn't need to know that.

"See? Good,"

Quickly, your shoulders relaxed; your nape warm beneath his hand, prickled and covered in sweat till he gripped it harder, guiding you down until your mouth was on him again. He shuddered.

“Make it wet,” you looked confused, your eyebrows twitching before your mouth went agape and he felt it.

Something hot and sticky that dripped down his cock. Your lips were now sheen, a messy mix of precum, sweat and everything that would never normally be in a pretty mouth like that.

Of course, you still managed to glare at him. And yeah nah, he wasn't gonna think about why that made his mouth dry before he angled his hips up and up until the tip of him was at the rim of your lips; he took a deep breath.

“Grip the desk for me,”

You frowned again, harder if that was possible. And Hobie couldn't have that.

"Wh--" in a blink he's already bullied his thumb passed plush lips and sharp teeth. Expertly, rubbing his painted nails against the soft flesh of your cheek until drool and spit slicked down his wrist and,

"That's wicked," he whispered.

"You’re so fucking pretty like this," You shot him a look. Your eyes still shakingly looking towards the door. The soldiers have gotten louder, they've must've bursted pass the first room. But Hobie only sighed, unbothered

“Is this why you've been so nice to me lately? Been wanting to give me this," he rambled, his eyes back on yours before his smile melted into a smirk. The last thing Osborne ever saw, before his head rolled down the stairs.

Now, the funny thing about trying to tell a punk what to do was that you shouldn't actually expect them to listen. Osborne learned that the hard way. But you weren’t like the rest of them. No matter what the team said about you turning your back on your upbringing for the cause. You weren’t like them. Clean and simple.

It was written in the cracks of your face, in the corners of your eyes. That want for order that battled with the need to rebel and make things right.

It's probably why you continued to look at him like that; your eyes slitted, red and angry.

You hated it but you wanted it too. Which meant that it took no effort to grip your jaw, keeping it still as you moved to chop your teeth onto his thumb. Light work.

But it was another thing to dodge the whistle of your studded fist and the gleam of spikes on your knuckles before they're webbed to the dead Pigs desk. You were smart not to try again. Still your face stayed twisted in anger.

Hobie couldn't help but laugh again, all sharp teeth and youthful indignation in his voice.

“I'm not good with mixed signals love, you hate me, you don't, you want to give me a reward about a job well done and then whine about it,”

“This is still a reward right?” he whispered, his voice deep and molten. It dragged you into a spell, made you nod. “Good,”

"Now, why don't we start stickin’ to our words, yeah," you made no room to reply, just continued to look up at him with that fire in your eyes that reminded him of madness, of a man whose body could be found in various parts of this makeshift castle. For the first time, Hobies face went stern, his body hands suddenly on your nape gripping tight.

"Yeah?" He repeated.

That madness in your eyes only take a moment to flicker, a moment to wick and out before your face twisted again, "Yeah,"

"There we go,"

You made no room to stop him. As his prodded his cock against your lips again, against that slick heat, hellfire, glory, his reward that was found in the tightens of your throat. "Good,"

He gripped the back of your neck tighter. “There we go,”

“Breathe through your nose,” Then you squeezed your eyes shut, prepared to choke, for Hobie to bruise your throat, for your jaw to ache while he used you like you prepared to use him.

Then he hummed, like a thrum of his guitar, like the flutter of a hummingbird. It was your only warning before he brought you down, slow, sluggish. He made you feel the weight of him, the way it pressed against your tongue, expanded your throat.

You couldn’t help it really, the way your eyes closed. The hazy sensation that made your vision blur. Hobie fucked your throat as if he had all the time in the world. As if a world leader wasn’t rotting in the next room.

And this would be a great time to joke. For Hobie to make you regret bringing him here and not give the secrets to ruining him but nah, this was better. This was more satisfying. Worth the shock in your eyes as you tried to keep them open. Your cunt not so subtly grinding against his boot.

“Don't look so surprised love”

“Let me guess, you expected me to go hard?” he whispered, voice ragged.

“Wanted me to bruise your pretty throat?” He dragged himself out again. Withdrew his hips, until your lips were once again at the tip of him. A thick residue of spit left behind.

Good.

Perfect even.

But below him you struggled to remain composed. Your mind was a fog that thickened, and your ears roared with the music that was Hobie Brown. The sounds of his shockwaves still in the air. On a better day, you'd remain aloof. You'd look at hobie with bored eyes and tell him to do his worse.

Clearly, that day wasn't today.

Your eyes were still closed after all, and the taste of him still stained your throat. You wanted more. You wanted-

His hand tightened on your neck.

“Now when did I say you could do that?” You blinked up, teary eyed with more of Hobie’s cock in your mouth than he previously allowed.

Suddenly, your cheeks burned and Hobie watched embarrassment wash over you. Watched you drown in it, in an attempt to cover up the desperate move before you just sat there, unable to go forward, unable to move back. “Cute,”

And then he jerked forward, cock hitting your throat until tears brimmed in your eyes and well Hobie was only a man at the end of the day. He unwebbed you, “Use your hands wrap them around me,”

Quickly, you complied. “Yeah love like that,"

You didn’t need further instruction. You continued the slow tempo he set. And for a moment, it stayed like that: you swallowing him with a sloppy mouth and tears in your eyes, your hands now slick with well, everything. Snot, spit and tears.

He laughed again, a bit more choked up and bit more delirious as your tongue dragged against the undervein of his cock. Sharp pleasure blinded him, he felt like it was too much, not enough. Like his heart was gonna burst from the adrenaline, the heat.

For a moment, he craved something on his lips too. Something just as hot and slick and you. He reckoned you'd like that. Want to shut him up with your thighs locked around his head and your cunt slick on his studded tongue. If you were gonna do this, you might as well do it right, do it in the worst way possible while Osborne's corpse rotted in the next room.

Below him, you gripped him tighter. Suckled your lips at the head of him until he shuddered and groaned. His palms slicked in blood gripping right at your face. If he knew this would be the reaction to winning the war— he'd bring Osborne back to life himself.

Let you watch him kill him again, again and again if it meant you looked at him like that. Like a drunkard, like the feeling he got when he strummed his guitar just right, just perfectly against his pick. Until you were like this: your lips, tight and harsh. Sucking him off as if it was another fight, your eyes red hot with anger and tears.

He was close.

He couldn’t even be embarrassed, if they knew what a pretty picture you made no regular bloke would be either before he felt it. That liquid hot build up; like something molten that grew and morphed and dripped in his belly before his thighs trembled, his fist cracked the desk and you looked marvelous.

He tried to draw away, cause he was proper and raised right but he couldn't get far. Not against someone who looked like they wanted to prove something. You started this for a reason after all. So of course, your hands pressed into his hips, kept him still. Fucking brat.

Before the room became an echo chamber of gasps and whines and— he lurched forward, hands on your shoulders, a sharp cry of your name.

The orgasm was just as violent as the murder. It ripped through him and rearranged his insides until it felt painful, overwhelming. Like he was stuck in his own shockwave, pulled at the seams, the points of musical notes at his ears.

Then he whimpered, sharp and inaudible. But it made your eyes glitter all the same before you pulled off him with a satisfying grin as the violence in him transcended to a soft shudder.

Both of you didn't talk for a minute. Just let everything settle. Until slowly the world trickled back in and Hobie watched half amused and half delirious as across your face, emotions flickered too fast for him to dissect.

What he did know was that you were looking at him, at the floor and then randomly at the door. Oh yeah, the goons. He should focus on that, but you were still on your knees, looking pretty and fucked out and well Hobie couldn't help it. He suddenly had the taste for something sweet.

"Up, c’mon"

You looked at him, leg kneeled. "Fuck you,” you coughed, throat dry. “Where do you think I was doing?"

He shook his head, and with little effort, he towered over you. You looked up at him, eyes wide, lips plush and the corner of your mouth twinkling with beads of white and shit, shit. Hobie did not wait for you to get up.

In a blur of red white and blue, the two of you switched places. It was like carrying a stack of paper, a bag of groceries before you plopped into the desk; your eyes wide, legs spread and cunt wet through your trousers.

"Hobie come on—"

His thumb dug into the seam of your jeans, ripped them in two until you were cunt hit cold air. You dripped on the desk. "Don't be selfish,”

“I thought this was a reward,” And then hobie’s tongue was on you, desperate and hot.

Studded fingers pressed into your hips, digging,digging and "Hobie, what-” Hobie pressed you further into the desk.

His tongue was slick and sticky against your folds. The pleasure that was white and hot grinded you to a halt. Your brain morphed into mush. You weren't going to last. This, you can admit with a certainty as your thighs wrapped around hobie’s head anyway.

You looked towards the door, but Hobie with his freakishly long arms gripped your jaw and forced your eyes back on him. Pay attention, they said. Until your eyes went wide, frantic; and your hips fought the battle of jerking away from Hobie and against him while he flicked your clit; his finger prodding against your entrance.

It's almost embarrassing how fast you came.

Even worse how you tried to hide it. With teeth the bit into your wrist, and moans that you tried to choke down while your hips moved on him with a grind that only made it worst, made it last.

You grunted and swore, the flat palms of your hand slammed into the desk. Once twice and then Hobie got up, looked at you splayed out on Osbornes desk, jeans pooled to your knees, the hairs of your cunt glistening.

"Good?”

With a gasp, you could only focus on the sound of the door as the screams of soldiers bulged against the doors frames.

Your blood was pulsing but you couldn’t feel your throat. Couldn’t feel the scratches and bruises that later you won't be able to tell was from Hobie or from the fight.

The wooden door bent beneath the weight of the army. Before eventually it popped and you threw the spider a smile.

“Good,”

#hobie brown smut #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x black!reader #atsv x reader #atsv x black reader #atsv smut #hobie brown lemon #tw: smut #hobie brown imagine #spiderpunk smut #spider punk x reader #spiderpunk x y/n #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x you

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freyito · 13 days

Text

ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʀ ᴡᴏʟꜰ

✭ pairing(s): gallagher x gn reader

✩ inspo: me and mr wolf by the real tuesday weld

★ summary: The Family is hosting a ball as more promotion for the Charmony Festival. At this ball, a certain Bloodhound Family member takes interest in you...

✧ a/n: pspsps did you know requests are open <3? (also totally not setting up a part 2 not at allll (guy who set up the most obvious intro to part 2))

✦ like my work? feel free to send a request !

🗒 cw: gn reader, anxious reader, mild penacony spoilers, just fluff-ish, he's a little eerie, proofread

✎ wc: 2.5k

The scene before you is incredibly lavish, light, and dreamy. It speaks of The Family’s power and bank, how quickly they are able to set up such a beautiful sight within the Dreamscape. It’s like a fantasy, something you’d only see in, well, dreams. Patrons from all sorts of colorful backgrounds flood the floor, some of them you believe you recognize. The chatter around you drowns out what would be ethereal music, guests piling in from two wide double doors. You look to your right, and you see Sunday, the head of the Oak Family all the way at the end of the venue, hands behind his back and observing the revelry. On the other side of the venue, you see Oti Alfalfa– which is very questionable in its own right. Perhaps the Alfalfa family paid for the venue, or… something. You couldn’t really make sense of it. With how crowded it was, you didn’t want to make sense of it.

With your head down, you make your way through the crowd, doing your best to make sure you don’t bump into anyone. After all, this was the first time you’ve seen anyone dressed up so fancy. And, some passing glances at you tell you that, for once, these people care about what they’re wearing in the Dreamscape. You avoid their gazes, making a beeline to the drinks. Or so you hope– this is a formal ball, after all. Would they really have a drink table like it’s some highschool prom? You get your answer when you reach the end of the hall, and there’s no table in sight. A pity, really. However, you do spot waiters walking around with platters of SoulGlad. It isn’t the best choice, but it’ll wet your throat.

Grabbing one of the delicate glasses after flagging a waiter down, you hunker down in a less populated corner. You watch as the tempo takes hold, dancers falling into line. You grow increasingly conscious that you are here alone, no partner to dance with. Not like you wanted to, right? Throwing yourself into a ball with no partner, not even a friend, it feels… embarrassing. And suddenly, you’re aware of why people's eyes have been on you. You lower your head once more, staring down into the glass of SoulGlad, furrowing your brows. You swirl the glass, watching as it fizzes and dies down, as the music around you dies down. What a shame, really… You had no idea what you were doing here, perhaps you just wanted to join in on the revelry? Enjoying yourself seems like a distant reality, despite that being the essence of the Dreamscape.

Reluctantly, you take a swig of the drink, letting it cool your throat. With a huff, you look back into the near empty glass, practically forgetting to even taste the drink. Whether you’re spurred on by self-hatred or a genuine interest, you make your way to the floor. Catching another waiter as you do so, you hand them to empty glass. It feels weird, being in such a posh environment. Yet, before you can reach the floor, a hand grabs your wrist. It sends a shiver down your spine, and suddenly your new-found confidence is shot. You turn around to reprimand whoever grabbed you, but you’re met with a Bloodhound Guard.

He looks at you with a stoic face, raising his eyebrow slightly when you shoot him a judgmental look. Just because he’s part of the Bloodhound Family doesn’t mean it’s okay for him to grab you so suddenly. And it seems he’s caught onto that, because he lets go of your arm.

“Ahem, sorry about that,” He starts, his tone cool and even, his voice slightly gravelly and deep. Yet, it doesn’t sound like he’s actually sorry, there is no apology in his tone. “You’re, uh, you’re kinda makin’ a warpath, here.”

You raise your eyebrow, and you have no idea how to respond. The words get stuck in your throat, and all you can do is look around. You’re on the edge of the floor, and the dancing hasn’t ceased. Everyone’s eyes are on each other, thank the Aeons.

At your baffled look, he relaxes and chuckles softly. “Sorry, just had to make sure you weren’t… going to cause trouble.”

A light blush dusts your cheeks, and you find yourself feeling embarrassed again. Only then do you take in the man’s disheveled appearance. Some stubble, hair left undone for such a fancy event, and a suit that was put together all too quickly, wrinkled and perhaps a little stained. His hazel eyes bore into yours, as if searching you for something, though he’s already established that you are no threat. Something about him, however, feels familiar. You swear, his name is on the tip of your tongue, you’ve seen this man… somewhere before.

“Apologies, didn’t mean to ruin your night…” He trails off, eyes tearing away to look you up and down. When his eyes meet yours once more, he extends a calloused hand towards you. His gaze softens and he smiles with a huff. “Care for a dance?”

“Ah…” Is the only thing you manage to choke out. You’re taken aback by the sudden invitation, slightly unnerved. It’s not that he himself is nerve wracking, but it’s the way he’s gone from gruff to gentlemanly. “Sure.”

Your response is dry, but you put your hand in his. Wordlessly, he leads you into the center of the floor, falling in step with all the dance partners around you. Despite his messy appearance, he dances elegantly. He matches the flow of the room easily, swaying, each step smooth. Now that you’re up close and personal, you take in the faint smell of tobacco and some generic cologne, and an undertone of something metallic. You do your best to forget about it, allowing yourself to get whisked away by the melody surrounding you two.

“Gallagher, by the way.” The man starts once more, answering the question, or lack thereof, you had asked yourself.

“What brings a Bloodhound to a, uh, ball?” You ask, attempting to strike up conversation. It only hits you now that you are dancing with a stranger, so closely and almost… intimately. Another feeling of unease crawls down your spine, and you can’t understand why.

Gallagher chuckles at your question, as if it’s preposterous to think that the Bloodhound Family do more than just act tough. “We’re allowed a little fun every once in a while,” He shrugs, pulling you ever so slightly closer. “It’s not a crime, right?”

The proximity makes you blush, acutely aware of just how rough and calloused his hands feel, your palms start to get sweaty. You do your best to ignore it, after all, this is a man you just met. “No, no, not at all…” You try to act and sound confident, ignoring the pit in your stomach. “Just… I didn’t expect it, that's all.”

Silence stretches between you two as you spin around the floor, like cogs in a machine. It only strikes you now how… mundane this event truly is. Sure, it is grand and lights up the night, but is there really a purpose? The unease and anxiety settles in your bones, and your pace falters, suddenly no longer able to follow Gallagher’s steps. He notices this, and slows down. But when you meet his eyes, his gaze isn’t concerned. He can see you piecing things together, and a smirk tugs at his lips.

“Got something on your mind?” His voice lowers, barely above the music that surrounds you two. It carries the tone of a challenge, but you don’t want to respond. Your throat is dry once more, and you keep your gaze away from him. He squeezes your hands and traps you within the waltz, every step caging you in.

“Just… nervous, sorry,” You deflect, trying to ignore the creeping unease that seeps into your veins. Perhaps this is all in your head, and you’re just letting the embarrassment, the anxiety, and the nerves get to your head. It’s not a far-off assumption, since you’ve stepped foot in the hall you’ve wanted nothing more than to run out. To wake up from the dream. “My bad.”

Gallagher lets up, loosening his grip on your hand and puts a little space between you two as you fall back into pace with the other dancers. His expression eases into something softer, something that doesn’t necessarily fit a man of his stature.

“You’re more than welcome to take a break,” He doesn’t apologize, brushing off the scene from the moment before. Yet, despite this invitation, he continues to dance, his own pace does not waver. “I won’t mind.”

You feel nauseous, yes, but when was the last time you’ve danced? When was the last time you’ve felt this elegant? You swallow your anxiety and shake your head, allowing yourself to really enjoy this waltz. “It’s okay.”

Gallagher responds with a ‘hm’ and a nod, no words spoken. Finally, you watch your steps. He’s already set himself as the lead, and you had no qualms being the follow. You step backward. Pause. Then you step to the side. Pause. Then you bring your feet together. You continue this pattern, finally hearing the music above the tapping around you. It’s almost comforting in a way, being able to follow something that feels… luxurious. And Gallagher seems to be enjoying himself, as well. He isn’t pulling you closer, his hands hold you loosely, as if he’s suddenly afraid of scaring you. As if he hadn’t.

Slowly, you relax. The beat lulls you into a sense of calm, spinning around the floor as if it came naturally. You are no longer hyper aware of everyone else, feeling as if it’s just you and Gallagher. His heady scent feels the air between you two, the metallic tang you smelled earlier becoming a lot more potent. You do your best to ignore it, the music picking up intensity. He drops your right arm, raising his left hand up, and spinning you. It’s a light and airy feeling, something akin to a warm spring day. All worries wash away so easily under such a simple act.

A man you’ve barely known, that you’re sure you’ve seen a handful of times in Golden Hour and Blue Hour, treating you so delicately despite his gruff exterior. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion that follows such a nerve wracking experience, you can’t tell. For now, it doesn’t matter. You are enjoying yourself, dancing with a Bloodhound or not.

Just as the waltz feels like it’s reaching an end, Gallagher dips you down, his hand placed firmly against the small of your back. His eyes meet yours once more, a sly grin spreading across his face, giving you a proper view of his sharp canine teeth. It isn’t as strange as before, something you feel like you’ve grown used to in just a mere four minutes. But, in that moment, you realize the rough skin of his knuckles isn’t just from his hard line of work, but rather bruised skin. You run your thumb over his knuckles, and he only furrows his eyebrows.

At this, he brings you back up, and you two resume the steady waltz. Now, you want to ask him about it. You steal another glance at his hand, trying to see if you were right, but the dim lights within the ballroom black you from doing so. You can’t get hurt in the Dreamscape, you’re sure of it. So, it must’ve been somewhere in reality…

“Some hooligan was stirring up trouble, wouldn’t leave their room. Had to drag them out.” As if he read your mind, he responds quickly. It’s quite impressive with how in-tune he is with you and your mind.

“Ah,” You nod, trying to sound understanding. It checks out, that must’ve been why his suit was a little… sloppy. “Sounds like it sucked.”

“The Charmony Festival brings out all sorts of undesirables…” Gallagher affirms.

The conversation is dry, but you still feel a weird pull towards him. You simply cannot figure out what else to talk about, what to ask. Anything you fish out in your mind sounds like you’re on a date with him. Sure, the current situation feels like it isn’t far off from that conclusion, but he asked you for a dance, not a date.

And, unfortunately, the ball was coming to an end. It’s a shame, really. Time had slipped away from your mind, and you had enjoyed yourself. Even with such an unsure start, with such an enigmatic fellow, it was fun. The music slowly comes to a stop, as does the other dancers. You and Gallagher are left together in a sea of chatter, flats and shoes clacking as patrons walk off the floor, an awkward air falling over you two like a blanket.

You look at Gallagher, and he has a somber look on his face, watching everyone filter off the dance floor. He himself had a great time, too. Something you assumed may be rare for Bloodhounds. But, he snaps out of it quickly, returning your gaze with a near sheepish smile.

“Such a shame, isn’t it?” He chuckles, “Don’t remember the last time I’ve danced like that.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever danced.” You shake your head, sighing softly.

“Well, you were a perfect dance partner, if that counts for somethin’.” Gallagher starts to walk, following the stream of people.

You follow suit, blushing a little at the compliment. You try to find an organic flow for the conversation, but all you can stutter out is a ‘thanks’ and a small nod as if to affirm your own confidence. You want so badly to follow up with a question about him, to see if you can get a crack from his cool demeanor, but ultimately, you fall short when you two finally step out of the venue. With a brisk exhale, you feel lighter. You hadn’t realized how stuffy it felt within the ballroom until now.

“Well, it was fun,” Gallagher sighs, shrugging off his blazer casually. “I’d invite you for another dance, but, that’s not necessarily my thing.”

With your one chance at getting to know more, you trip over your own words and decide, why not? Why not shoot your shot, ask him out?

“I mean… uh, we could, get dinner, or something?” You sound so unsure, so flustered, blushing a little at your own question.

“Why not?” Gallagher shrugs, an easy smile plastered to his face. “Don’t think I ever got your name, either.”

You hastily tell him your name, bowing your head like you’re grateful to him for this opportunity. You’re more grateful to yourself, being able to ask a question like that. You two quickly exchange phone numbers, and suddenly it feels like there's a weight lifted off your shoulders.

He gives you a thoughtful look, scratching at his stubble. “How about a drink?”

#⁺◟freyito #gallagher x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #gallagher x gn reader #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x gn reader

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abouttofillhisshoes · 13 days

Text

Do you see me? - Matty Healy

A/N: okay it's sort of short and a bit shit and i played around with the dynamic so it might seem off xx thanks @beforeyougo-turnthebiglightoff you absolute legend for finding the titles for my blurbs by scouring the 1975's discography based off my extremely vague parameters❤️

wc: 3.5k

content warnings: matty in lingerie (again), mpind typical cursing, bondage (handcuffs), thigh riding, cumplay, begging, switch! Matty, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, matty being a knob as per use

Your head is throbbing, the beat of the shitty house music still echoing in your skull even twenty minutes later. Matty is hanging on your arm, weighing you down as he rambles on about how shit the drinks were, and that you shouldn't have bothered going out in the first place. He was right, the diluted alcohol and trashy EDM ruining a perfectly good sunday night, better spent at an actual club instead of some random blokes house.

Matty’s hands grip your back as you push the front door open, keeping his balance as the platform boots he had borrowed from you made it quite difficult to walk normally. The light in the foyer automatically comes on, the fancy motion sensors painting the space in a warm glow, casting a shadow over the unorganized pile of shoes on the floor.

His hands run up your sides as you toe your heels off, tugging your dress down when it rides up, lace scratching the skin of your thighs. Your choice of attire this evening was a tight bodycon dress, red lace details adorning the neckline and bottom hem, a pretty contrast against the black fabric, clinging to your body like a second skin. Matty’s mouth fell open when he saw you slip it on, adjusting its straps in the floor length mirror in your bedroom.

“Look so pretty tonight, love this dress on you.” he mumbled as his eyes raked up and down your body, drinking you in.

The party was a flop, both of you promising never to go to that specific house ever again, also deciding to better stay clear of the friend that had extended the invite.

Since you arrived, his hands were always on some part of your body, whether they were wrapped around your waist, resting on your lower back, or intertwined with yours, his thumb rubbing small circles into the back of your hand.

Matty leans down to press a kiss to your glossed lips, a peck quickly transforming into his fingers weaving into your hair, pulling you against him. You give into his touch, your bodies flush as he pushes you backwards in the direction of the living room, your knees hitting something wooden.

“Just- yeah, this is better.” he says as he seats you down onto his posh little decorative chair, the wood smooth against the back of your thighs. Matty’s favorite piece of furniture was a oak wood sitting room chair, the armrests cared to look like trees and flowers, painted in pretty pastels. You always found it a bit morbid, seeing as a tree had died to create it, and painting its living counterpart onto a corpse wasn't really to your taste.

His lips are hot against yours, tongue licking into your mouth with fervor as you sigh into the kiss, letting your eyes droop closed. Your breathing is heavy, chest heaving against his as he leans over you, dominating the kiss. It felt odd, him above you while you let him kiss you, not the other way around. Lost in your thoughts, you don't even notice one of his hands stop touching you.

The click is impossible loud as you feel a cool sensation on the skin of your wrist. Your eyes snap open, landing on Matty first before dragging down to your left hand, a pair of handcuffs coming into view. It takes a few seconds for it to actually click. Handcuffs. Matty had handcuffs, and they were on you, also on the armrest. Wait, what?

Matty chuckles at your confusion, taking the opportunity to reach into his back pocket, pulling out another pair, snapping them onto your right wrist before you could even react properly.

“What the fuck- Matty?” you sound a bit panicked, tugging at the restraints, not really understanding the purpose of his actions. That was, until you see a filthy smirk spread onto your boyfriend's face.

“Let me out, I swear to fucking god. I don't care what you are playing at.” you resort to immediately throwing around threats, the feeling of being trapped overwhelming you. All he does is watch you struggle, a mischievous expression on his face.

He presses a finger to your lips, shushing you condescending as cures spill from your lips, the metal of the handcuffs harshly digging into your skin.

“In a bind?” he taunts, his hand stroking your face as you glare at him, not liking the lack of control you possessed. It felt strange, your eyes searching his for a hint of humor, maybe this was a prank? A crude joke to rile you up, his incessant need for attention always finding new, innovative ways to get it from you.

“Fuck you, what do you want?” you spit, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“There's so many things I want, but let's start with a simple task first.” he twirls a strand of his hair around his finger, pouting at you. Annoyance bubbles up inside of you, threatening to overflow.

“Be nice to me, won't you? I’ve put in so much effort into your seduction, give me some credit.” His definition of effort was distracting you long enough to snap two pairs of expensive looking handcuffs onto your wrists, but it was more elaborate than his usual routine, which was constantly being nuisance until you gave in.

“Seduction? More like trickery, you dickhead.” he winces at your insult, clutching his chest over his heart, playing up his offense.

He tuts at you, mimicking exactly what you did whenever he mouthed off at you. The lightbulb in your head finally clicks on.

“You could have just told me you wanted attention.” your expression darkens as his eyes dart around, acting caught. That couldn't really be it, right? This was way to much extravagance, even for Matty

“That's it, isn't it?” he waves a hand to dismiss your words and you scoff, bewildered and intrigued, wondering how long he was going to keep this up for until he finally gave up, letting you free. He spins around on the heel of his foot, hips swaying as took a few steps away from you

“Watch me.” His voice is thick, sultry, different.

He faces you, his whole body shamelessly on display for you to gawk at. A thin white button down covers his chest, the first four buttons already open, showing traces of his tattoos. The leather trousers he wears look painted onto him, clinging to his legs, the waist of them so low it was obscene.

His fingers work at the remaining buttons as you drink him in, unabashedly staring at his lower half, the leather barely concealing his growing erection.

The faint trail of hair under his belly button becomes visible as the shirt slips down his shoulders, pooling onto the ground next to his feet. His hands run over his skin, feeling himself up while you sit exactly three feet away, unable to do anything about it but watch, the sight driving you insane.

He had never denied you like this before, always being ready and willing for you to touch him, feel him, graze your nails over his cock as his back arched into you, begging for relief. It had always been the other way around, Matty on his knees, pleading for your hands, mouth, anything.

“You're so rough with me.” His voice is whiny as he makes eye contact with you, trailing his fingers over the myriad of hickeys and bite marks that littered his neck, all various shades of purple and red, some faded more than others.

“So aggressive, turns me on.” he breathes harshly, pressing down onto a particularly prominent mark, hissing at the pain that radiated from it.

“Does it now?” you say, fighting to keep your composure.

“Yeah.” he parts his lips provocatively, throwing his head back as his hands leave his throat, running through his tangled mess of curls instead.

“Is that why you wouldn't leave me alone at the party?” you try to keep your answers short and simple, attempting to conceal the blatant arousal clouding your mind. Your thighs clench together, your dress riding up slightly.

“Among other things.”

You swallow as he takes two steps towards you, his movements fluid and sensual, the look in his eye unrecognizable.

His hand suddenly grabs your face, squeezing it harshly between his fingers. Your lips pucker, a bit of drool falling onto his digits, and you can't do anything but take it, a foreign feeling taking over your body.

“Gorgeous.” he mutters, slipping his thumb past your parted lips. Breathless, you let him explore your mouth, saliva pooling on your tongue as he presses down.

It all feels surreal, the way Matty just does, not once asking for permission. You can see that familiar glimmer in his eye, an unconscious urge to submit, to serve still present, even if his actions tell a completely different story.

“Do not take your eyes off me.” you nod mindlessly, like you’d ever dream of missing a second of what was happening in front of you.

His slender fingers toy with the zipper of his trousers, and he smirks at the way you lunge forward, promptly hindered by the cuffs still around your wrists. You seem to keep forgetting that fact, your entire body on fire as he makes delicious eye contact with you, unbuttoning the leather.

You stare, entranced by his movements, slow and deliberate, yet still never letting you get used to one singular thing. He pushes the trouser down, a hint of his underwear visible over the waistband.

Green catches your eye, and it's not until his fingers reach to snap the fabric against his skin that you realize what he’s wearing.

“Let me out.” you warn, breathless. The panties you had eyed at that store, the ones he had put into the basket and paid for with a wink.

“No.”

“LET ME OUT.” you pull violently, yanking at the metal, hoping it would snap off or break or something, anything to get your hands on Matty. He chuckles at your reaction, raising his eyebrows as you cease your struggle

“Where's the fun in that?” he says, palming himself through the underwear, moaning at the relief. You whine, rapidly tapping your foot against the floor when you realize that your efforts are futile. Leave it to Matty to buy handcuffs made out of titanium, even if the pink color of them made them look cheap.

“Matty, let me out- you can't just- not when you look like that.” you choke, not knowing where to look as he sets his hands on your shoulders, grinning wildly, the expression on your face satisfying him.

“Relax, let it happen.” he coos into your ear, his legs moving to straddle you in the spacious chair.

His lips catch yours in a passionate kiss, your teeth clashing against each other in a mess of spit and tongue. You moan pathetically into his mouth, your mind clouded in lust and desperation, begging him to uncuff you.

You let yourself be kissed, his mouth slowly moving down your jaw, nipping the skin with his teeth, leaving light scratch marks in their wake.

He alternates between sucking and biting your neck, the sensation making you dizzy with need, your thighs squeezing together in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure.

“What do you feel?” he asks, pulling away to get a good look at your face. His eyes dart over your face, drinking in the mess he’d reduced you to.

“What?”

“You’re not in control, I have you. What do you feel?” he breathes against your ear, sucking the lobe between his teeth. Your breath hitches, a familiar heat spreading throughout your body, your nipples hardening under your dress as he cups your tits.

“It’s-” you gasp, being cut off by his erection grinding down onto your bare thigh.

“Good?” he finishes, the words dragged out as the pleasure blooms inside of him, all the blood in his head rushing south.

“Amazing.” you know he cant help himself, and you tense your leg under him, feeling his cock twitch against you.

His arms wrap around your neck as he ruts against your thigh, moaning into your ear, holding nothing back. You whisper small praises back, encouraging him even if you don't want to, the blissed out look on his face making you crack a prideful smile.

“Feels so good taking you like this, can't even put me in my place, can you?” he mumbles as the wet patch on the front of his panties grows larger, precum leaking onto your skin.

“You're fucking finished once I get out of this.” you threaten, fists clenching and unclenching around the armrests.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” he deliberately pitches his voice, letting out performative moans as his hips stutter, the tip of his cock brushing against a rough bit of lace.

“God- fuck, you were onto something with these.” he snaps the waistband of his panties, hissing at the sting.

“Feels amazing, especially if it's you I'm rubbing up against.” his hand strokes your face, his chest and cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink as you eye him up and down, your lips slightly parted.

“It’d feel so much better if you’d let me go.” you try, knowing it's futile to fight him. He pretends to ponder, stilling against your thigh as his eyes narrow in deep thought. You knew better than to believe it was a genuine debate, his filthy smirk returning when you realize he wasn't going to release you anytime soon.

He laughs in your face, borderline delirious as he grinds against you, whimpering dirty strings of curses into your ear, his breath hot and intoxicating.

He uses you to get himself off, feeding off of the undivided attention you give him, your eyes never leaving his body.

His moans grow louder as his cock leaks all over you, his panties completely ruined by now.

“F-fuck, i’m so close. Wanna watch me cum? See how good you make me feel- shit.”

Your pupils are blown out, eyes wide as you watch him cum with a choked groan, spilling all over your thigh, sullying the bottom part of your pretty dress.

Matty’s breathing is erratic, curses falling from his lips as he shakes from the force of his orgasm, his face buried into the crook of your neck as you squirm desperately.

“Are you satisfied?” you mumble, slightly fucked off at the fact that you hadn’t been able to touch him at all, that he had gotten there all on his own.

“Very.” his voice is muffled by your hair, his hands trailing up to cup your tits, groping them with a glint in his eye. You shiver under his touch, pleasure blooming from your chest.

“I could've done it better.” he chuckles at your words, pressing a sweet kiss to the side of your mouth.

“I know, but it was worth it seeing you all riled up.” you roll your eyes in annoyance, hips bucking upwards against the weight of him, searching for any sort of relief.

“Are you desperate?” he coos into your ear, his breath hot against your cheek as his fingers toy with the hem of your dress, covered in his cum.

You scoff at him, trying to calm down and steady your breath as he drops to his knees, nuzzling his face into your lap, peering up at you.

He parts his lips, tongue lapping up the remnants of his orgasm, licking you clean. You feel the world spin around you, every single part of you screaming at him to you fucking do something.

“Please.” you force out, his hand parting your legs further.

“Oh?” there's a hint of victory in his voice, knowing he’s won. You were giving in, scooting to the edge of your seat, anything to get closer to him.

His fingers push the lacey hem of your dress, your damp underwear visible against your aching cunt.

“You’re so wet, I can see it from here.” you blush, moving to close your legs. He stops your attempt, digging his nails into your skin.

“Keep them spread, m’gonna make you feel so good.”

“I need you, please Matty fuck-” his palms grip your thighs as he mouths at your cunt, licking the fabric of your panties, occasionally grazing his teeth other your clothed clit.

You whimper and moan, bucking into his mouth as he slips them off with his teeth, winking at you when you make eye contact.

He balls your underwear up and throws it off to the side, forgotten, in the corner. Faced with your glistening core, he licks up your slit, relishing in the way you clench your walls around his tongue, getting lost in the taste of you.

“It tastes so good, I could spend my whole life right here.” you can only whimper in response, the metal of the handcuffs around your wrists digging into your skin, the dull pain only amplifying the pleasure of Matty sucking your clit between his lips.

Wet sounds fill the room as he lets you grind against his face, taking back a sliver of the control he had ripped away from you. You feel lightheaded, waves of pleasure washing over you as he doubles his efforts, almost as if trying to apologize for everything he had done to you up until this point.

A particularly loud moan spills from your lips as he latches onto your clit once again, letting his teeth into the mix. It's slightly painful, but only adds to the overwhelming sensation, the elastic band in your core tightening more and more. He smirks and you feel it on your cunt, a filthy look on his face when he realizes you're close, only needing a little push to get you over that delicious edge.

“Gonna cum for me? Make my face all dirty?” His voice is muffled, but you hear him loud and clear, his nails digging deep as he buries his tongue into your cunt, feeling you twitch and convulse, your orgasm so close you could taste it.

“Oh god, i’m so close- fuck.”

“Cum all over my face, paint me yours.” he moans, sucking your clit between his wet lips, feeling you tense up, fingers clutching the armrests they were bound to for dear life.

Your vision whites out for a few moments as you violently cum, thrashing and gasping for air as the pleasure washes over you in stages, Matty working you through it.

It takes a few moments for you to regain your position, Matty’s eyes peering up at you from his position on the ground, his mouth and chin covered in your slick. He licks his lips provocatively, moaning as the remnants of you hits his tongue, sickly sweet.

He moves to uncuff you, your wrists an angry red from the fight you had put up earlier in the night. His mouth peppers light kisses over the bruises, quote un-quote “kissing it better”. It was endearing, watching him take such good care of you, even if you did insist that you were perfectly fine.

“See how good it feels to let go?” he asks, trailing his fingers up your bare arm.

You nod, your hair sticking to your forehead as you breathe shallowly, completely exhausted. His expression is one of love, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You’re so pretty like this, all fucked out. Finally I get to see the other perspective.” you chuckle, his words ringing true

This was the first time in your relationship the roles had been even slightly reversed, him restraining you instead of the other way round. His cocky and confident nature, one that usually crumbled after skilled touches and a few whispered words, stayed present the entire way through, stripping you of the control you were used to.

You were never opposed to him taking on the more dominant role, it was just that neither the situation, nor the opportunity had ever presented itself, with Matty always being more naturally submissive, dropping to his knees in front of you at the flip of a switch.

You smile at him fondly, delicate fingers reach out to cup his face softly, mindlessly swiping at the skin

“You’ll be seeing a lot more of it if it feels like that.” he sniggers, his eyes crinkling up as laughter fills your ears.

“Does this mean I get to take pictures too?” he sounds so hopeful, making it impossible to just say ‘no’. You huff instead, a smile spreading onto your face, telling him all he needed to know.

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