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eccentricallygothic · 9 months ago

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Divorced Dad!Captain Syverson who experiences a real time brain short-circuit when he sees how well you get along with his kids during your first meeting with them…

Warning(s): Breeding kink, size kink, old man!Sy, age gap, manhandling, groping, fluff, boob play, unprotected p-in-v, I added plot to it TT. MDNI.

. . .

After the messy divorce that followed his turbulent marriage, Sy was not looking forward to any relations with the opposite sex, if possible. With his former profession a constant hurdle to his life as part of a unionized pair and marital bliss, what had started as a promising relationship had turned out to be one of those unfortunate marriages where children were sought as a last resort to perhaps save the remnants of the already rotten love between man and wife. Though being someone from a background that held family in the highest esteem and always having been fond of the idea of his own lot, Sy loved his children more than life itself and there was not a thing in the world he would trade for them. And that was the reason why he had preferred to opt for an early retirement so custody would not be an issue between him and his ex-wife who was more than eager to shed off everything affiliated with the name Syverson like an illness.

You, on the other hand, though not much experienced with the opposite sex were not too warm to the idea of children. Being a student in her last year of higher education and only so old as you were, your attitude hardly deserved to be subjected to scrutiny. That, and the fact that you hadn't really had many young ones around you while growing up as an only child, calling you a foreigner to the scene would not qualify as an exaggeration and hence it can be said that it is more indifference than contempt on your part.

So naturally, when it happened, it was strictly unplanned. And very fateful. With a rather traumatized Sy in a sort of an emotional limbo who had more than enough reason to keep to himself, and a stressed with soon approaching future endeavors as well as disillusioned with the opposite sex you, the night you had bumped into each other outside the bar restrooms where Sy had been dragged to cheer up by his friends and you to loosen up by yours, the rather fast yet steady rate at which the two of you had woven into each other had been unexpected to say the least.

But now, as Sy fires up the grill in his backyard to begin the little BBQ he has planned for today when you meet his children for the first time, the prided and much experienced grill expert nearly burns his hand because he is so busy inwardly fawning over how quickly his rugrats have warmed up to you. And you, Sy will swear on anything that you are just the most perfect woman— person alive. Everything is just right with you. Even on days when the world seems to press down on him, your mere presence is there to help his spirits back up and elate as well as support him in every sense.

Though he had been honest about his condition since the beginning, after his initial reluctance to get with you as you were so much younger and inexperienced compared to him, children weren't peculiarly a topic that came up between the two of you except occasions where Sy wanted to share a little victory or rant with you. So as you keep his toddler on one hip with a protective arm around her, your perfect body -Sy's words- clad in a bonny bright coloured sundress, and hold the hand of his 5 year old who excitedly shows you around the mini patio of the modern farmhouse, memories of his own mother scarce if any, your making conversation with the boy and giggling along to his lisp droning flutters Sy's heart in a way that he thought he had outgrown.

It also excites him with a kind of boyish heat that the former military Captain had thought he had shed off with his adolescent youth.

And so he just has to have you by yielding to a similar impatience and desperation, the musical sound of your giggles faintly fluttering its melodies upon his flush and thumping ears as he gets to it.

“God, Sy!” The huff in your words fires him up even more and he cannot hold back any longer. “You’re such a brute!” His coarse and scarred paws heavily pull at your dress with a crazed desperation to help you find the restroom, as he had told one of the farm hands that he had left the children under. “Oof!” The whine you let out before instinctively craning your head to try and ease the way his thick beard tickles the tender skin of the curve of your neck makes him growl into your carotid pulse that he worships with his hot lips, the pressure of your pressing your face into his as well as the soft pants you let out, your chest bumping into his with each heave of your lungs, only lithifies his bulging erection even more.

“Gon' fatten up your pretty lil’ pussy with my cum, baby” Sy's breaths scorch your clammy skin with their burning weight. His hands grope and expose you everywhere they can reach, and they can do so everywhere because of how much smaller hence ragdoll-like you are compared to him. “Wouldja like that, angel?” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he boosts your thighs up his tall legs and around his waist, the fat and leaking tip of his cock grazing against your holes from how he is kissing you everywhere he can reach. “Me stuffing that cute tummy full of siblings for Tim and Bethy, huh?” You know he would never actually do something as serious so callously without a prior discussion so you breathlessly nod, pushing your oral muscles to gulp down the thick bile in your throat and tip your head against the wall to prepare yourself to withstand his intrusion of your pussy that thanks to his girth always feels like not only your first time with him but your very deflowering in general.

“Yes” your mouth falls open as he reaches below the hold with which he has your whole body propped up. “Yes, please~” his balmy tip finds its destination in the tiny, drenched and quivering closed up band that leads to your reproductive cavern. “Please fimme with your babies, Sy~” when the stretch makes your tiny hole burn around his girth, your mouth lets loose all the obscene words of vulgar desire.

“Yeah, baby?” Sy's fingers flex over your ass and caress their way up your side before coming down and repeating the action, his thumb stealing strokes of your nipples as he does. “Wanna make me a Daddy, yeah?” A hiss leaves your mouth and your back arches at the feeling of your walls sheathing him deep within themselves. His breathtaking urgency nearly puts a dent in your innards. “Want me to make you all round and heavy here?” Your pussy clenches around the hilt of his cock when he suddenly gropes your naval into a greedy handful.

“Yes, please, Sy!” Your whole form bounces up in the air when the man gives you a thrust so powerful that has you mewling and digging your nails in his shoulders. “Wanna make you a Daddy so bad, Sy!” His dick has always had a hypnotic effect on you, for the minute it's in the vicinity of any of your holes, you become a brain dead parrot for him.

“Atta girl~” he cooes, tossing your body further up with a strong stab of his hips so he can clamp his teeth down on one of your boobs.

MASTERLIST

. . .

I am MAD for this man. Like I am not even hot on kids. WHAT—

2K notes · View notes

mcrdvcks · 8 months ago

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Dumb & Poetic

Summary: You like Logan, but he likes Jean. Right?

Word Count: 6k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!reader

Notes: honestly, this isn't one of my favorites, but i just needed to write it to get it out of my head.

also, this is after the sabrina carpenter song, but this story has no relation to the lyrics whatsoever, i just thought the title was fitting

reader's powers are manipulating atoms (it'll make sense when you read)

warnings/tags: some uses of y/n, pet name (princess, sweetheart), miscommunication, light violence, blood, implied age gap

Even after going on ten missions and counting, you always found yourself nervous. Especially when you were getting onto the Blackbird, clad in your matching suits. The hum of the jet’s engines filled the air, but your mind was on Logan. He sat across from you, legs spread out, arms crossed over his chest, that usual scowl on his face. It was the way he always looked before a mission, but you couldn’t help but glance over a little too often.

Ororo slid into the seat next to you, her sharp eyes catching your lingering stare. “You know,” she said softly, leaning over slightly, “if you keep looking at him like that, you might as well say something.”

You blinked, face heating up. “What? I wasn’t—”

“Oh, please, Y/N,” Ororo chuckled under her breath. “I’m not blind.”

You sighed and slouched back into your seat, fiddling with the straps. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s Logan,” Ororo shrugged. “Everything about him is complicated. But that doesn’t mean you should hold back.”

You cast another glance across the cabin at him. Logan was still quiet, staring out the window now, completely unaware of the butterflies flipping around in your stomach. You didn’t want to admit it, but Ororo was right. There was something about Logan that made you pause. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to be in his own world, like he was still holding onto things from his past. Or maybe it was because of the way he looked at Jean sometimes, like there was still something unresolved there.

“I don’t think he’s over her,” you murmured, feeling the familiar weight of doubt settle in.

“Jean?” Ororo raised an eyebrow. “Please, Jean and Scott are practically married. Logan isn’t hung up on her anymore. If anything, he’s just... Logan.”

You nodded, but the doubt still lingered. It was hard to let yourself hope for something that seemed impossible. Besides, Logan saw you as the kid, didn’t he? He always called you ‘princess’ or ‘sweetheart’- terms of endearment, sure, but you figured he used them with everyone.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, Hank’s voice came over the intercom, snapping everyone to attention. “We’re approaching the target. This should be a routine recon and hopefully data extraction but keep your guard up.”

Logan stood, moving to the front of the cabin. “You heard him. We get in, get the intel, and get out. No heroics.”

You stood with Ororo, adjusting your gloves and trying to ignore the fact that your heart rate had picked up. It wasn’t the mission that had you on edge, but Logan’s presence, the way he effortlessly took command of the room. You hated how easily he affected you.

The Blackbird landed with a soft jolt, and the team moved into action. Logan gave you a nod as you passed, and you swore you saw something in his eyes—concern? Or maybe you were just seeing what you wanted to see.

As the team fanned out, you stayed close to Jean and Scott, your senses heightened. You were supposed to keep it simple, in and out. But things rarely went that smoothly.

A flicker of movement caught your eye just as Jean’s telepathy brushed against your mind. Y/N, we’re not alone. Be ready.

And then all hell broke loose.

Explosions rocked the compound as enemies swarmed in from every direction. You threw up your hands, quickly manipulating the air around you, converting oxygen molecules to corrosive acids to fend off the attackers. Beside you, Scott fired his optic blasts, and Jean’s telekinesis sent debris flying.

You ducked behind a large pole of concrete, peeking out at the attackers behind you. “Alchemy, think you can get to the data room and get what we came for?” Hank asked over comms, as he and Logan fought a group of attackers.

You took a deep breath and peeked out at the attackers. "I’ll do my best, Hank," you responded, scanning for a clear path to the data room. The explosions and gunfire made it difficult to focus, but you knew you had to move.

“Cover her!” Logan’s voice barked out, and you felt a small surge of determination. He was counting on you. The team was counting on you. It was almost too much pressure to bear.

Ororo and Jean moved to provide cover as you darted toward the entrance of the data room. You manipulated the chemicals in the air around you, creating a thick fog to obscure the attackers' vision, but it wouldn’t last long.

You slipped into the room and immediately went to work on the computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. The download started, but it was slow, and you could hear the chaos outside intensifying.

“Hurry it up, Alchemy!” Scott’s voice came over the comms, tension clear in his tone.

“Almost there,” you muttered, eyes glued to the screen. The progress bar crept forward, painfully slow. You glanced over your shoulder, half expecting an attacker to burst through the door at any moment.

A loud crash echoed through the room as part of the hallway imploded, sending dust and debris flying. You ducked, covering your head with your arms as the force of the blast knocked you off balance. The data was still downloading—just a few more seconds. But the chaos outside was getting worse.

"Y/N!" Logan's voice crackled through the comms, barely audible over the noise. "Get out of there, now!"

"Almost done!" you yelled back, heart pounding. The progress bar was at 95%. You just needed a little more time.

Another explosion rocked the compound, and you heard Logan shout something to the others. You could hear gunfire and the clash of metal against metal as the team fought off the attackers. Every second felt like an eternity.

"Got it!" you exclaimed as the download completed. You yanked the USB drive from the computer and turned to make your escape. You entered the open area where the rest of the team was fighting, just as part of the ceiling fell. Instinctively, you raised your hands and quickly converted the falling cement into water, which drenched you from head to toe.

You grimaced, pushing your wet hair from your face, but there was no time to focus on the discomfort. The fight was still raging, and Logan’s voice crackled over the comms again, "Princess, get out of there. Now."

“On my way!” you shouted, breaking into a sprint to rejoin the team. You dodged debris, your heartbeat in your ears, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

As you rounded the corner, Scott called out through comms, “everyone get dow- ”

Before you could react or shield yourself, a blast came from all around you, an explosion of some kind. You watched as Logan tackled Jean to the ground, shielding her. It was instinctual, he was only protecting a teammate, and Jean was the closest one to him. At least, that’s what you told yourself to feel better.

You hit the ground hard, your body skidding across the concrete before colliding with a pile of debris. Pain exploded in your side as you groaned, gasping for breath. Dazed, you tried to push yourself up, but your vision swam.

Your hand came down to your side, fingers grazing the sticky warmth on your glove. It wasn’t the water from earlier—you knew that now. The sharp pain spreading through your body confirmed it. You blinked, vision blurring for a second, but your focus quickly snapped back as your instincts kicked in.

"Princess, come in! Y/N!" Logan’s voice crackled over the comms, but it sounded distant, like he was yelling from the other side of a tunnel.

“I’m fine,” you groaned, struggling to push yourself to your feet. Your side screamed in protest, but you forced yourself to ignore it. You couldn’t afford to be down for long. Not when everything around you was falling apart.

You looked up to see Logan pulling Jean to her feet, his eyes scanning the battlefield before locking onto you. For a split second, his eyes widened, and then his expression darkened.

“Stay where you are,” Logan barked, already moving toward you, cutting through the debris and chaos like a force of nature. His claws were out, gleaming even in the dim light, but it wasn’t the enemies he was focused on. It was you.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, though the words felt weaker this time. The pain was growing worse, and you stumbled as you tried to take a step forward.

Logan was in front of you in an instant, his hands on your shoulders, steadying you before you could fall. “You’re not fine,” he growled, his voice low and rough. He looked down at your side, and his lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch,” you lied, even as the pain in your side flared again, making it harder to breathe. You tried to step back, to shake off his hands, but Logan wouldn’t let you move.

“You are not fine,” Logan repeated, his eyes dark as they focused on the piece of metal lodged in your side. His hand hovered over it, the blood seeping from the wound making his jaw clench.

“Logan, seriously,” you breathed out, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

You tried to brush him off, to act like the sharp, burning pain radiating from your side wasn’t there, but Logan’s hands didn’t move from your shoulders. His grip was firm, almost like he was grounding you.

“Stop lying to me, Princess,” he growled softly, his eyes flicking from your face to the metal in your side. “It’s not nothing. I can smell the blood.”

The way he said it made your face flush, and for a second, you didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t just annoyed; he was worried. It was written all over his face, in the tension of his body, in the way his claws were still out, ready to strike at anything that came near.

“Logan- ” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice low but commanding. “I’m getting this out.”

He knelt down in front of you, his large hands gently holding your waist. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine despite the situation. You bit your lip, trying to focus on something- anything- other than the way his hands felt on you.

“This is gonna hurt,” he warned, glancing up at you. His eyes softened just a bit, as if he was trying to reassure you.

“I’ll be fine,” you muttered, though the knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. It wasn’t the pain you were worried about.

Logan gave you a quick nod, then, with a sharp tug, he pulled the metal shard from your side. You bit down on a groan, your vision blurring for a moment as the pain shot through you. The wound was deeper than you’d realized, and the blood quickly soaked through your suit.

“Damn it,” Logan muttered under his breath, pressing his hand against your side to try and stop the bleeding. “We need to get you back to the jet. You’re losing too much blood.”

“I can handle it,” you said through gritted teeth, trying to stand up straighter. “We still have enemies out there. I’m not leaving the fight.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “The hell you aren’t.”

You tried to argue, but the pain flared again, and your vision swam. You stumbled, and Logan caught you easily, pulling you against him.

“Stubborn,” he muttered, his voice close to your ear now. “You’re as bad as me.”

“I learned from the best,” you said, trying to force a smile through the pain. But it was hard to keep the act up when your body was screaming at you to lie down, to rest.

Logan’s grip tightened on you, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him. His body was solid and warm, and despite the chaos around you, there was something comforting about his presence.

“We’re getting you back to the jet, sweetheart,” Logan said, his voice soft but firm. “You’re not staying out here like this.”

“But- ” you started to protest, but Logan cut you off again.

“No ‘buts,’ princess. You’re hurt. Let the rest of us handle it.”

Before you could argue again, he gently but firmly hoisted you up into his arms. The movement made your side burn, but you were too stunned by the fact that Logan was carrying you to care.

“Logan, put me down,” you said, your face heating up in embarrassment. “I can walk.”

“Not happening,” he grunted, his arms strong and steady around you. “You can yell at me later if you want. Right now, we’re getting you patched up.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. His face was set in that familiar scowl, but there was something else in his eyes. Concern? Maybe even fear?

“Logan, I’m fine,” you tried again, but your voice was weaker this time. The truth was, you were exhausted. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain was becoming harder to ignore.

Logan didn’t respond, his jaw tight as he carried you through the debris and chaos. You caught sight of Ororo and Scott still fighting off the last of the enemies, and Jean was using her telekinesis to hold back another explosion.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jean’s voice cut through the noise, her eyes widening as she saw you in Logan’s arms.

“She’s hurt,” Logan said, not stopping as he headed for the jet. “I’m getting her out of here.”

Jean looked like she wanted to protest, but she gave a quick nod, her focus shifting back to the battle. “Go. We’ll finish up here.”

As Logan carried you back to the Blackbird, you couldn’t help but glance up at him again. His face was still set in that determined, protective expression, and your heart did another flip.

This wasn’t just about the mission anymore. There was something else between you two, something you had been too scared to admit to yourself. But now, with Logan holding you close, the weight of his concern for you pressing down on your heart, it was impossible to ignore.

So, for now, you let yourself enjoy the warmth of him around you, lingering in it for as long as you could. Because you knew this is the closest you were ever going to get to him holding you like he cared.

---

You blinked, hearing muffled arguing coming from outside the medbay, Jean coming over to your side. “Hey, there. You’ve been out for a day.”

“A day?” You asked, your voice hoarse.

“You sustained significant blood loss, but luckily the metal didn’t hit any organs, or it would be a much different story,” Jean said gently, her eyes watching you with concern.

You blinked a few times, your head still foggy from the whole ordeal. “A day? I’ve been out for a day?”

Jean nodded, giving you a reassuring smile. “You’re tougher than you think, Y/N. You just need to rest.”

You sighed, glancing around the medbay. The arguing from outside caught your attention again. Jean seemed to notice it too, her expression turning slightly more serious.

“Logan’s been a little... on edge since you were brought back,” she said carefully.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Logan. You tried not to let it show, but you’d always been bad at hiding your feelings. Jean gave you a small, knowing smile.

“Don’t worry about him. He just- well, you know Logan.”

You chuckled softly, though it hurt to do so. “Yeah, I know Logan.”

Jean gave you a sympathetic look, her hand resting lightly on your arm. “He’s been worried. More than usual.”

You raised an eyebrow. “More than usual?”

Jean nodded. “You know how he gets. All gruff and ‘I don’t care,’ but it’s just a front. He was pacing outside the medbay the entire time we were patching you up.”

The idea of Logan pacing, stressed about you, felt both strange and oddly comforting. It was hard to imagine him being that concerned over anyone—let alone you.

The door to the medbay creaked open, and Logan’s familiar, rugged form stepped inside. His eyes immediately locked on you, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told you he was angry. And worried.

Jean gave you a quick smile and a soft pat on your arm before standing. “I’ll give you two some space.”

As Jean left, the room fell into an awkward silence. Logan stood by the door for a moment, arms crossed, not moving. His eyes scanned you, probably taking in the bandages, the way you were still propped up on the medbay bed, looking a little worse for wear.

“Hey,” you said quietly, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are,” Logan muttered, walking over to your bed with heavy steps. He didn’t sit, just loomed at the foot of the bed, arms still crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked up at him, trying to push past the discomfort. “I’m fine, really. Jean said I’m tougher than I think.”

“Yeah, and you’re also reckless,” Logan shot back, his voice rough. “You almost got yourself killed out there, Princess.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, and you looked away, fiddling with the blanket. You liked it when he called you that, but at the same time it almost felt like he still saw you as a kid. “I didn’t mean to. I was just doing my job.”

Logan let out a sharp breath, and for a second, you thought he was going to start yelling at you. Instead, he sighed and finally sat down on the chair next to your bed. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking tired.

“I know you were doing your job,” Logan said, his voice quieter now. “But you gotta be more careful. I thought—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching as he stared at the floor. “I thought I lost you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, like the very idea of you being gone was unbearable to him. You swallowed, unsure of what to say. You’d never seen Logan like this—so raw, so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a pang of guilt. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Logan glanced up at you, his eyes softening just a bit. “You scared the hell outta me, sweetheart.”

The nickname sent a familiar warmth through your chest, but this time it wasn’t just the usual flustered feeling. There was something more behind it, something deeper that you’d never allowed yourself to believe was possible.

“I didn’t mean to,” you repeated, feeling small under his gaze. “I just... I wanted to do my part.”

Logan’s expression softened even more, and he leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “I get that. You’re tough, Princess. But you’re also important. To the team... and to me.”

You blinked, your heart pounding. Did he just say that? Did Logan—Logan, of all people—just admit you were important to him? Your mind was racing, trying to process what he meant, but before you could say anything, Logan stood up abruptly, like he regretted letting those words slip.

“You need rest,” he said, his voice gruff again as he turned toward the door. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”

Logan left the medbay, leaving you alone with the beeping machines.

---

A few days later you were released from the medbay and told to take it easy by Jean. Which you took to heart, perhaps a little too much.

You stayed in your room, only leaving at abnormal times to get food and water since you didn’t want to run into Logan. After all, you were young, practically a child to him, and all you wanted was for your crush on him to fade away like so many others did before.

That’s what you kept telling yourself. It didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to handle. Your crush on Logan had always been this quiet thing, something you never intended to act on. But now, after everything, it felt like it had grown louder, more noticeable. And that scared you.

You sighed, sitting on the edge of your bed, idly fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Maybe you just needed to... talk to him. Be normal again. You’d been friends before, hadn’t you? It wasn’t like he knew how you felt, anyway.

Just as you were considering going for a walk to clear your head, there was a knock at your door. You froze.

“Y/N?” Ororo’s voice came from the other side, soft but steady. “You in there?”

You quickly got up, taking a deep breath before opening the door. Ororo stood there, arms crossed, giving you that look—like she knew exactly what was going on with you. It was unnerving, how she always seemed to be one step ahead of everyone emotionally.

“Hey,” you greeted, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

Ororo raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at nonchalance. “You’ve been hiding.”

You blinked. “I haven’t been hiding.”

Ororo gave you a look. “Please. I haven’t seen you at meal times, and Logan’s been extra grumpy. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

You felt your face heat up. “Logan’s grumpy all the time.”

“He’s more grumpy than usual,” Ororo said, stepping into your room and closing the door behind her. “He’s been asking around. Wants to know why you’re avoiding him.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “He said that?”

Ororo nodded, leaning against your desk. “He won’t admit it’s bothering him, but it is. What’s going on?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you sat back down on the bed. “I just... I don’t know, okay? Things got weird after the mission, and I needed space.”

“Logan didn’t do anything wrong,” Ororo pointed out gently.

“I know,” you mumbled. “It’s not him. It’s me.”

Ororo tilted her head, studying you for a moment before sitting beside you on the bed. “You’re worried about how he sees you, aren’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding slowly. “I mean, kinda of. He doesn’t see me in the way I see him, y’know?”

Ororo gave you a knowing look, her lips quirking up slightly. "And how do you see him?"

You hesitated, feeling your face heat up again. "I... I don’t know. It's just... he’s Logan. He’s been through so much, seen so much, and I’m just… me. The kid who got lucky with mutant powers and likes chemistry too much."

Ororo smiled gently, shaking her head. "You’re selling yourself short, Y/N. You're a lot more than that. And Logan sees it."

You opened your mouth to protest, but Ororo held up a hand. "I’m not saying he knows exactly what he's feeling, but he's not as oblivious as you think. And trust me, the way he’s been acting lately, it’s clear you’re important to him."

You sighed, flopping back on the bed. "Maybe, but it’s not like that. It can’t be. He’s Logan—he doesn’t do the whole feelings thing."

Ororo chuckled softly. "You’d be surprised. He’s more in tune with his feelings than he lets on. He’s just… not used to showing them."

You frowned up at the ceiling. "Then why does it feel like I’m the only one getting all messed up over this?"

Ororo stood up, crossing her arms as she looked down at you. "Because you’re thinking too much, Alchemy. Maybe you should try talking to him instead of hiding."

"I’m not hiding!" you protested weakly.

"Uh-huh," Ororo said, raising an eyebrow. "Well, hiding or not, he’s not going to let this go. Logan’s stubborn like that."

You groaned, pulling a pillow over your face. "Great. That’s exactly what I need."

Ororo chuckled again. "Just… talk to him. It might help. You can’t avoid him forever."

You sighed, peeking out from under the pillow. "Yeah, yeah. I’ll think about it."

Ororo smiled softly before heading toward the door. "Good. And Y/N?"

You looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Give yourself a little more credit," Ororo said gently. "You’re not just some kid to him. He cares about you. Maybe more than either of you realizes."

Before you could respond, she slipped out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the knot of nervousness growing in your stomach.

---

The next day, you were wandering through the mansion’s empty halls after lunch. You weren’t hiding per se, but you were definitely avoiding a certain someone. Ororo’s words kept echoing in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right. Talking to Logan was probably the only way to clear this weird tension between you, but the thought of actually doing it made you want to curl up and disappear.

As you turned a corner, lost in thought, you almost walked straight into him.

"Whoa, easy there, Princess," Logan’s gruff voice startled you as he steadied you with a hand on your arm. "Where you off to in such a hurry?"

You froze, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I-I wasn’t—uh, just wandering."

Logan raised an eyebrow, his expression skeptical but amused. "You’ve been ‘just wandering’ a lot lately."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. This was it. The moment you’d been dreading. He was right here, and there was no avoiding him now.

Logan sighed, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. "You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart."

There it was. The thing you’d been trying to dodge. Your heart raced, and you shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. "I haven’t been avoiding you."

Logan huffed, his expression softening a little. "I ain’t stupid, Y/N. You haven’t been around much since the mission. What’s goin’ on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling your palms start to sweat. "It’s nothing. I just... needed some space. That’s all."

Logan narrowed his eyes slightly, studying you. "Space from me?"

You looked down at your shoes, suddenly finding them very interesting. "Not exactly. I just... things got a little weird, okay?"

"Weird how?" Logan’s voice was still rough, but there was a hint of something gentler beneath it. Concern, maybe?

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. How were you supposed to explain that the reason you’d been avoiding him was because your stupid crush had spiraled into something much more confusing and intense? You couldn’t just blurt that out. Could you?

Logan’s grip on your arm tightened slightly, and he took a step closer, his voice low. "Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as you glanced up at him. He was so close now, and the familiar warmth in his eyes was making it hard to think straight.

"I just... I didn’t want to make things awkward between us," you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing. "Why would things be awkward?"

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "Because I... I care about you, Logan. A lot. And I know you don’t feel the same way because you still like Jean- ”

Logan's frown deepened, and he shook his head almost immediately. "Jean? What’re you talkin’ about?"

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you bit your lip, feeling suddenly embarrassed. "I mean, I just assumed... everyone knows you used to have feelings for her, and it’s fine, really. I get it. I just didn’t want to make things weird by—"

"Y/N," Logan cut you off, his voice firm but not unkind. He stepped closer, his gaze locking with yours. "I ain’t thinkin’ about Jean like that anymore."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You’re not?"

Logan shook his head again, a hint of frustration slipping through. "No, sweetheart. That’s done with. It’s been done with for a while."

Your mind raced, trying to process what he was saying. If he wasn’t still hung up on Jean, then... What did that mean? Why had he been acting so tense around you?

"Then why have you been so... distant?" you asked softly, your voice wavering. "You’ve been acting weird too, Logan. It’s not just me."

Logan looked down for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare sign of discomfort from him. When he spoke again, his voice was a little gruffer. "I’ve been... tryin’ to figure some stuff out, alright?"

"Figure what out?" you pressed gently, taking a step closer to him now. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, but you didn’t back down. "Logan, just talk to me."

He sighed, his eyes meeting yours again, and for a second, you saw something vulnerable flash through his expression—something raw. He was quiet for a beat before he finally spoke.

"After that mission," he said slowly, his voice low, "when I saw you get hurt... somethin’ in me snapped. I couldn’t... I couldn’t handle it, Y/N. The thought of losin’ you like that—" He broke off, his jaw tightening, and you could see the tension in his shoulders. "I’ve been through a lotta shit in my life. Seen people come and go. But you? The idea of you bein’ gone—it messed me up more than I thought it would."

You stood there, staring at him, trying to absorb what he was saying. He wasn’t just talking about the mission anymore. This was more than that.

"Logan..." you whispered, feeling a knot form in your throat. "I didn’t know you—"

"I didn’t know it either," he interrupted, his voice rough but sincere. "I didn’t know I felt like this ‘til it hit me. I care about you, Princess. More than I care to admit, sometimes. And I ain’t exactly good at this... feelings thing, y’know that."

Your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say, and for a moment, you were convinced you’d misheard him. Logan cared about you? Like that? It felt surreal.

"You... you care about me?" you asked cautiously, your voice small.

Logan huffed, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but there was a softness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. "Hell yeah, I do. I’ve been tryin’ to push it down for a while now, but it ain’t workin’. Not anymore."

You stared at him in disbelief, your pulse racing. "But... I’m just—"

"Don’t even start with that ‘I’m just me’ bullshit," Logan cut you off again, his tone more serious. "You ain’t ‘just’ anything, Y/N. You’re smart, tough as nails, and you’ve got a good heart. You matter to me. And not in some ‘kid sister’ kinda way either, if that’s what you’re thinkin’."

Your cheeks flushed, and your heart skipped a beat. He was being so direct, so honest, and it left you completely speechless.

Logan shifted a little closer, his gaze softening even more as he looked down at you. "I don’t know when it happened, but it did. You got under my skin, sweetheart. And as much as I tried to ignore it... I can’t."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. This was really happening. Logan—gruff, stoic Logan—was telling you that he had feelings for you. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like a kid around him. You felt like someone who mattered, someone he saw.

"I..." you started, your voice shaking a little. "I didn’t think you’d ever... I mean, I’ve had feelings for you for a while now, but I just figured—"

Logan chuckled softly, his hand reaching out to brush your cheek gently. The touch was gentle, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "You figured wrong, Princess."

You blinked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. The way he was looking at you—it wasn’t just teasing or friendly banter. It was something deeper, something real. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. “I thought I was just… I don’t know, bothering you or something.”

Logan’s hand lingered near your face, his thumb brushing your cheek softly. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the sincerity in them, the raw emotion he wasn’t hiding anymore. “You ain’t a bother, sweetheart. Far from it. And if I’ve been actin’ like I don’t care, that’s on me. But I do care. A lot.”

Your breath caught in your throat. His touch, his words—it was all too much, too overwhelming. You’d been crushing on Logan for what felt like forever, and now he was standing here, telling you he felt the same way. It didn’t feel real.

“Logan, I…” You started, but your words trailed off as his hand slid down to your neck, his rough palm warm against your skin. The way he was looking at you, the intensity in his gaze, made it impossible to think straight.

“Stop thinkin’ so hard,” Logan murmured, his voice low and rough. “Just… be here. With me.”

Your heart pounded as you met his eyes, your stomach doing flips. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath until you let it out in a shaky exhale. “Okay.”

For a moment, everything felt like it slowed down—the air between you humming with tension. Logan leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, and you could feel his breath warm against your lips. It felt like time had stopped, like nothing else in the world mattered but this moment.

Then, before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the small distance between you and pressed your lips to his.

Logan responded instantly, his hand moving to cup the back of your head as he kissed you with a kind of intensity that made your knees weak. It wasn’t slow or hesitant—it was rough, urgent, like he’d been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore.

You kissed him back, your hands finding their way to his chest, gripping his shirt as you melted into him. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and the way he kissed you sent a shock of electricity through your entire body. It was everything you’d imagined and more.

Logan’s free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him until there was no space left between your bodies. You could feel the strength in him, the raw power that he usually kept under tight control, but there was also a tenderness in the way he touched you, like he was afraid of hurting you.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, you lost yourself in him—in the way he tasted, the way he smelled like leather and pine, the way his hands moved over your body like he couldn’t get enough of you.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. Logan’s hands were still on you, one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist like he didn’t want to let go.

“Damn,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “You really are somethin’, Princess.”

You laughed softly, feeling a little dizzy from the kiss, from everything. “You’re not so bad yourself, Wolverine.”

Logan smirked, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “Could’ve told me sooner, y’know. Saved me a lotta trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, still grinning. “Yeah, well, you could’ve said something too. You had me thinking I was crazy this whole time.”

He huffed a laugh, his eyes softening as he looked at you. “Guess we’re both idiots then.”

You bit your lip, still trying to process everything. You’d kissed Logan. Actually kissed him. And he’d kissed you back. It felt like a dream, like any second now you were going to wake up and realize none of this had happened.

But it had. He was still here, his arms around you, his eyes on you, his lips still tingling from the kiss. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel nervous or uncertain around him. You felt… right.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic

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phantomvegetable · 9 months ago

Text

Ghostface x Deaf!Reader

you had a heartbeat like no other tw’s: like one bad word, stalking, danny being danny

Danny would never get tired of the thrilling thrum of his prey’s heart whenever he closed in on them.

The Entity allowed him—and all other killers—the enticing privilege of hearing a survivor’s quickening pulse the moment he came within striking range of his targets. It was like the low hum of a bass that reverberated in his own sternum, lighting every cell on fire with a tingling sensation. It was addicting.

And it never got old.

Here you were, his new obsession: sweating profusely, grimy with dirt and grease, working tirelessly—or was that anxiety Danny smelled? probably both—to repair a generator he sunk his boot in minutes before to aggravate the progress of his puny victims. And, like a moth to the flame, you flew right into his trap. If Danny could purr, he would be doing so right now.

Covered by the shadows, you suspected nothing, until the costume-clad predator took one, tiny step forward, and immediately the air shifted.

Electricity shot up inside of Danny as your head and heart jolted, your chin swiveling left and right to find the source of impending doom within the rubble. Like a drug, your heartbeat had Danny’s brain doing somersaults and his body shivering in anticipation, and instinctively he flexed his fingers around the concrete he hid behind. He wanted to get closer.

Stealthily, he used the broken building to his advantage; creeping around corners and blending with the shadows until he was a ghost away from your presence. Upon closer review, Danny observed the round, flesh-colored objects obstructing your ears, causing his head to tilt. Were you hard of hearing?

A terrible, crude grin stretched behind his mask. Even better.

Like a cat, Danny wordlessly crept behind you until he could reach out and barely scrape the back of your nape with the tips of his leather fingers, earning a sharp gasp and full-body shudder from you. The goosebumps were hard to miss. Danny chortled.

You immediately whipped around, giving Danny full view of your face. Wide, petrified eyes and a gaping mouth pulled taut in fear; hair disheveled from the quick movement, strands sticking to your forehead from perspiration. Delicious pheromones wafted through the mask into Danny’s nostrils, and he inhaled deeply the scent of terror like it was oxygen. It almost gave him a buzz, but that’s not what he came closer for.

Knife withdrawn, Danny traced it along the floor towards you, making sure you felt the vibrations as much as he heard the scratching. He trailed it up your arm and across your clavicle until the blade was right against your throat, making sure to press just hard enough so that when you had to swallow, you would feel the promise of death.

“Ah,” Danny all but sighed as he took in your horrified state, loving how still you were forced to be. Drastically, his mood shifted to one of seriousness, which you somehow picked up on as he felt your pulse spike. “You,” Danny spoke as he pointed an index finger in your face, fluidly shifting his hand until his thumb and pinky were extended in an upside down y-shape, “stay still. Understand?”

Careful not to aggravate the knife biting into your skin, you curtly nodded, blinking owlishly up at the killer. Pleased, Danny smirked before leaning his head down, placing an ear over your chest, and—ah. There it was.

Dump, da dump, da dump dump dump.

Like music to his ears.

At a loss for, well, anything, you remained rigid, fearing for what might happen if you moved even an inch. Sweat continued to build on your temple until it ran down your face, sliding off of your cheek and onto your pants. Ghostface didn’t seem to mind this. If anything, he cuddled even closer, the movement causing your heart rate to spike.

Ghostface groaned, a noise you felt bubble from his throat and ripple through your chest until it popped into a hot flush in your face, making you extremely uncomfortable. Was he going to kill you or smother you to death?

The pressure at your throat increased, and you decided he would do both.

Taking a few more minutes to relish in your rapid heartbeat, Danny sighed, knowing this precious little moment would come to an end.

But that meant killing you. So, it was a win-win, really.

As he pulled away, Danny made eye contact with your wild gaze, something that he knew he shouldn’t do. The pleading, teary-eyed look you had had his heart cartwheeling all over again—possibly even moreso than the enriching thrum of your heart. The next time he had his camera, Danny would make sure to snap a relic of it. Sighing, he sat back on his haunches.

“Fine,” He hissed, huffy and dramatic, “you get three minutes to run. Capeesh?”

When you didn’t reply, Danny rolled his eyes from beneath the scream he wore and raised both hands (knife tucked beneath his thumb), striking a finger down for every second you had remaining to get your ass up and run.

Acknowledgement flashed in your eyes, and quickly you scrambled to your feet, knocking your ribs into the generator on your way out. The hiss you made makes Danny chuckle, and slowly he gets up without finishing the countdown. How naive of you to trust him; he was a killer, after all.

The sound of your terrified heartbeat follows you out the door just as Danny does, ears tuned to the enthralling thumping that had him closing his eyes. He would never get tired of this.

#ghostface x reader #dbd x reader #danny johnson x reader #dead by daylight x reader #i headcanon danny doesnt have his camera some rounds bc either he or a survivor breaks it lol

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covenofagatha · 8 months ago

Text

But you're my stepmom! (Part 7)

Word count: 2100

Warnings: smut, oral, fingering, mommy kink

Taglist:@stayevildarling@i-just-cannot@hazey-g@buttercandy16@320viada@evilangels-stuff@rmaximoff@morganismspam23@aboutcustardcreams@sasheemo@rigglemethat@walkethisway@mommywandas@r-3-becca@harknessshi @ihaveawifebutwerenotmarriedyet @polaris-likethestar @ahintofchaos

A/N: hope this was worth the wait ;)

Sleep alright? is the text you get from Agatha the next morning while you’re getting ready for school. Heat runs through you at the very thought of her and you know she’s completely ruined you for anyone else. Memories of last night, of her kissing you, marking you, claiming you, flash through your head as wetness begins to pool in-between your legs.

You think Agatha might be the death of you.

Not really, thanks to you. You had spent the night tossing and turning, begging for the fire in your stomach to die down so you could get at least some rest. But it didn’t. You had been so sensitive that even the slightest brush of fabric against your clit when you moved while trying to sleep was enough to make you moan. And then when you had finally drifted off, she was there too, doing everything that you wanted and more. But you had been a good girl for her and somehow resisted the urge to touch yourself.

She sends back a winky face emoji and I’m always happy to keep you up all night. Damn her and her innuendos that make your face flush.

You pull the collar of your shirt over, admiring the dark red bruise she sucked into your neck last night in the mirror. A thrill spikes your heart rate and you get an idea.

You raise your phone and position it so you can snap a picture highlighting the hickey and the taunt veins in your neck. Before you can think too hard about it, you send it with the caption: Think anyone will notice this?

I hope they do, sweetheart. They should know who you belong to.

Fuck, that’s hot. Can I come over today? You need her more than air at this point. You are so consumed with the thought of her and you’re not sure anything can put that flame out.

You have school and no more skipping.

What about after?

You’re so desperate for me, aren’t you, baby girl? If you’re a good girl today, I’ll think about it.

You chew on your bottom lip, arousal coursing through your veins. It’s far too early to be this turned on. I’ll be so good for you mommy.

Agatha begins to type but then the three dots disappear. You curse and hope you didn’t step over the line.

Your mom calls your name from downstairs, startling you out of your thoughts. “You’re going to be late!” She calls up the stairs. You check the time, swear again, throw your computer into your bag, and run down the stairs. “What were you doing up there?”

“Nothing, sorry,” you lie hastily. You can’t imagine the truth of dirty texting with your step-mother going over well. “I’ll see you later.” You grab an apple from the bowl on the table and scurry out of the house.

It isn’t until you’re sliding into your seat in first period when you check your phone again and see a missed text. It’s a picture from Agatha and at first you can’t tell what it is. You click on it so it becomes full-screen and immediately slam your phone face-down on the desk so loud that everyone looks at you.

“Sorry!” You squeak, picking your phone up and holding it up close to you.

It’s a picture that Agatha took while laying in bed, the camera pointed away from her face toward her bent legs clad in sweatpants. And her arm is reaching down and under said sweatpants. You cannot get the picture of her touching herself out of your head now.

Wish you were here to make mommy feel good is the accompanying text. You cannot be doing this at school. But how can you resist?

You almost gave me a heart attack. I’m in class.

That’s not the only thing I can give you. You can practically hear her purring through the phone.

What are you thinking about? You watch the bubble indicating her typing with bated breath.

About how you should be paying attention in class.

You roll your eyes but see that there’s no point in trying to argue. You guess it’s nice that she actually cares about how you’re doing in school but you don’t hear a single thing any of your teachers say for the rest of the day because you’re too busy thinking about Agatha.

The second the last bell of the day rings, you call her. She picks up almost immediately.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, sweetheart?” Her raspy voice sends shivers down your spine.

“What are you doing right now?”

“Hmm,” she says thoughtfully. “I just got out of the shower and I’m about to get dressed.”

“Well, don’t,” you say, your initiative shocking both of you. “Is my dad home?”

“Look at you, kitten, taking control.” She sounds amused. “He hasn’t been here all day and I’ve been so lonely. I had no one to help me out with a little problem I was having so I had to take matters into my own hand.”

Your breath catches. “Can I come over?” Your voice is low, gripped with desire. You’re fully ready to beg if she makes you.

“Only if you’re going to make it worth my while.”

“I will,” you promise and it comes out needy. The thought of tasting her and feeling her hands wound tight in your hair has kept you close to the edge all day and now you can’t physically wait any longer.

“I’ll see you soon then.” She hangs up and you all but sprint to your car. You can’t believe this is finally happening.

You speed the entire way, throwing your car into park and racing up to the front door. It swings open before you even knock, Agatha clearly just as impatient. She’s wearing a robe that comes down mid-thigh, the neckline low. You can see that she’s not wearing anything underneath.

The moment you step inside, she presses you against the door, her mouth capturing yours in a dominating kiss. Her lips move with raw hunger, tongue licking into your open mouth.

“Fuck,” you moan into her, hands grappling with the tie holding her robe together. She breaks the kiss only for a second to take your shirt off and then she’s right back on you. She unclasps your bra and her hands cup your breasts, rolling your nipples with her fingers as you let out little gasps. You finally get her robe open and drag your hands over her smooth skin.

“Upstairs,” she mutters against your mouth and pulls you up the staircase, pausing halfway to shove you against the wall and kiss you senseless like the thought of waiting is too unbearable.

She leads you into her room – is it weird that you find it sexy that she’s going to fuck you in the bed she shares with your dad? – and pushes you down onto the bed. You watch in awe as Agatha shrugs off her robe, taking in her naked body. You saw hints of it in the darkness last night, but seeing it now, she is so much better than you ever could’ve dreamed.

“You’re so hot,” you breathe. Her cheeks redden and she helps you take off your pants until you’re just in your underwear.

“Did you behave last night?” She asks, stepping in-between your open legs and standing over you. Her hands rest on your thighs.

“Yes, I didn’t touch myself. I wanted to so badly though.”

“Good girl,” she says in a low voice and you clench around nothing. “Do you want to know what I was thinking about today?”

You nod so hard it hurts. Her fingers start to ghost up and down your legs. You’re literally aching.

“I was thinking about you spread out nicely for me, like you are right now. About how you would feel around my fingers, about the noises you would make as I tasted you. How pretty you’d sound while begging for mommy to fuck you.” There’s a glint in her eyes as she tells you this, enjoying the way you’re squirming below her.

You think you might be dripping onto the bed.

“Would you like that, baby girl?”

“Yes, mommy,” you whimper.

“Have you learned your lesson from last night?”

“I belong to you,” you repeat. She nods her approval, a hand moving to stroke you over your underwear. You mutter a curse under your breath. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what, baby girl?” Agatha asks innocently. “Use your words for mommy.”

“Anything,” you say, frustration leaking into your tone. “I just want to feel you.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?” She leans down over you and licks a hot stripe up your stomach, your back arching off the bed in pleasure. She kneels on the floor in front of you and lifts your hips so she can peel your underwear off. You then watch with your mouth agape as she tugs them down your legs with only her teeth.

You think you could get off on that sight alone.

Agatha kisses her way back up your thighs, suckling on the inner flesh, leaving matching marks to the one she left on your neck yesterday. At this point, you’re shaking with need.

“Mommy,” you whine, hands fisting in the sheets.

And then her tongue is delving through your folds and you keen loudly. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so turned on right now. Her hands dig into your thighs, keeping them open as she circles her tongue around your clit. You’re practically in tears with how good it feels.

She brings you to the edge and then backs off and then repeats that a few times. Your hips are moving on their own, seeking out the pleasure you need from her mouth.

And then she stops entirely, pulling away. The bottom of her face is drenched.

“No!” You cry, still grinding up on nothing now.

“You poor baby. So needy,” she coos, standing up and moving so she’s straddling you. She reaches down in-between your bodies and slides a finger swiftly inside you. You moan loudly, your fingers scrambling to grab onto her.

But she smirks and pins both your hands above your head with her free hand. “Maybe next time I’ll tie you up,” she muses and the threat makes your stomach twist hotly and she sees the expression on your face that tells her you’d be more than willing to do that.

And then she starts to move the finger that’s inside you.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so tight,” she grunts, picking up the pace of her thrusts. She squeezes another finger in you and curls them just right every time, hitting that special spot.

“I’m close,” you choke out and she laughs.

“I haven’t even been fucking you for five minutes,” Agatha mocks. “Is mommy making you feel good?”

“So good, I love your fingers inside me,” you babble, getting closer to your peak. Her thumb reaches up to rub your clit in tune with her thrusts and you think this is the closest you’ll ever get to heaven.

Your step-mom leans down and kisses you roughly, sliding her tongue in your mouth right as she gives you one hard thrust and that’s it for you.

You cum with a loud gasp, her name the only thing you can say. She keeps fucking you until you have to physically beg her to stop because it’s too much.

She sticks her wet fingers in your mouth and watches with rapt attention as you bob your head around them.

“You’d look so pretty with my strap-on in your mouth,” she says wistfully, her other hand coming up to brush your hair out of your face. She smirks at the way you inhale, your cheeks tightening around her fingers. “Would you like that, sweetheart? Getting on your knees and sucking mommy’s cock?” You nod, eyes wide and looking up at her. “Of course you would.”

She pulls out her fingers with a pop and smears your saliva all over your cheeks.

“Can I taste you now?” You ask, enjoying the way Agatha’s eyes darken.

“Can I sit on your face, baby?”

You moan in approval and she’s climbing up your body when she suddenly freezes. You open your mouth to ask what’s wrong but she shushes you. Your brow furrows and you listen carefully.

There’s the faint sound of the garage rumbling from downstairs and a look of panic has settled over Agatha’s face.

Your dad is home. And you’re in bed with his wife.

#agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha smut #agatha all along #covsfics

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novaursa · 8 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/novaursa/763433066909810688/hello-dear-how-are-you-i-hope-im-not-bothering?source=share

Thank you for your answer. I would like to send a request for Maegor. I hope he has no problem. Dark Maegor Targaryen and second wife reader. (Reader can be Tyrell or Dayne. Or nobel lady from another house.) When Maegor starts looking for a woman to have an heir (37 Ac/earlier than the year he started in the original story) he meets the reader. When he gets , he is determined to make the reader his wife. He gets rid of Ceryse (maybe by poison or by accident) and marries the reader. The reader immediately becomes pregnant and gives birth to three babies. This causes Maegor's obsession to increase. Because the reader gave him three babies like the three-headed dragon in the symbol of his house. The reader is fertile enough to get pregnant every year.

Crimson Fate

- Summary: Maegor takes you as his bride after Ceryse fails to give him an heir.

- Pairing: dayne!reader/dark!Maegor I Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (just to be safe)

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

Maegor’s eyes settle on you the moment he arrives at Starfall, and from that moment, there is no mistaking his intentions. You hear the whispers from the courtiers, the rumors of Maegor’s insatiable ambition to secure an heir, to further his line and strength. His first wife, Ceryse, has yet to bear him a child, and many speculate he has come south seeking a new wife—one capable of giving him what the Hightower woman could not.

The first time Maegor speaks to you, his presence is overwhelming. His tall, imposing figure clad in black and crimson, his eyes burning with something far more dangerous than mere desire. It is as if he has already decided your fate without consulting you, as though the idea of refusal is inconceivable.

“You are Dayne,” he says, his voice low and commanding, the words wrapping around you like chains. “From the blood of the stars.”

Your throat tightens, a shiver of unease sliding down your spine. You manage a nod, keeping your gaze lowered, though you feel the weight of his stare, lingering on you like a predator studying its prey.

“Tell me,” Maegor continues, stepping closer, “how many sons does your house expect from you?”

There is no answer you can give that will change your fate. In that moment, Maegor has already chosen you to bear his heirs, to fulfill the destiny of House Targaryen. You are no longer a daughter of the stars, but a piece in his game.

Weeks later, news comes from Oldtown—Ceryse has died. There are whispers, dark ones, that she and Maegor had quarreled, that the fight escalated, and her death, though unexplained, was no accident. The dread among the court is palpable, as many know Maegor is quick to wrath, but none dare speak it aloud in his presence. The timing is too convenient to be coincidental. Ceryse's death clears the way for what Maegor desires.

You know what is coming, yet you are powerless to stop it. When Maegor asks for your hand in marriage, there is no question of refusal. He does not ask out of love, nor does he seek your opinion. It is a demand cloaked in formality. And so, you are wed to the King’s half-brother, the man who would soon rule with fire and blood.

Your wedding is a display of power, of domination. Maegor does not look at you as a man looks at his bride, but as a conqueror looks at new territory. That night, you feel the true weight of what it means to be his wife. His touch is possessive, harsh, as if he is claiming you in both body and spirit. You are not just a woman to him—you are a vessel, the key to his legacy, the bearer of his children.

And soon, that is exactly what you become.

Your belly swells with the evidence of Maegor’s claim, and the court watches in awe as the rumors begin to swirl. You are carrying not one, but three babes. It is as if the gods themselves have blessed your union, gifting Maegor with a legacy befitting his house—the three-headed dragon of Targaryen. His obsession grows with each passing day as your pregnancy progresses. He watches you constantly, his hands never far from your stomach, his gaze intense, possessive, and burning with an unspoken madness.

When you finally give birth, it is as if the entire realm holds its breath. Three babes—two boys and a girl, each as perfect as the dragons their blood rides—are born to you. The court hails it as a miracle, and Maegor’s obsession deepens, solidifying into something far darker. He sees you not just as his wife but as the mother of his dynasty, the woman who gave him three heirs, who brought the Targaryen sigil to life in flesh and blood.

“You have given me what no other could,” he says to you, his hand resting possessively over your belly, even as you cradle your newborns in your arms. His voice is thick with pride, but there is something else there—something darker. “Three-headed, like the dragon. You are my wife, my queen. You will give me more.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air like a threat, and though your body is still weak from the birthing, you know Maegor will not wait long. He is not a patient man, and now that you have proven yourself capable of giving him heirs, he will want more. His hunger is insatiable, and his obsession with you—his vessel, his wife—has grown into something that feels like madness.

It is not long before you are with child again, your belly growing heavy with Maegor’s next heir. The court watches with a mixture of awe and fear, for they know that you are the key to Maegor’s power, the woman who can provide him the legacy he so desperately craves. He watches over you like a dragon guards its hoard, his eyes always on you, his hand always tracing the swell of your belly as if ensuring that his claim remains intact.

But there is no love in Maegor’s gaze—only possession. You are his, body and soul, and you know that you will never escape him. He is the dragon, and you are his queen, bound to him by fire and blood.

#fire and blood x reader #fire and blood #maegor i targaryen #dark maegor #maegor x reader #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #maegor x you #maegor x y/n #house targaryen #house dayne #house of the dragon #game of thrones #asoiaf x reader #asoiaf #asoif/got #a song of ice and fire #hotd x reader #got x reader

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mandoalorian · 23 days ago

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four hearts ablaze [bucky barnes x steve rogers x sam wilson x f!reader]

synopsis: in the aftermath of a grueling mission, you and your boyfriend, steve rogers, retreat to a cozy safehouse with bucky barnes and sam wilson. what starts as a playful game of truth or dare spirals into a night of intense passion and unspoken desires.

word count: 3300

rating/warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors do NOT interact, well, its a foursome (ya girl has 3 holes for a reason), unprotected p in v, fingering, m receiving oral, anal, female masturbation, mlm/a little bit of stucky, alcohol consumption, boyfriend!steve, sub!bucky, dom!sam, steve/bucky might just be in love, praise kink, smidge of degradation, bucky, sam and steve and reader are avengers, porn with little plot.

author's note: shout out to my homegirl @notreallythatlost cuz this would never have happened if she hadn't invited me to watch civil war with her again. and then she fell asleep and left me alone with my thoughts.

࣪ ִֶָ☾. masterlist | submit request ₊˚ෆ

The safehouse was a sanctuary of cedar and warmth, tucked in the mountains under a blanket of stars. The fire crackled in the stone hearth, casting golden flickers across the plush rugs and oversized couch where you sprawled, nestled against Steve Rogers. His arm, warm and steady, draped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. Dating Steve was like anchoring yourself to a rock in a storm—unshakable, safe, but with a spark that set your pulse racing. Tonight, that spark was a live wire, humming in the air between you, Steve, Bucky Barnes, and Sam Wilson.

The mission had been grueling—two days of covert ops, dodging bullets, and no sleep. Now, with the world safe for another night, the four of you were unwinding in this cozy retreat, adrenaline still buzzing. Sam lounged in an armchair, sipping bourbon, his dark eyes glinting with mischief. Bucky leaned against the couch’s armrest, his metal arm catching the firelight, his quiet intensity a stark contrast to Sam’s easy charm.

The tension in the room wasn’t just from the mission—it was the unspoken heat that had been building for weeks: stolen glances, lingering touches, teasing banter that felt like foreplay.

“Truth or Dare,” Sam announced, his voice rich with trouble. “C’mon, we’ve earned some fun. Y/N, you’re up.”

You smirked, leaning into Steve’s warmth. “Dare.”

Sam’s grin was wicked. “Kiss someone who isn’t your boyfriend.”

Steve chuckled, his hand tightening on your shoulder. “Careful, Wilson.”

You locked eyes with Sam, then turned to Bucky. His brow arched, a silent challenge. You crawled across the rug, heart pounding, and pressed a slow, teasing kiss to his lips. His flesh hand grazed your cheek, lingering as you pulled back, his gaze heavy, unreadable but electric.

“My turn,” Steve said, voice low, taking charge. “Sam, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Sam said, leaning back. “Hit me, Cap.”

Steve’s lips curved. “Ever think about Y/N when you’re alone?”

Your cheeks burned, but Sam laughed, unfazed. “Man, you know I’m a gentleman, but yeah, she’s crossed my mind. That smile? Those eyes? Her ass? Fuck, I can’t help it.” He winked at you, and your stomach fluttered, heat pooling low.

“Fair,” Steve said, his tone easy but his eyes dark. You’d think he was jealous if you didn’t notice the tent in his pants, already getting off from his friend talking dirty about you. Your fingers caressed your boyfriends jean clad thighs and Steve sighed softly, his eyes closing just briefly. “Bucky, your turn.” He practically bit out.

Bucky stilled, bringing the beer bottle to his lips like it was a drinking game. He could still taste you, the vanilla and aloe vera of your lip balm.

“Truth or dare, Barnes?” Sam urges.

Bucky shifts, his metal arm whirring softly, and you can see the shyness creep in, the way his shoulders tense. “Truth,” he mutters, his voice low, almost reluctant.

Sam leans forward, his grin sly. “You and Steve. Back in the day, during the war or after… anything more than just best friends?”

Bucky’s jaw tightens, and he glances at Steve, who meets his gaze with a quiet nod, like they’ve had this conversation before. The firelight dances over Bucky’s face, highlighting the flush creeping up his neck.

“Yeah,” he admits, his voice rough. “During the war, we… helped each other out. Friends with benefits, you could say. Kept each other sane. After cryo, when I was in Wakanda, it happened again a few times. Just… grounding each other. Best friends, always, but sometimes more.”

Steve’s hand tightens on your thigh, and you look at him, seeing the truth in his steady blue eyes, the lack of shame or secrecy. It’s not a betrayal—it’s just them, their history, their way of surviving. You feel a thrill at the thought, picturing them together, all strength and trust, and it makes your pulse race.

“Hot,” you say, breaking the tension with a grin, and Bucky laughs, a rare, soft sound that makes Steve smile. Sam raises his glass, approving, and the air shifts, charged with possibility.

“Your turn, Y/N,” Steve says, his voice low, his hand sliding higher, teasing the seam of your jeans. “Truth or dare?”

You meet his gaze, feeling bold, reckless, the wine and their confessions sparking something wild in you.

“Dare,” you say, your voice steady, challenging.

Steve’s eyes darken, a smirk playing on his lips. “I dare you to touch yourself,” he says, his voice a low growl, “while I… take care of Bucky.” He glances at Bucky, who freezes, his eyes widening, but there’s a heat there, a flicker of want. “You okay with that, Buck?”

Bucky swallows, his metal hand flexing, but he nods, his voice a rasp. “Yeah. If… if Y/N’s okay.”

You nod, your breath catching, the idea sending a rush of heat through you. “More than okay,” you murmur, already shifting to peel off your jeans, leaving you in your panties and a loose sweater. You settle back on the couch, your legs spread slightly, your hand teasing the edge of your underwear as you watch Steve move.

Steve slides to the floor, kneeling between Bucky’s legs, his hands steady as he undoes Bucky’s jeans.

Bucky’s breath hitches, his metal arm gripping the couch, his eyes flickering between you and Steve, nervous but wanting. Steve’s movements are deliberate, familiar, and when he takes Bucky into his mouth, Bucky lets out a low, broken moan, his head tipping back, his flesh hand tangling in Steve’s hair. The sight is filthy, beautiful—Steve’s broad shoulders, Bucky’s taut muscles, the raw trust between them—and it makes your core ache.

Your fingers slip beneath your panties, finding yourself slick and ready, and you start to touch yourself, slow circles that make you gasp. Sam’s watching, his eyes dark and hungry, and he moves closer, settling beside you on the couch.

“Need a hand?” he murmurs, his voice a velvet tease, and you nod, your breath shaky.

Sam’s fingers join yours, sliding beneath your panties, and he’s skilled, confident, his touch firm but gentle as he presses inside you, curling just right. You moan, your eyes locked on Steve and Bucky—Steve’s lips working Bucky, Bucky’s whimpers filling the air, his metal arm gleaming as he grips the couch. Sam’s fingers move in rhythm with your own, stretching you, teasing you, and you’re lost in the heat, the sight of your boyfriend and his best friend, the feel of Sam’s touch, the firelight painting everything in gold.

“Truth,” you gasp, your voice thick with pleasure, and they all pause—Steve pulling back slightly, Bucky panting, Sam’s fingers slowing but not stopping. “I want all three of you. Right now. Sam behind me, Bucky in my mouth, Steve inside me.”

The room goes still, the air electric, and then Sam grins, his fingers still working you. “Bold,” he says, his voice approving. “I’m in.” He pulls his hand free, licking his fingers with a smirk that makes you shiver.

Steve looks at Bucky, a silent question, and Bucky nods, his eyes wide, his lips parted. “Yeah,” he breathes, his voice raw. “If… if you want me.”

“I do,” you say, sliding off the couch, your sweater discarded, leaving you in just your panties. You kneel in front of Bucky, your hands on his thighs, feeling the tension in his muscles. Steve stands, stripping off his shirt, his chest broad and golden in the firelight, and moves behind you. Sam’s behind you now too, his hands on your hips, peeling your panties down, his breath hot against your skin.

Sam’s touch is bold, his fingers teasing you open as he positions himself, his cock hard and ready. He pushes into you from behind, slow but deep, and you moan, the stretch intense but perfect, his hands gripping your hips as he sets a rhythm. Steve kneels in front of you, his cock already hard, and you lean forward, taking Bucky’s length into your mouth first, your lips stretching around him, his size a challenge but one you savor. His whimpers are back, soft and broken, his metal hand hesitant but resting on your head, guiding you gently.

Steve slides into you, his cock filling you alongside Sam’s rhythm, and the sensation—both of them, Bucky in your mouth, the fire’s warmth, the trust—pushes you to the edge. You moan around Bucky, the vibration making him gasp, his hips twitching. Sam’s thrusts are steady, deep, his hands firm on your hips, while Steve’s pace is slower, deliberate, his hands on your shoulders, grounding you. Bucky’s whimpers mix with Sam’s low groans and Steve’s quiet curses, the room a symphony of pleasure, the fire crackling in time with your breaths.

You’re on all fours now, your skin slick with sweat, your body stretched and filled as Sam takes you from behind, his thrusts deep and relentless, his hands gripping your hips like he’s claiming you. Steve’s in front of you, his cock buried inside you, his pace steady but intense, his broad hands on your shoulders anchoring you. Bucky’s in your mouth, his thick length stretching your lips, his metal hand trembling as it rests lightly on your head, his whimpers a soft counterpoint to the raw energy around you. The jazz playlist hums low in the background, but it’s drowned out by the symphony of your bodies—Sam’s groans, Steve’s quiet curses, Bucky’s broken moans, and your muffled gasps.

Sam’s fingers dig into your hips, his thrusts hitting just right, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re takin’ me so good,” he growls, his voice a teasing drawl, rich with that cocky edge you love. “Look at you, all stretched out, lovin’ every inch. Been thinkin’ about this ass in the shower, and damn, it’s better than I dreamed.” His words make you clench around him, a moan vibrating around Bucky’s cock, and Sam laughs, low and wicked. “Oh, you like that, huh? Dirty girl, bet you’d let me do this all night.”

You pull back from Bucky for a moment, gasping for air, your lips slick and swollen. “Keep talking, Wilson,” you pant, your voice husky, teasing back. “You’re not the only one who’s been thinking.” You lean forward again, taking Bucky deeper, your tongue swirling, and he whimpers—a high, desperate sound that makes your core tighten around Steve.

Steve’s hands slide down your back, his touch firm but reverent, and he groans, his hips rocking into you, his cock filling you perfectly alongside Sam’s rhythm. “God, Buck,” he says, his voice low, rough with arousal as he glances at his best friend. “You look so damn good like this. Always did. That pretty mouth, those sounds you’re makin’—fuck, you’re perfect.” His praise is warm, grounding, and Bucky’s eyes flutter shut, his face flushing as he moans, his metal fingers tightening slightly in your hair.

“Steve,” Bucky breathes, his voice shaky, almost pleading, and you can feel the way he’s trembling, so close to the edge. “I… fuck, I can’t—” His words break off into another whimper as you hollow your cheeks, sucking him harder, your hand slipping down to tease his balls, rolling them gently. His hips twitch, and he’s a mess, all raw vulnerability and need, his beauty amplified by the way he’s giving himself to you.

Sam chuckles behind you, his thrusts picking up speed, each one pushing you deeper onto Bucky. “Look at Barnes, fallin’ apart like that,” he teases, his voice dripping with amusement. “Y/N’s got you wrapped around her finger, man. Or should I say her mouth?” He leans forward, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot. “You love this, don’t you? Havin’ all three of us, takin’ everything we got. Bet you’re so wet you’re drippin’.”

You moan around Bucky, the vibration making him gasp, and you pull back just enough to speak, your voice thick with pleasure. “Fuck, Sam, you’re not wrong,” you say, grinning, your hand still working Bucky’s length. “Want you all—every damn inch.” You dive back in, taking Bucky deep, your lips stretching wide, and he cries out, a broken, “Y/N,” that sends a shiver through you.

Steve’s hands grip your shoulders tighter, his thrusts growing harder, more urgent. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs, his voice a mix of command and awe. “Takin’ us like this, makin’ Buck feel so good. You’re ours, Y/N, and you’re perfect.” His praise washes over you, and you feel the heat building, your body tightening around him and Sam, the pleasure coiling like a spring.

Sam’s hand slides around, finding your clit, his fingers circling with that same confidence he flies with.

“Come on, Y/N,” he purrs, his voice a tease but edged with heat. “Come for us. Wanna feel you lose it, squeezin’ me tight while you suck Barnes dry.” His fingers are relentless, and you moan, the sound muffled by Bucky’s cock, your body trembling as the pleasure spikes.

Bucky’s the first to break, his whimpers turning to a low, desperate moan. “Y/N, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

Steve’s hand reaches out, cupping Bucky’s face, a tender gesture amidst the heat. “Let go, Buck,” Steve says, his voice soft but commanding. “She’s got you. We’ve got you.” Bucky’s eyes lock onto Steve’s, then yours, and he comes undone, his release hot and sudden, filling your mouth as he cries out, his metal hand gripping the couch, his flesh hand shaking in your hair. You swallow around him, drawing out every shudder, his taste salty and raw, his beauty overwhelming as he gasps your name.

Sam’s next, his thrusts erratic, his fingers on your clit pushing you closer. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re killin’ me,” he groans, his voice breaking. “So tight, so fuckin’ perfect—gonna come so hard for you.” His hips snap forward, and he spills inside you, hot and deep, his grip on your hips bruising as he rides out his climax, his teasing giving way to raw need.

Steve’s pace falters, his groans louder now, and you clench around him, your own orgasm crashing through you as Sam’s fingers and their combined heat push you over the edge. “Y/N,” Steve gasps, his voice thick, “you’re so—God, you feel so good.” He thrusts deep, his release flooding you, and you moan around Bucky, your body shaking, pleasure ripping through you like a wildfire.

The room is a haze of gasps and shudders, the fire’s warmth wrapping around you as you all come down, bodies tangled, breaths mingling. You pull back from Bucky, your lips tingling, and collapse against Steve’s chest, his arms wrapping around you. Sam’s hands linger on your hips, gentle now, and Bucky slumps back, his eyes glassy, his chest heaving. The jazz hums softly, the fire crackling, and for a moment, you’re all just there, connected, raw, and real.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Steve murmurs, his voice low, his lips brushing your temple. His hand strokes your arm, a familiar gesture that feels even more intimate after what you’ve shared. He glances at Bucky, then Sam, his blue eyes checking on everyone, always the leader, always the caretaker.

You nod, leaning into him, your hand resting on his thigh. “More than okay,” you say, your voice soft but warm, a smile tugging at your lips. “That was… intense.” You glance at Bucky, who’s watching you with those storm-blue eyes, still a little glassy, and then at Sam, who raises his glass in a mock toast.

“Understatement of the century,” Sam says, his grin widening, his voice carrying that playful edge. “You’re a damn force, Y/N. Had us all losin’ our minds out here.” He winks, but there’s a softness in his eyes, a gratitude that goes beyond his usual swagger. “You good, Barnes? Look like you saw God for a second there.”

Bucky blushes, ducking his head, a small, shy smile curving his lips. “Shut up, Wilson,” he mutters, but there’s no heat in it, just a quiet warmth. His metal hand flexes, like he’s still processing, and he glances at you, then Steve, his voice softer. “I… yeah. I’m good. Better than I’ve been in a long time.” His admission is raw, vulnerable, and it makes your heart ache, thinking of the decades he’s carried alone.

Steve’s hand finds Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing gently, a gesture that carries years of history—war, cryo, friendship, and more. “You’re always good, Buck,” he says, his voice steady, warm with that unshakable loyalty. “Glad you’re here. With us.” He looks at you, his eyes softening further, and you know he means you too, that this moment—this messy, beautiful connection—is something he’s grateful for.

You reach down, your fingers brushing Bucky’s hair, a gentle touch that makes him lean into your hand, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “You were beautiful,” you murmur, echoing the heat of earlier, and his blush deepens, but he doesn’t pull away. “All of you were.”

Sam chuckles, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “Flatterer. But I’ll take it.” He takes a sip of his whiskey, then tilts his head, his gaze playful but searching. “So, what’s next? We keepin’ this truth-or-dare thing goin’, or we just gonna sit here and bask in the glow?”

You laugh, the sound light, easing the lingering tension. “Maybe we save the dares for next time,” you say, teasing, your hand sliding to Steve’s, lacing your fingers with his. “But I wouldn’t mind some truth. Like… you guys gonna be okay after this? No weirdness?”

Steve squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing your knuckles. “No weirdness,” he says, his voice firm but warm. “We’re a team. Always have been. This… it’s just us, being real.” He glances at Bucky, then Sam, a silent check-in, and both men nod, Sam with a grin, Bucky with a shy dip of his head.

“Speak for yourself, Rogers,” Sam says, his tone mock-serious. “I’m gonna be thinkin’ about this in the shower for weeks.” He winks at you, and you roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

Bucky shifts, his metal arm whirring softly as he pulls the blanket from the couch, draping it over your legs with a careful touch. “You’re cold,” he murmurs, almost to himself, and the gesture—so small, so Bucky—makes your heart swell. He looks at you, his eyes hesitant but warm. “Thanks, Y/N. For… makin’ me feel like me again.”

You lean down, kissing his forehead, your lips lingering on his skin. “Anytime, Bucky,” you whisper, and Steve’s arm tightens around you, a silent agreement. Sam watches, his grin softening into something genuine, and for a moment, you’re all just there—tangled, warm, connected by the fire’s glow and something deeper, something that feels like home.

The fire crackles, the jazz hums, and you all settle in, the weight of the mission forgotten, the night holding you together in its warmth.

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world @cherriesnmango @positivenergy

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! <3

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strialternatives · 2 months ago

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[[wrote like 5000 words of what amounts to akechi goro crashing out without his boyfriend as a sounding board--this is basically a messy stream of goro pov consciousness i cleaned up a bit about the lead up to a post royal!akechi palace formation! spent too much time poking at it not to share,,,]]

WARNINGS: canon typical references to suicide, minor self-harm RATING: T

Something inside of him is breaking.

Akechi Goro’s wide gaze drills accusing holes into the man on the witness stand, still clad in his prison jumpsuit. His jaw goes

clickclickclick

he grinds down his molars, sawdust gathers in back of his throat, rage up to his damn eyes and he is…Goro is. He’s.

He’s going to kill him.

Goro grips the pen on the table as his attorney looks at him with a troubled gaze.

His entire body is tense, alight with a fire in his core as his frame trembles with every inch of the self-control he’s cultivated since he was eleven.

—Kill him, he’s going to kill him, rip his juggler from his thick, ugly neck with his bare teeth.

Masayoshi Shido looks back at him with a thin quirk of his lips. It sets every inch of Goro ablaze with indignation, while his father effortlessly unravels what amounts to sixteen months worth of legal proceedings in his own case.

Once again this man takes his choices away, beats Goro one last time at his own game, amber eyes steady and undaunted by the sheer disdain on his own flesh and blood’s features. The begrudging affection present there is fit to drive Goro properly insane.

Shido raises his chin, he hammers the final nail in the coffin the two of them built together: “As I’ve said since the beginning, there is no such thing as the Metaverse. The theory itself is an absurd pseudoscience on par with leylines and energy healing. I committed all of my crimes through real world means.”

Son of a bitch.

The rest of the trial is a blur—there’s static in Goro’s ears as the courtroom falls away, his blank, ironed-out expression slack on his bowed face, fists clawing bloody crescents into his palms. Attorneys argue, blindsided, as Shido recounts his hits one by one from top to bottom with zero contradictions, no doubt having rehearsed his statement from every angle.

—Always a step ahead, even with a heart change.

The thought makes Akechi want to scream.

“He was a disenfranchised orphan at the time of our first meeting, and I used that to manipulate him.”

Shut up.

“I arranged his internship with the police department and brazenly used party funds and bribes to push him in the media. I doctored the Detective Prince public image and used Akechi Goro to deter legal suspicion while taking advantage of corruption within the department.”

Shut the fuck up.

“Everything I ever did was for my own ends, my son is blameless in all of it. I’m simply relieved… he never had to bloody his hands.”

Goro stands so fast his chair clatters to the floor, he gets halfway over the table before he’s yanked back by the shoulders, struggling in his seat. The snarls leaving him barely sound human, overgrown bangs shadowing his hellfire eyes.

The humiliation smarts like a slap.

The court, however, is quiet as a grave, stunned to silence; Shido hardly hesitates in wake of the outburst.

Don’t you dare.

“There is no physical proof of this Metaverse nor any of the crimes mentioned in the initial report; I plead with this court that my son's case be dismissed and the records with his name sealed. I will give up all of my contacts and constituents.”

Something deep inside of him is-

“Lastly, I implore this jury allow me to properly atone for my sins with the fullest extent of the law. I do not wish to seek parole.”

-Fracturing.

With that Shido bows, as though heralding the end of a show. His face is fully hidden from view—the lowest a man of his arrogance has likely had to bow ever in his entire life. He looks skinny in his prison jumpsuit and cuffs, shrunken. Weak.

All it does is fuel Goro’s rage.

There’s a second hush in the courtroom as the boy is swiftly restrained again, Goro thinks he might be screaming, struggling, arms wrestled behind his back as he’s all but carried out of the session. He’s spitting and hissing curses like snake venom, veins in his neck straining as he shouts out his damn voice.

Goro doesn’t remember all the words he'd said, half in anger, half in despair as his composure crumbled beneath his feet. But it made the judge look at him with a pity that stings even worse than Shido’s insult of a paternal conscience.

(He thinks he mentioned his mother. Goro hopes not. His mother's name doesn’t need to be spoken in such a wretched, awful place as the Tokyo High Court.)

After the fact, when all things are said and done, he is shouldered with just a year’s probation. —The irony of this specific stretch of time is not lost on him.— A state sanctioned order for therapy in light of his outburst, just shy of shipping him off to a psych ward after his dramatic outburst, Goro bets, he’d thrown quite a few violent death threats Shido’s way, after all.

A proverbial slap on the wrist for the ego death of dozens by his own hand. A clean record and his name scrubbed from the media.

Something in him breaks. There’s a hollowness in his soul.

Gloved hands creak with mounting tension as his court-assigned probation officer’s words go in one ear and out the other, teeth grinding, aching.

Once again, he’s been denied a choice—his fucking choice—by the same wretched, controlling man. Once again, Goro has been denied control of his own destiny by a higher power and there’s not a single thing he can do to repay his debts.

He knows what probation really means in his case. It is protection, a weak excuse for a witness protection program Goro had denied several times. Everyone involved in the Shido case is desperate to keep their star witness from winding up dead in a gutter.

Because, as much as they thought Goro was nothing more than a delusional little boy, manipulated by his own father, that same boy had kept meticulous records in the real tangible world over the years. Obsessive records on Shido's inner circle. Useful records.

And that was not a loss the investigation was willing to risk.

There was no way out of this check he'd been tricked into, no matter which way Goro turns the board, and it is utterly infuriating.

Goro is going to fucking kill him.

///

He is set up in a new apartment with a box of his personal effects not seized for evidence.

Left with strict orders for his probation and house arrest, his brain is still whirling from a week’s worth of appeals and settling of assets.

If he so wishes, Goro doesn’t need to work for the rest of his natural life.

Shido had transferred the keys for all of his accounts to his ‘next of kin’, in consideration for his looming life sentence.

The thought makes Goro want to rage again, the bastard had planned for something like this. The assets the government had seized weren’t anything to sneeze at but they were nothing compared to the scope number of non-governmental subsidiaries and private funds Shido constantly squirreled away for a rainy day.

Paranoid packrat that he was, there were plenty of off-shore bank accounts that were all but untouchable.

Goro’s almost sure making him the sole-proprietor must’ve been some fucked up gene-essentialist backup plan, in case one of his associates stabbed him in the back, or if he couldn’t otherwise flee the country.

(Though, considering what Joker and the Thieves had let slip in January, that particular contingency was probably nothing more than a joke between Shido and his rotten lawyers.)

Even the apartment building he’s standing in is a part of one of Shido’s many (many) real estate ventures, and Goro hates every solitary inch of it.

He despises the sterile, too-clean air, the way everything is a stark, minimalist off-white, the fact that he’s on the top floor with an objectively gorgeous view of the Tokyo landscape—all while Goro should be six feet under.

—Instead, he’s twenty now.

Goro didn’t expect to live past nineteen.

Left alone after the officer leaves, he glares down at the paneled floor, static in his ears as he sways on his feet and peers into the box.

There is a picture frame of a bewitching woman with rich, caramel colored hair that matches his own at the top of the pile, him at six—a fucking parasite, sucking her life away with every breath—clutching shyly onto full sakura-pink skirts, half hiding from whomever is taking the picture.

The only part of him visible is a cautious wine colored eye against a fluffy brunette fringe. The woman smiles brightly with flushed, happy cheeks as she runs manicured fingers through the shy boy’s curls, not at all like Goro’s knife-like grin.

It’s a smile like sunshine—the ‘original’ smile that Goro could only wear as a mask, one he besmirched by using just to get others to want him, to like him. It hasn’t reached his eyes in years. But it always kept Goro safe all the same.

Mama.

His eyes are bone dry as he stumbles over to the sleek, pre-furnished, couch, Goro wouldn’t be caught dead picking out. He takes in the foreign space, the air so still and impersonal it’s downright suffocating.

Everywhere he looks.

White, on white, on.

More.

White.

Every inch of the studio apartment is blindingly white and Goro wants to claw his fucking throat out.

What was it all for, if this was how things were going to end?

Did any of those years spent under his father’s thumb matter? Smiling for his slime ball compatriots? Breaking off pieces of himself and killing them to survive in their snake pit? Lowering himself to the status of an attack dog, twice-kicked, verbally condescended to on a daily basis by the adults around him?

This time Goro’s blunt nails do find his throat as he rasps, breathes quickening as he struggles and fails to draw in air to his lungs.

Bastard. Bastard. Bastard.

How dare Shido take this from him?

How dare the Judge look at him with pity? His social worker. His probation officer. Even his old coworkers whispered as he’d given every name he’d meticulously taken note of during his time at the center of the Conspiracy. It's a small mercy that Sae is no longer involved in the case, that would be a special kind of hell.

All Goro wanted was one thing, to accomplish one right thing, for the sake of enacting real justice.

The mantra is what he has killed every shadow after Isshiki Wakaba for—it was all supposed to be ‘worth it’ in the end. He’d stubbornly insisted to Robin Hood, who’d gone deadly silent after that first death, morose, nestled heavy as an anchor within Goro’s spirit of rebellion until he was needed again.

He’d wanted to set things right, put every game piece back in the box, so to speak. Neat and tidy.

But Goro couldn’t even have that. What better punishment was there for a monster like him, than to be guilty of all of the sins on his shoulders, but still, maddeningly idle?

Free.

A familiar sneer splits Akechi Goro’s lips, sardonic, mocking whilst his body shakes again with the force of his laughs, image of his mother’s bright smile wavering in his vision.

He’d forgotten what she looked like.

Goro hasn’t said her name in years, no one has—did Shido even remember her? Did his mother ever have a choice at all in her fate, or was she yet another game piece for the wretched hand Goro had been dealt from his birth?

He wants to know. He needs to know.

///

Goro stares blankly at the empty sheel on the other side of the safety glass, he is not sure why he did this.

God knows his therapist told him how unproductive it would be. Goro doesn’t blame her—he’s been fading physically since the verdict reading. Complexion pale, fists perpetually clenched and digging bloody into his palms, they’re bandaged under his gloves.

She doesn’t know about them, a lot of people don’t know much about Goro these days.

“What was her name,”

It is not a question. Shido… hesitates.

“I—”

“My mother’s fucking name! Before you go to prison forever, before I never have to see your awful face again, just—!”

The desperation just pours out of him in waves, a weakness that leaves Goro recoiling in self-disgust, his world tilting off its axis as he clutches at his fringe, letting out a breathless laugh. He starts over.

“...Tell me you remember her name.”

There’s a long silence. The prison guard shifts from foot to foot, he should not be here for this, yet, alas, to the chagrin of everyone in the room, on both sides of the glass, there is no better compromise.

But Shido only looks at him with dead eyes, his smile empty along with his convictions.

“I didn’t. Until I ran a background check on you that is, and it finally clicked… It. Was quite unusual, the way Sakura’s name was written.”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“We met at the same university, she wanted to go into business, really wanted her own space, to be her own boss.”

Goro twitches, irons out his expression, his teeth ache along with the words he forces out, “Just what are you blathering about?”

Shido’s gaze is steady, “She was quite good at marketing, I… she was integral in the campaign we were both working under, went above and beyond despite being an intern.” He exhales, “She didn’t much care for my seedier contacts though, so the relationship didn’t last. I tried to threaten her into terminating.”

“Instead… she ran.”

At that his gaze turns considering, a familiar sharpness showing for a split moment in those eyes before dying like scattered ash—Goro feels his hairs stand on end. “Curious, isn’t it…? How she chose not to get rid of you, in the end… I was simply glad she dropped out of university and out of my way.”

Goro wants to bash his head into the glass, he wants to rip his fucking heart out, it must show in his eyes because Shido inclines his head, lips twitching. It's still not a happy smile.

“Akechi Sakura was close to getting her career on track, you know—? She started pestering me about child support around then because she just needed a bit more to cross that last barrier,” Shido paused, letting out another one of those miserable scoffs, “Bad timing really, I was campaigning. And she was in the way... again.”

The world slows down, there’s a sinking feeling—inside he is screaming.

“Get to the point, old man.”

He almost wishes he hadn’t prompted him.

“She had a job lined up, a real one after groveling to her parents—but that’s not here nor there. She was going to go back to university, she needed a bit of child care assistance and the money to move you both out of that shoebox near the red light district.”

No.

“Sakura…she… contacted me at a critical time during my election. And you know better than anyone how much of a stigma escorts have in this country, boy.”

Shido shrugs, numbly nonchalant, like Goro’s mother is nothing more than a morose footnote in a long list of sins to keep track of. Goro’s fists clench in his lap, irritating his bandages again.

“All it took was a few phone calls to upper management at her parents’ company—ah, they didn’t even know she’d been working as an escort to support you both. Shame, really. They properly disowned her with the quickness after—nasty business, that.”

Goro’s eyes are still dry, so much so it aches. He wants to kill him.

He wants this bastard dead and buried.

He’ll drag him all the way down to hell.

Something

is.

breaking.

“Y,you… it was you—….?” Goro’s shoulders slump.

The static is so loud now that he can barely keep up with the confession.

“It was,” Shido says with a wistfulness he has no right to, “She’d really gotten far on her own, I’ll admit, she even had a full-time gig lined up in case things with her parents fell out again, and was in the process of breaking ties with her regular clients.”

Their eyes meet.

“All for you.”

Goro stares.

“She told me wanted a future for you.”

His fists creak, face blank, mind spinning.

“I… I wish… I’d made an honest woman out of her back then, she really was brilliant. By my side, we could have accomplished—“

SCREECH!

His feet carry him from the visitation area at a brisk pace, chair clattering to the floor. Goro's breaths are even and measured as he bows to his probation officer and politely requests he be escorted out. The mask he puts on is a familiar skin.

—Somehow knowing the reason is worse, knowing his mother truly never had agency, just like Goro. Another tragedy. His fault. Always his. damn. fault.

There’s a quiet horror in knowing that his father had taken everything from him, and didn’t even have the decency to be here and present in any way that matters.

A ‘change of heart’ what a shitty farce.

No wonder the Okumura heiress made his stomach churn, so.

That pathetic, lobotomized thing on the other side of that glass wasn’t Masayoshi Shido, probably never would be again.

He barks out a bitter laugh of his own once he's managed to weasel a moment away from his guards in the men's bathroom after. Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

Mother had always been the optimistic type, unlike Goro with his many anxieties and tendencies to think himself into knots, even at a young age.

In retrospect, her downward spiral had been unusually swift and merciless—she’d started taking clients again despite not needing them for months previously. Goro went to the bathhouse more often.

Things outside of their little bubble suddenly started to crash and burn.

Goro remembers it vividly, Akechi Sakura had tried to brew pork and vegetable soup one of those nights, only to burn and ruin the pot and three days worth of groceries in the process.

The scent of her flowery perfume and her heaving sobs were overwhelming as she’d dropped to her knees and hugged her son tight, rocking him like he was a toddler instead of an elementary student on the cusp of double digits.

<“It’ll all work out, Goro. Mama promises. We’re going to be okay.”>

He’d hugged her back as hard as he could. But her words were nothing more than a pretty lie.

It only took a month—though numbly, Goro acknowledges that mental health isn’t one of those things broken in a single moment. But instead, a psyche meticulously dismantled with micro-fractures across a score of years, full of slights to his mother’s pride, concessions she’d had to give up for the sake of her bastard son, and countless whispers she had to endure every day she was late to pick him up from school.

So, logically, even armed with Shido's confession, Goro knew there were a number of factors that led to his mother stepping off that train platform on the way to her day job that morning.

Logic does not, however account for feelings.

It does not account for the very human urge to cast blame and point fingers.

—For instance: what if someone had given his mother a chance?

If only that client hadn’t stiffed her a week before. If only someone on that train platform had said something about her swaying so close to the safety line. If only her thrice damned parents helped, even a little.

What if. What if. What if–

If only Akechi Sakura had never met one Masayoshi Shido.

(If only Goro had never been born.)

He fantasizes about one day killing Shido.

However, this dream is not something that is remotely realistic.

There is a maximum security prison, and tens of dozens of guards in his path. Goro’s expression had been blank and calculating, taking in the wretched shell of a creature in front of him for weaknesses. Yet, he'd only seen a long, insurmountable corridor, stretching out before his very eyes.

One by one, the metaphorical bulkheads had closed, his vengeance farther than it had ever been.

Out of reach. Always too slow—too late.

It makes Goro want to laugh, and laugh. For the first time in ten fucking years a part of him wants to cry.

Fuck.

All that work, all the time spent sawing off the undesirable bastard orphan pieces of himself for his deadbeat father and the brainless masses, giving up every part of himself that was even remotely heroic—yet vengeance had never tasted so bitter.

Something in him fractures again, he can almost feel it break this time. It's obvious enough that he feels the fissure in his damn soul.

This time, unlike that time in court, Goro pays attention. He takes stock of himself and his muddled head, comes to a conclusion quite alarming:

Akechi Goro no longer revels the chance to herald Ragnarök.

Goro blinks, looks down, his vision doubles, eyes widening as the static space in his head grows into something insurmountable as a black hole.

Before he knows it he's curled over his lap on his haunches right there in the bathroom stall he's scrambled into. Arms tight around his middle, once again struggling to inhale.

He's never felt so cold.

There is no chaos, only his hollow masks left behind. Stillness. Stagnation.

Things haven’t been this silent since Goro signed his life away to Shido in his last year of middle school.

Hereward he normally doesn’t hear unless he reaches, but Loki is different. Loki is chatty.

Goro’s heard his whispers for years—he wasn’t just his malice, he was his passion, where the inferno lived, the part that had given him the means to build Shido up only to tear him down.

(A void where there had previously been righteous fury, of a child brought low and abandoned by his village.)

Goro’s voice is a hesitant croak when he finally finds the will to speak and confirm the truth he’s already grasped. Returning had been a blur, he didn't even know what he ate for dinner if he even ate today at all.

“… Loki?”

The gnawing emptiness inside him hungers. The verbal plea is vulnerable in a way Goro would loath to be around anyone else but…

I am thou, thou art I.

The realization that dawns has him drawing in a sharp breath, Mementos was gone but he could usually always feel his spirit of rebellion.

His chaos, his justice, his defiance.

Over the past year and a half they’d never left him, not truly—they didn’t speak often anymore, but he’d usually at least get impressions. Goro closes his eyes tighter and this time he pulls, he whispers for Loki, he grasps for Hereward, his connection borne of his bond with Joker.

But nothing echoes back in reassurance.

In their places are gaping wounds, fresh, aching and bleeding.

Goro cannot feel their rebellion; the loss is fit to leave him spinning out of control without a motor. For once, Goro doesn’t know how to proceed. His personae were the only things that were always be with him. Never has he felt truly alone until this moment.

Crack.

Goro draws in a calm, measured breath and reaches–

Robin reaches back.

He exhales.

There’s no one else, it's just them again—just like when he was scrappy and fourteen, trapped in a cramped foster home.

Robin Hood to Goro is the first urge he felt to take a hit for a weeping toddler who didn’t know his parents weren’t coming back. Robin Hood is the very first time he shared a bag of candy to share with the youngest children at the bottom of the pecking order in the group home he wound up in after, whispering with a secretive smile that he’d lifted them from the local corner store.

Goro counts to ten over the migraine steadily building in his temples, nails breaking skin once again.

“Are you going to leave me too?”

His words are flat, matter of fact, as though acknowledging something as asinine as water being wet. There isn’t a hint of childish sentimentality in the question—there isn’t.

“I,” Goro breathes in, finds he doesn’t have the air to, “To be honest, I wish you wouldn’t.”

I am thou…

It’s his own voice but a little offbeat, a bit more whimsical. Goro hasn’t heard it since he killed his first shadow for Shido. One by one his fingers unclench, in a show of frankly disgusting vulnerability, he hugs his knees to his chest on the filthy floor.

“Thou art I.”

His quiet response is swallowed quickly by the lonely bathroom stall, lonely voice echoing for no one else to hear. There's static in his head, darkness at his back, deeply entrenched in his rotten spirit.

In that darkness, Akechi Goro wraps himself in masks, as he always has. He doesn’t plan on taking any of them off, he adopts a proper one for the guards, and calmly washes his hands, before strolling out of the men's room with his head held high.

—Robin Hood is all he has, and he’s always taken care of Goro when it counts.

///

The fall out of the trial, along with Goro’s probationary conditions take months to iron out; it feels like the painful final rasp of a slow-to-die houseplant, the constant ticking of a desk clock past midnight doing Sae’s paperwork after hours.

Goro breathes, he survives.

More boxes full of things lost and scattered between transit come to Goro’s literal doorstep while he lies through his teeth to the therapist that makes his stomach churn. Apparently, Shido had collected far more from the background check than he’d let on.

With disgust, Goro finds childhood things he’d thought his foster parents would’ve binned—left as hand-me-downs, rotting away in the attics of their real children or perhaps the odd relatives that had an ankle bitter running around.

And isn’t that just a summary of Goro’s entire life story—? Unwanted but for his possessions and the short term pseudo-comfort he can provide, scavengers picking at his carcass until there was nothing left but the rotting bones.

He often has to blink away the images of rotten flesh circled by crows.

Without fail, Robin’s presence is usually quick to blanket his mind when he spirals, the heated warmth of a security blanket.

He stops looking inside the boxes when his probation officer delivers one full of his mother’s scarves. They’d been sitting in a police locker for a decade, apparently. Lost in transit, just like Goro's true self that died a quiet death in a foster home he doesn't even remember the street name for.

Goro holds the scarf with rose patterns for hours, dry eyes slowly blinking, Shido’s wretched pre-paid apartment tinted warm in the red of the sunset.

He’d forgotten how his mother used to smell. Such a terrible son.

(There is no way forward. Has there ever been?)

///

Goro does everything right at his state sanctioned therapy sessions.

He tears up at the correct pulse points, ‘opens up’ in the ways he’s learned people respond to the best, smiles weakly when he’s congratulated for his ‘progress’... Goro is barely a person, he thinks, only one individual has ever made him feel like anything besides plastic.

But, he’s gotten very good at pretending to be a functional person, one that hasn’t had a million bits and pieces clinically removed across a dozen houses that never felt quite like homes.

There’s a joke about lost causes in there somewhere, but a voice that sounds a bit too much like… ‘him’ keeps insisting that Goro can still be saved. It whispers of a lighthouse among the black rolling rapids in the dead of a stormy night.

Thoughts of that mischievous grin sneak up on him often, as he lay awake in bed between police interviews and therapy sessions he only pays half a mind to. They invade him in the silence, whilst staring blankly at the lone glove on his nightstand—his favorite black pair missing its mate.

It is March again.

‘Kurusu Akira’ should have graduated from high school by now.

(Joker would understand, why therapists and counselors set Goro’s teeth on edge.)

It starts like this—Goro thinks of long, slender fingers versatile as a spider’s legs, he rolls over and buries his face in his pillow, exhaling as his brain whirls with thought of handshandhands, the way Joker twirls his dagger, impatient for his turn in battle, like Akira tends to do with his pens while studying. There's also the way Akira toys with his fringe when anxious, one of his few tells to that infuriating pokerface. The thought of those same damnable hands skating absently along Crow’s waist in the middle of battle as Joker calls forth Maria’s holy light to heal all his hurts on reflex, clenching around his glove that cold night in February, reaching out to cup the side of his neck before retreating, Hereward burning to life in his chest. Undeniable proof that someone in this world would miss Goro when he was gone—

What the fuck.

Goro stares, dumbfounded at the ceiling as he rolls over on his back, the panicked realization tightening his chest feels downright inevitable, even as he struggles to choke it down. He is suddenly blindly, incandescently angry.

(—He really should’ve just saved himself the trouble and shot that boy in the head for a second time.)

He loses track of his days.

Weekly, he is picked up at his apartment. Weekly, he goes through the motions of assisting the officers on Shido’s case, exposing the network the Phantom Thieves had left to rot.

But that wasn’t fair either, was it? They didn’t know what Goro did, not of the filth or the rotten underbelly he’d helped Shido cultivate—because Goro didn’t tell them. Of course not, why would he?

There existed dozens of Kaneshiro’s in Tokyo alone, and even more men at the top just as wretched and disgusting as the young Okumura heiress’ oh, so, beloved father that deserved to 'be guided down the correct path'.

The thieves were nothing more than naive children, with a childish justice to match; it left Goro seething, the envy burning inside him watching from afar had been…

….

He shuts off the train of thought before it festers. There's no point anymore after all was said and done.

At present, Goro inclines his head demurely at the officers on the other side of the table, he speaks in a slow, even voice for the recording.

It was an exhaustive affair, but Goro would much rather spend his months playing janitor than rot in Shido’s fancy apartment for any longer than he has to.

—He’d be dead in the ground before he let a single one of those rats go free to consolidate power. Goro may be barred from carrying out his own justice by what he can only call divine punishment, but, at least, he's mature enough to clean up the messes he himself created.

Kurusu Akira’s full name being in the system was bad enough, worse, it left him open for payback. Open for some very powerful people with axes to grind. And, as strong as the venerated leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts was in the metaverse, in 'reality', Joker was still distressingly mortal.

(Self-sacrificing idiot that he is.)

It’s just so easy for people to die, like the flickering light of a candle, or the last gasp of a dying star echoed from a million light years away.

Goro wouldn’t allow Akira, sentimental, clever, earnest Akira with his knife like smiles and infuriating charm to wind up a statistic in a political power struggle.

That shit's just not on.

—Goro owes him a rematch, after all.

This he could put his energy into, a purpose he could focus in on instead of wallowing in the reality of his situation. Robin Hood, who'd made his nest in Goro's soul long ago, trills in united agreement.

Distantly, Goro can’t help wondering if Joker can still feel Arsene under his skin.

For a time the mask smiles and so does Goro.

He doesn’t think about Joker, he tries not to think too long about much of anything,

And then.

There’s always a ‘then’, isn’t there?

He finds himself staring at a pile of diaries and a meek elderly man in a traditional kimono. There are officers on either side of the man on the other end of the apartment's dining table; he looks downtrodden and exhausted.

Goro feels a rush of foreboding he hasn’t felt since that day when his sentence was read in court.

As the meeting wears on, filled with excuses and weak justifications, his eyes are blank and dispassionate. Yet another empty shell, his--'grandfather'--pleading for absolution from a part of Goro's sympathy he had let go to rust a long time ago.

How could someone as bright as his mother have come from such a cowardly worm of a man?

In the dead of night whilst reading his mother’s dying words, the officers and her wretch of a sperm donor finally long gone, Akechi Goro is for the first time, wholly alone.

Something breaks for good inside him, when the realization hits: There is no true justice in this world.

(He can no longer feel the echoes of Robin’s merry laughter, nor the constant assurance of the gentleman outlaw’s masks.)

///

[Candidate found!] Akechi Goro. Tokyo Highcourt. Amphitheater.

#akechi palace au #i'm just gonna make that the main tag #writing tag #this is half word vomit half me rotating goro akechi's weirdo mindset and hangups about his own autonomy in my brain :jazzhands:#this is too embarrassing and rough to post anywhere else but tumblr :X #anyways in case it was confusing let me explain!#the court's verdict and his final talk with shido were the catalysts for akechi losing his personas over a score of months #he gets yanked into his own palace pretty fast after but alas i don't have the Timeline Calender:tm: on me rn

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betterlifelitdblogs · 1 month ago

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queenie-ofthe-void · 5 months ago

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Birdie's Boys

Platonic Stobin + Eddie || wc: 2.3k || rating: G || tags: platonic love, platonic fic, platonic stobie (steddin?), tooth-rotting fluff, humor || Robin's worried the boys have some shenanigans planned for her Spring Band Concert... and she's right

~~~

If Eddie Munson had just watched Steve’s basketball game like a normal person, instead of a nonconformist lunatic, everything would’ve been just fine. Robin really should’ve known better, shouldn’t have been surprised when he showed up carrying a giant sign with Steve’s name and player number on it that read ‘best ball shooter’ with a little devil on it.

Whenever Steve had the ball, Eddie screamed louder than the most obnoxious dads. At some point, the man pulled a damn kazoo out of his pocket along with those stupid, plastic hand clappers to celebrate Steve’s first three-pointer.

Everyone was staring, the boys on the bench turning to sneer at him. She could feel the people around them slowly scooching away and her face burned with embarrassment. Finally, after two rounds of the Star Spangled Banner via kazoo, she turned to beg him to sit down only to then catch Steve wave out of the corner of her eye.

She could see the blush across his face, not from exertion, but from a smile so wide that it glistened in his eyes. Eddie waved, face on fire. Robin gave him a scathing side eye when he’d turned to her and said “What, I just wanted him to notice me,” with a mischievous glint to his smile.

Robin had assumed Steve would be the bigger person and move on. He never said anything after the game, only smiling ear to ear like a puppy dog after doing a particularly impressive trick. However, she greatly underestimated her soulmate’s ability to be an absolute shit head.

Which is how a typically casual Friday night at the Hideout for Eddie’s gig turned out to be exceptionally uncasual and supremely atypical.

She was clad in head-to-toe pastels. Nancy hadn’t agreed to come to the show, but she allowed Robin to rummage through her closet, fully on board with her and Steve’s shenanigans. Robin had picked out a pair of white heels, lavender stockings, a frilly, pink dress, and– her piece de resistance– a white cowboy hat.

Steve’s outfit was made up of his own clothes, just taken to new heights. He wore not one, but two polo shirts, the white collar underneath popped up over his pale pink polo on the outside. His acid washed jeans looked tighter than normal, and he’d paired them with shiny, white, Adidas high-tops. Robin had laughed as she dug through his glove box on the ride over, pulling out her favorite electric blue sunglasses for him to wear. They tied the entire outfit together.

Steve had suggested making signs, “In case he can’t hear us when he’s on stage,” and definitely not as payback. All in all, they were pretty impressive. Each one dripped glitter over the sticky bar floor, although the pink puff-paint held together nicely. Robin was particularly proud of her own sign, ‘rock and roll is for sinners and winners’. She was, however, surprised when she read Steve’s ‘I’ve got the devil in me’ sign. They’d made a bit of a spectacle of themselves, waving them high above their heads as they screamed along to the few lyrics they actually knew.

The band razzed Eddie about it, but none of it mattered in the long run. Robin remembers the embarrassed flush scrawled across Eddie’s face when he caught sight of them. He’d strutted across the stage, trying to move as far from them as possible. Much like the small crowd of confused regulars creating a wide, empty space around them. In the end, Eddie always came back, smile wide and genuine and full of love.

So here Robin sits, stewing with anxiety while trying to think of what they’ve got planned now that it’s her turn. She fiddles with the trumpet in her lap as she waits for the Spring Band and Orchestra Concert to start. Her black slacks from last year are uncomfortably tight around her hips, and the white blouse her mom picked out keeps snagging on the back of the too small plastic chair she’s perched on. The garbled mess of voices ringing through the gymnasium matches the zinging swarm of bees in her stomach.

She frantically scans the crowd in front of her, but doesn’t spot them anywhere. Robin’s parents and grandparents are going to be here and she knows the boys will have something obnoxious planned. They’ve been suspiciously nonchalant all week, almost sickeningly nice.

But when the freshman band starts playing, she still can’t find them, surprised they’re not sitting up front. She tries to look around but can’t find them in the crowd. Disappointed, she starts to wonder if they actually forgot. Robin did her best to bring up the concert as little as possible, not wanting to give them time to plan anything extravagant. She wonders now if that was a mistake.

When it’s finally time for the upperclassmen’s turn, she’s forced to give up her search. She plays her melodies, counts her bars, and tries to forget about how her boys aren’t here, knowing there must be a hell of a reason to miss it.

The brass section dwindles down to the woodwinds. The notes fade out completely, leaving a one beat pause before the flutes are supposed to take off in a frenzy. Robin hates playing songs like this. It feels like a cheap trick, some kind of gimmick her music teacher comes up with to see if he can pull one over on unsuspecting families who think the song has finished.

It works, like it always does. Soft, scattered applause breaks out in the crowd. Her teacher’s smug smile is wiped from his face as loud, obnoxious clapping echoes off the gymnasium walls. The kids are failing to contain faint giggles and snorts of laughter. Even though this happens almost every year, it’s definitely never this damn dramatic.

Robin sits up just a little bit higher to peek over the winds section and, sure enough, in the dead center of the crowd, there’s a head of frizzy, curly hair standing tall and proud. Aside from the outburst, Robin’s actually impressed Eddie managed to dress up a bit. He’s wearing what has to be one of Steve’s navy button down shirts along with his nicest pair of black skinny jeans, sans rips and holes.

Apparently being in a band doesn’t translate to understanding when a song is actually over. He glances around, red bursting over his cheeks as everyone stares back at him. Robin has to stand slightly to catch a glimpse of Steve sitting next to him. Her best friend is slowly sinking down into his chair in a fruitless attempt to hide. He’s wearing a light blue button up, most likely with his beige slacks. Steve’s flush is somehow an even brighter shade of red than Eddie’s. He’s hiding an awkward laugh behind his fist, and Robin can’t help but smile wide and unguarded at the mirth shining in his eyes.

These two absolute idiots.

Eddie opens his mouth, but thankfully whatever he’s about to say is cut short by Steve grabbing a hold of his shirt sleeve and yanking him back down into his seat. Robin manages to catch Steve’s eye, and he breaks out into a stupid, adorable puppy-dog grin. He does his signature little finger wave. She snorts, matching his gesture.

Eddie leans in front of Steve’s face to look at her between rows of heads and waves manically back and forth. Robin’s fully laughing now as she waves back. There’s an elbow in her side and before she can snarl at the guy next to her, he nods towards where the conductor stands glaring at her, hands hanging in the air waiting to continue the piece.

The flutes start up, but it’s still a few bars before her first note. So of course her eyes stray to the clarinets. Vickie’s already looking at her, smiling small but genuine. Beautiful and divine. Vickie rolls her eyes fondly and Robin only replies with a half-hearted shrug.

The boys manage to make it through the rest of the concert without causing another scene. The conductor prompts the band to rise for a bow, and polite applause breaks out throughout the crowd once more. That’s when she hears it– hell, everyone in the school probably hears it.

Eddie and Steve wolf whistle at the same time. It’s followed by an eruption of plastic clapper applause and shouts of ‘Go, Buck!’ and ‘Hell yeah that’s my Birdie!’ Robin can’t contain the bubbles of happiness bursting in her chest, leaving her light as air.

She looks out and sees Steve holding another homemade sign covered in glitter that reads ‘Buckley blows the best horn’. Just as Eddie explodes a confetti popper– what Robin assumes is the first of many he has stashed in his pockets– the principal appears out of thin air to scruff them both by the neck and drag them out into the hallway. She can’t read his lips from this far away, but she can see Eddie yapping away, completely unbothered.

Fuck, Robin truly loves these boys. Her goons, her dinguses, her schmucks.

The band leaves through the side door, heading straight to the music room to store their instruments before meeting their loved ones in the cafeteria.

“Hey,” Vickie says, out of breath from jogging to catch up, “you did a really good job.” Robin doesn’t think Vickie could specifically pick her out from the rest of trumpets–at least hopefully not– but she takes the compliment anyway.

“Thanks,” she shouts, a little too excited. And in typical Robin fashion, has zero follow up comments. So they walk down the hall together in silence, students around them buzzing with excitement.

Vickie clears her throat, and bumps her shoulder against Robin’s. “It’s really nice your boyfriend came to watch you play.” Vickie sighs, deflating, “Wish mine had, anyways.”

Robin doesn’t even process Vickie’s second statement before screeching, “I’m not dating Eddie Munson! We’re just friends.”

“Oh,” Vickie smiles, emerald eyes wide and beautiful at Robin’s little outburst, “I guess I meant Steve Harrington. Everyone knows you’re dating. And, I mean, I see you two together in the morning sometimes– not that I’m stalking you or anything,” but her adorable stumbling doesn’t matter in the face of Robin’s blatant disgust.

“Ugh gross absolutely not, he’s like my brother. My dingus, my very platonic soulmate. Like a long-lost twin separated at birth kind of thing, but also way more annoying.”

“Oh good,” Vickie answers. Her eyes grow large, mouth falling open in shock as she stutters, “I’m sorry, I mean… It's not good. But it’s not, not good. You know?”

Robin actually doesn’t know, so she just smiles, bumping shoulders again because the spot where their shoulders touched before is still tingling and she wants more. Vickie relaxes next to her. They’re quiet after that, but it’s a good quiet, filled with stolen glances and hidden smiles. It’s not until they’re both headed back towards the cafeteria when Robin finally realizes what Vickie said.

“I’m sorry your boyfriend couldn’t make it,” Robin placates, hopefully drawing up enough of a fake smile to make it seem real. She does feel bad for Vickie, but she’s not sad about it.

Vickie pulls her lips between her teeth into a thin, angry line. She groans in annoyance, and it’s the most Robin’s ever seen her complain, almost always a bubbly ray of sunshine. It reminds her of when Steve gets bitchy, and she love it. “He could’ve made it if he actually wanted to be here,” she huffs. “Apparently going to a party with his friends is a better way to spend his Saturday night.”

Robin’s eyebrows are raised when Vickie turns to look at her, causing her to scoff out a laugh. “I know, I shouldn’t complain,” Vickie says, obviously not meaning a single word, “but the person you’re dating is supposed to watch your crappy, high school band concert, right?”

Person.

Vickie didn’t say boyfriend, she said ‘person’ you’re dating. It probably doesn’t mean anything… definitely, for sure doesn’t. It still doesn’t stop Robin from blushing like one of the hundreds of women Steve hits on every day at work. Fuck, she’s no better than one of Harrington’s bimbos.

“They should definitely be here.” Robin smiles at her sympathetically, and Vickie thanks her before they walk into the noisy cafeteria. “I’ll see you Monday?” Vickie asks, heading off to visit her family. Robin nods, feeling the dark blush blossom on her cheeks as Vickie smiles, eyes shining with delight.

Robin finally spots her own family, and it’s standard procedure. Congratulations from her parents, telling her ‘Nice job’ and ‘You all sounded so good’ but it’s the comment from her grandmother, whispered in her ear in a tight hug, which catches her off guard.

“Your boy’s waiting for you,” she nods over Robin’s shoulder. She turns to find Steve grinning his dopey I love you smile at her. It’s her favorite, something special just for her. Lost in her soulmate’s gaze, her grandma gives Robin a soft elbow to the stomach to grab her attention. “I think you found yourself a good one.”

And honestly, Robin can’t find it in herself to spout her usual arguments of ‘he’s not my boy,’ because Steve is hers. He’ll always be hers just like she’ll always be his. They still love each other, still plan to spend the rest of their lives together. It’s just not the kind of love most people expect.

It’s a kind of love that’s theirs, and theirs alone.

Well, and Eddie’s too, of course.

Robin smiles back at her grandmother, a wet sheen to her eyes. “Yeah, I really did, didn’t I?”

#i adore platonic stobin + eddie #those three deserve each other in the best way #platonic stobin #stobin #is robin + steve + eddie stobie or steddin??#robin buckley #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley fic #stobin fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #queeniewritesstories

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theonion · 7 months ago

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Explaining that the emotional state can be a legitimate and even healthy reaction to certain stimuli, a study published Tuesday by Harvard University psychiatrists found that anxiety is a natural response to suited men wearing shades and closing in on you from all angles. “It appears that nervous feelings and an elevated heart rate provide real benefits when a shadowy G-man locks eyes with you on the street, presses his earpiece, and begins striding toward you as several of his colleagues emerge from the faceless crowd,” said the study’s lead researcher, Professor Marisol Rucinski, adding that a spike in cortisol from realizing dark-clad agents have cut off all avenues of retreat can actually help fleeing individuals pull themselves up a dangling fire escape as several black SUVs screech to a halt beneath them. Full Story

#the onion #news

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belovaballerina · 15 days ago

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A Disreputable Dalliance

House of the Dragon: Alicent Hightower x Targ bastard!reader

Rating: Explicit (Minors DNI)

WC: 2.8 k

Prompt: First and Last Night for @sweetspicybingo (Beginnings Bingo Masterlist)

Tags/Warnings: reader is Daemon’s bastard, prostitution, role play, impact play (hand and tawse), bondage, oral, fingering, rough sex, choking, humiliation, Dom/sub (reader and Alicent switch), masochism, dry humping, porn with plot!

A/n: I’m team neutral, enjoying many characters from the series, and merely following my muse and the flow of the story.

Summary: You had long filled a need that lingered beneath Alicent’s skin

You were always brought to her under the cover of night. Stars shimmered overhead against a velvety black backdrop as you remained concealed under your cloak, escorted by a member of the City Watch, before being passed to a Kingsguard who guided you the rest of the way. Plenty of coins passed plenty of hands to ensure silence and a blind eye turned. By now, you were used to the routine, following the well-trodden path quietly until you were secure in the Queen Consort’s private chambers. It was only then that you would disrobe, letting the black velvet cloak puddle around your feet.

Alicent rose from her chair by the crackling fire, lifting two goblets filled with sweet Arbor gold before pressing one into your hand.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” you murmured before taking a deep swig.

She nodded, swirling hers, the liquid sloshing in the golden cup before she took a well-measured sip. Her dark eyes raked over your body and appearance before reaching out to glide her fingertips down your silver hair.

“It has gotten mussed on your journey. Come, allow me to brush it for you,” she stated, guiding you over to her vanity.

You sat, cradling the cup in your hands as she glided an ivory brush through your hair until it shone like molten silver.

“Much better,” she smiled, allowing her hands to rest on your shoulders, her thumbs brushing the exposed skin. You did not wear the proper gowns that proper ladies did; instead, you were clad in revealing silks chosen for you by Mysaria, which were paid for by your father, no doubt. Being the bastard of Daemon Targaryen did have its benefits.

“I’m happy to please you, Your Grace,” you smiled, your purple eyes gleaming in the soft firelight of the room.

Her hand slipped under your chin, tilting your gaze as she studied you. Her thumb slipped across your lips, and you obediently parted them to draw in her finger.

“You are most pleasing, sweetling, always,” Alicent breathed, her brown eyes soft and almost pleading. You wondered who else saw her this vulnerable. Perhaps the one she loved long ago and lost, the one she pretended that you were.

“What sort of game would you enjoy tonight, Your Grace?” you whispered around her thumb still in your mouth.

The game was always dependent upon her moods. There were times when she took on the skin of a firm, cruel queen who put the princess at her mercy, and other times she was a submissive, disgraced queen at the mercy of the rightful heir who had taken her crown. Sometimes she preferred the role of a strict stepmother punishing her wild stepdaughter, and on the rare occasion, Alicent enjoyed the part of two lovers sharing a passionate night. And there was that one time you were a stern septa who wielded a cane, striking Alicent whenever she messed up a prayer to the Gods.

She withdrew her thumb from your mouth before walking over to the large chest with the Hightower sigil carved into its dark wood and lifted out the golden chains. Ah. Submissive, disgraced queen, it was.

“I am at your mercy this evening,” she whispered, dropping to her knees before you with the chains cradled in her lap.

You stood, removing the chains from her lap and placing them on the bed. An almost cruel smirk slashed across your face like a sharp dagger.

“You won’t require your clothes then. Stand up,” you ordered.

Her lower lip trembled as she stood on shaking legs. You took your time removing her robe and sliding the demure nightgown that covered her from the neck to her ankles until she stood bare before you. Her body was alluring, slender in the waist, yet her backside had a beautiful curve and fullness to it, as did her breasts. Two dusky nipples stood stiff, and a dusting of red curls covered her sex. You lifted the chains as she instinctively stretched out her arms, allowing you to snap the manacles into place. You secured her ankles as well, tugging on the chains to guide her.

She shuffled, the chains tinkling together, until you bent her over the bed with that beautiful backside on perfect display. Her feet just touched the floor as she shifted on her toes, her thighs parting to reveal her already glistening cunt.

“You think to take my place?” you whispered in her ear, bending across her naked body, your pelvis flush against her bare rump.

“P…please, I was misguided,” she whimpered.

“Excuses! Take responsibility for your actions,” you growled, standing up and slapping your hand against her backside.

Alicent gasped and shifted from foot to foot.

“I was greedy. I craved power,” she sniffled. Your hand cracked down thrice more, a lovely pink blossoming over her unblemished ivory skin.

“And what becomes of greedy girls grasping at power?” you asked, raking your nails down her sensitive skin.

She hissed, her body trembling as her pleasure dripped down her thighs, making them sticky.

“They fall, and are punished for it,” Alicent gasped.

“Indeed,” you hummed in agreement, your palm continually smacking her vulnerable, shaking backside until her skin bloomed red and felt like fire beneath your hands.

By the time you finished her punishment, wet tears clung to her minky lashes and streaked her cheeks. Her rosy mouth was bitten and swollen, and she shook as she tried to measure her breathing.

“There, there,” you soothed, gently stroking her enflamed skin, “I will teach you to be a good little servant for your queen.”

Silk puddled around your feet as you stepped out of your dress before climbing onto the bed, settling against the plush ivory pillows, and spreading your thighs wide. Mysaria took a straight razor to you every two weeks, leaving your cunt smooth and bare. You tugged on the chains, watching Alicent scramble further onto the bed until she was positioned between your thighs. How undignified she looked on all fours with a glowing, red arse as her head lowered between your legs. Her pink tongue darted out, swiping gently against your wet skin.

You sighed softly, pressing your cunt closer against her mouth and her tongue delved inside you for a brief moment. It was a sweet pressure gone all too soon.

“You are being sloppy tonight. If you cannot please me, I will not please you,” you scolded, your violet eyes harsh and narrowed.

“I…I’m sorry,” she sniffled, her fiery red hair clinging to her clammy skin.

You toyed with one of your nipples, rolling the flesh between the soft pads of your fingers as you studied her before reaching down to tangle your hand in her hair. You guided her to your breast, her lips wrapping around your pebbled nipple, and she suckled softly. The gentle bite of her teeth grazed over your sensitive flesh.

“There’s my good girl,” you cooed before pressing her back between your splayed thighs.

Alicent bristled at the praise, her mouth eagerly attached against your cunt as her tongue pleasure you. The brisk movements against your swollen pearl made you moan with delight. Your legs shook as the heat built through your body until you crashed into a heavy wave of pleasure and soaked the Queen’s mouth. When you regained your strength and the dizzy feeling disappeared, you pulled Alicent against your chest, her back pressed against your front.

The chains rattled as you pinched her nipples and made her twist and turn. Your fingertips danced down her belly before your palm slipped over her dripping sex to cup it, letting the wetness seep into your skin. Your thumb teased her slit, making her gasp and moan until finally two of your fingers filled her.

“My good girl,” you purred in her ear while your fingers kept a steady pace until she released over them.

She panted, curling in your embrace as she gently lapped and sucked your fingers clean while trembling against you. She was a demure little creature, well spanked, chained, and blissed out, docile and sweet in your arms. You stayed with her for most of the night until the hour of the wolf arrived, and you were snuck back to the streets of silk still under the cover of darkness. A heavy, burlap bag of golden coins was secured beneath your cloak, and you slept peacefully after a cup of sweet wine, wondering when you would be summoned again.

Her hand was tight around your neck, golden rings glistening in the candlelight. Bruises would be left, no doubt. Purple and blue ones that you would run your fingers over as you rutted against your hand until your eyes rolled in the back of your head. She was no longer Queen Consort, but now the Dowager Queen as Helaena slipped into the previous role. King Viserys rotted in the ground, and all hell threatened to break loose. Alicent was not the docile doe tonight. Instead, she was an angry queen with fire boiling inside her as red as her hair.

“You will head my instructions,” she growled. She donned her golden crown and emerald green gown threaded with gold. Every inch a regal queen.

“Yes, Your Grace,” you gasped, desire leaking down your thighs as you trembled, naked, in her tight grasp.

“You will obey me and remember your place,” she seethed.

“I would not dare disobey the queen,” you whispered.

“Yet you’ve done so at every turn,” she lectured, bending you across the chaise.

“Then I beg for your forgiveness, Your Grace,” you pleaded.

Alicent scoffed, stroking one hand down your bare arse. “Perhaps you shall have it, if I’m feeling merciful.”

“You are most gracious, Your Grace,” you breathed out, your naked breasts pressed tightly against the cushion beneath you.

The tawse stung with a duel sharp bite with each lash she gave to your vulnerable backside. You were no stranger to pain and enjoyed these sorts of sessions with a variety of clients, but preferred them at the queen’s hand. You loved it when this side of her came out, and you bore the consequences. It spurred the desire boiling in your lower belly, and your pearl throbbed with need. By the time she finished, your arse was on fire and beaded with a few welts. Marks you would wear with pride, along with the bruises on your neck. She nudged your thighs further apart.

“Glistening just like a disgusting whore,” she growled, swiping a finger down your dripping cunt.

You heard the rustling of fabric, gasping when her cunt rubbed against your enflamed backside. Her wetness seeped onto your hot skin as she rutted against you. She kept her skirts bunched on one hand while the other gripped your hip as her pelvis slapped against the curve of your arse over and over until she reached her peak, leaving a sticky trail of her release on your skin.

“I can never stay angry with you,” she whispered, her hand tenderly stroking your abused and sticky skin.

“I am most thankful for that, Your Grace,” you replied, need twisting through your stomach.

She had you remain bent over the chaise, knees digging into the stone beneath them as her fingers toyed with your soaked cunt. She teased your pearl with slow, dragging circles before two fingers suddenly filled you. It did not take long for you to spill over her fingers as the desire had been building inside you all night, and you needed but a simple push to topple over the edge. The rest of the night was a blur as the two of you took turns pleasing each other until exhaustion took over, leaving flesh raw and aching. When you returned to Mysaria’s pleasure house with a leather pouch overflowing with coin, you downed a glass of sweet wine as your fingers plunged between your thighs, stroking your raw, overstimulated flesh. At the same time, your other hand traced the bruises on your neck before toppling into sleep.

You were surprised one afternoon when a hooded woman appeared with a simple green gown for you to wear and escorted you to the Red Keep. In broad daylight? Mysaria resided on Dragonstone now, and you fended for yourself just fine, as your father’s and Queen Alicent’s coin afforded you a good life. You were led through the main entrance and escorted into a solar that resides in The Tower of the Hand. You blinked with surprise as you stood before Queen Alicent, Ser Criston Cole, and who you could only presume was Prince Regent Aemond, judging from the black patch covering his right eye. You lowered yourself in an appropriate curtsey and waited for one of them to speak.

Alicent offered a kind smile. “We have a proposition for you. We require your service.”

Surprise and confusion seemed an understatement as to what you were feeling. “I would be happy to assist the crown in whatever they require of me,” you responded, unsure of what you were getting yourself into.

“The pretender is using sullied blood to lay claim to dragons to grow her army,” Aemond stated bluntly, anger seething through every part of his body.

“I had heard those rumors,” you admitted, keeping the part that you had pondered voyage to Dragonstone to attempt for yourself.

“I informed Aemond that I was aware of a young woman who was the bastard daughter of Daemon Targaryen, that mayhaps might try to claim one of the young dragons that lives in the dragonpit,” Alicent explained when it became clear that Aemond would not. He was not wholly committed to this particular cause, but numbers were not in their favour as of this moment.

Your eyes widened. “I would be willing to try, but I cannot guarantee a bond,” you said, your gaze locking onto Alicent’s and becoming lost in those doe eyes. A soft smile spread across the Dowager Queen’s face.

“That is all we can ask and hope for, the attempt with the promising outcome that you will bond with Azurelean,” Ser Criston Cole chimed in, giving the Prince Regent a pointed look.

“I have not heard that one’s name before,” you smiled.

“A hatchling of Dreamfyre named by Princess Helaena when she was small, who was without a name for five years before. She could not decide if the dragon was the shade of azure or cerulean, thus the hybrid name,” Criston clarified, and you noted the fondness in his voice and the softness in his eyes.

“I look forward to meeting her,” you said, your cheeks turning hot as you pondered why you said such a foolish thing.

Aemond scoffed. “If you’re lucky, she won’t burn you to death,” he said, spinning on the heels of his boots before leaving the solar.

“I apologize for the Prince Regent’s behavior, but we are out of options and we must meet dragon with dragon. The dragonkeepers and I will accompany you to the pit, and if the bond is made, then we will ensure you learn the commands and training for battle,” Criston said.

“Thank you, Ser Criston,” Alicent smiled before the man left.

Once alone, Alicent rushed forward to gather you in her arms.

“I am sorry for the secrecy,” she whispered.

“I understand,” you replied. You had been surrounded by secrecy your whole life.

“Your agreement in this matter means a great deal to me,” she said, running her thumb over your knuckles.

“Who could turn down the possibility of having a dragon?” you teased.

She chuckled softly. “And now I can have you in my presence more often.”

Your heart thrummed in your chest. You never imagined a Queen falling in love with a whore. “Another wonderful prospect.”

Your lips melted against hers in a soft, rosy kiss. You were no longer filling the void of the woman from the past, but embodied the woman of Alicent’s future. It would remain a secret, but you were not a stranger to that and did not require a public declaration of her love. The words passed between the two of you were enough.

You spent your days strengthening your bond with Azurelean and committing the Valyrian commands to memory. You spent your nights warming Alicent’s bed, committing the map of her naked body to memory. There were times Prince Aemond scowled behind you while in the dragonpit, a sharp barb or insult falling with ease from his tongue. They were easy enough to ignore as you reminded yourself that your tongue was buried in his mother’s cunt the night before. Your fingers brushed over the glimmering blue scales of your new dragon as you turned to face him.

“You whine just like your mother,” you smiled, watching the color drain from his face as the confusion took over.

He remained absent henceforth, and you took on a smug feeling of pride.

#fics: hotd #sweetspicystart #alicent x reader #alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd fic #hotd smut #alicent fanfic #alicent hightower imagine #alicent hightower smut

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deadonyouraccount · 2 months ago

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Thinking of your chubby pious targtower princess today and what Criston would do to corrupt her on this fine Tuesday (war is coming, I know he’d be growing more anxious about never seeing her or feeling her again)

Criston Cole x Targtower Princess

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Criston’s usual anguished internal monologue, post RR, she’s matured some, targtower reader, plus sized reader, promises and declarations, tldr Criston crashes out in meow meow, overstim, pnv!sex, no beta i die like Criston

A/N: So my buddy @samthegreenapologist sent the top pic in coleserver and I feel it is apt for cris bby after rooks rest before he is to leave again… scared and she’s his source of (agony) comfort. Anyways this turned into sad smut :)

He’d given in. He’d taken the princess’ maidenhead after the council. Aemond was regent and Criston couldn’t get the visions of fire out of his eyes, the smoke from his nose, disgustingly rotting in his mind. It was over with Alicent. He knew that. It hurt, but he knew it was a time coming.

There wasn’t much time left for the knight.

He went to see her. The princess that radiated innocence, despite his dirty mark upon her heart, her soul. There was a cloying aura of goodness around her silver head, perhaps the Gods she so diligently prayed to.

Criston ached. He ached and yearned and longed for her touch. Something to empty his fetid mind and heart. The guilt would always be there, but his princess wouldn’t. The knight walked faster to her chambers, a sense of urgency boiling up. He had to have her.

Lavender eyes peered up from the gloom, the princess already in bed. She sat up, brows furrowed as her sweet voice sang, “Ser Criston? Are you alright?”

He said nothing, already divested of his cage of armor, only clad in a simple tunic and breeches, a pair of boots. His cloak went off first as he said nothing, yanking off his boots. He felt like crying. Criston kept his emotions bottled in lest they explode out like the deadly flames of the dragons he feared.

“Criston,” she said, softer, on her knees now, little hands trembling on the bed. He knew the princess had never seen him in such a state. Disheveled, unsightly, the rot within seeping out. He was a mess of a man, she didn’t deserve it.

He couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment.

Criston was stark naked now, coming forward, placing a knee on the bed. Her hands came to his face, a look of worry contorting her delicate features. The princess soothed, “Criston. I’m here, I’m here for you. Speak to me.”

He pushed her down into the bed, nuzzling at her throat, hands on those lovely soft thighs of hers as he pushed up the nightgown. Criston rasped, “I- I need you here for me. I shan’t do it again.”

She pet his hair, sighing, “It will be fine. I’m always with you. Do not hide from me, please, I couldn’t bear it.”

She was so damned sweet he could get sick off of it. Yet like a poppy addled peasant, he would be sick if he didn’t come to her. It didn’t matter either way, but the short lived bliss was worth it. Criston slipped a hand behind her back, untying the gown, lips ardently trailing across her milky skin.

“You must go on, survive, do what you must,” he said in a thick voice, finally looking at her. Criston’s breath hitched as he continued, “Promise me, you promise you will stay alive.”

She nodded, wiping a tear Criston didn’t know he had shed. The princess kissed the next one, gentle fingers rubbing at his tense neck. A great sadness came over her eyes— realization. She whispered, “I promise you. I swear upon the Gods and mine own beating heart. I promise I will find a way. So you may rest easy, good Ser.”

She kissed him passionately, Criston responding in kind. It was a strange turn. He was sloppy, fueled by need. Much like she was when he first began to love on the blonde. She made a soft noise, hands pulling her nightgown up and over her head, Criston nearly whining at the loss of her lips.

He swallowed at her lovely body, all smooth and supple. He seized her lips again, hungrily lapping into her mouth with desperate groans as his hands massaged her ample breasts. She gasped, arching into Criston’s hard body, tongue flicking against his. Her soft palms smoothed down his olive flanks, fingertips digging in just-so.

Criston whined, seating himself between her round thighs, thumbing her nipples before sealing his mouth over one, pert and pretty. Her fingertips tightened, rosy lips moaning his name. The brunette suckled, rutting some against her giving flesh. He spoke lowly, breath ghosting across the bud, “You’re a gift no man yet deserves.”

She squeezed his hips in kind, a soft look upon her face. The princess breathed out, “Take me. Take me Criston, I do not care who deserves me, only I think of you.” She moved her hips, soft belly tightened as the slick of her cunt grazed his cock. He groaned from deep within, plastering himself to her as close as possible, enveloping one of her hands with his.

Criston kissed along her jaw, sealing his lips to the blonde’s once more as he eased his prick into her velvet cunt. He felt another surge of need, crying out as he was seated within her once more. She was tight, just for him, all she learned was Criston. He possessively wanted it to stay that way.

He rolled his hips forward, free hand gripping her pillowy hip, already stuttering. She called his name, high and sweet, breath mingling with Criston’s. She panted, “Yours, yours, have me, please.” Criston groaned like he’d been gutted, dropping her hand so he could embrace the princess, fucking desperately.

Criston groaned and gasped against her pulse, his hips sloppy as he sought relief. The slick noises of their coupling and her pretty plump lips hanging slack eradicated any worries from his mind. His hips stuttered again, balls pulling tight.

“Others take me,” he hiccuped, a mournful keening erupting from his throat. The princess kissed his cheek, rubbed his shoulders as she spoke.

“On my thighs, my belly.”

Criston drug out his pleasure until he could take it no more, pulling back and spilling onto her stomach as he heaved. He found himself babbling, voice pitchy, “Need more, more, p-please love.”

She embraced him again, Criston sliding back into her pussy, whining through his nose at the intense sensation. She cooed, “That’s it, you feel so good, I’m here. Right here!” She moaned again as he started again, this time harder as he fucked through the discomfort.

It gave way to more intense pleasure, bordering on the side of pain, he huffed and made little desperate noises as she cried out, flesh bouncing with each clap of their hips. The princess was squirming on him now, split by his unrelenting pace.

“Oh gods, gods, Criston,” she cried out, eyes wet and wide as she held his steely gaze. Criston’s forehead was pressed to hers as he grabbed her full ass, angling her up into him, ramming into that soft little spot that made her lose it. He was losing his mind again as she clenched around him, whimpering, shaking with pleasure.

“That’s it, I love that, my precious princess, I need it, need this,” he rasped, feeling more tears spill over. She kissed them away, shivering from head to toe, arching into him as he stroked that fractious spot with every slide of his heavy cock.

“M’close Criston,” she whined.

Criston couldn’t see straight, much less with the tears in his eyes. He continued to focus on her pleasure, determined to get the perfect girl to come around him. She began to claw at his back, her voice growing fraught with tension.

“Let me feel you,” Criston begged, then begged again and again, holding her tight.

She cried out once more, scrabbling at his flesh, pussy convulsing around Criston, more slick pouring forth as she came. He grit his teeth, reluctantly pulling back again and jerking himself through on her thighs, his earlier seed dried and tacky.

He fell forward, turning to the side so he could pull her up and hold the princess into his body, arms caging her in, a leg between hers. His hand splayed possessively across her belly, rubbing gently. She was panting, head lolled back against Criston’s chest, still getting her bearings.

It was a moment of stagnance, Criston feeling his chest swell with more and more. He thought he drove it away. The man sniffed, trying to shove his feelings away. He was a dead man. There was no time for that.

Until the princess turned around and pressed him to her breast, voice soft, “Relax, breathe Criston, please.” He let out a breath, then another, then a sob. She shushed him, stroking his hair as he cried like a child once more.

“I’m here. Always with you,” she cooed, kissing the top of his head.

#anon chats #ask answered #ser criston cole x you #ser criston cole smut #ser criston cole x reader #criston cole x reader #criston cole imagine #criston cole smut #hotd smut

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bloodibambiidoll · 1 year ago

Text

Cinnamon Girls

(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader x Fem!OC)

Summary: Eddie never thought his nightly routine would include sneaking into a catholic collage to see his two girlfriends, but never say never, right? Wk:4.5k

Warnings: Established poly relationship, M/F/F threesome, spanking, choking, Dom!Eddie, Sub!Reader, Switch!OC, Pet names(Eddie has nicknames for both R & OC that I’ll explain in a different part), spint kink, scissoring, gum sharing?, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected sex. I think that’s it? Lmk if I missed any. 18+MDNI

A/N: Okay this idea came to me the other night and I was like possessed by it. I’m kind of obsessed with these three now and I’ve actually come up with other lore about them. I might expand on this lil AU if anyone’s interested. Thank you to my lovely betas @babygorewhore @bimbobaggins69 & @reidsbtch🧸🤍 Moodboard.

Eddie’s ringed fingers reach for the volume knob on the radio, turning it almost all the way down as he rounds the corner to his destination. He turns off the headlights as he slowly pulls his van close to the curb before cutting the engine. He always makes sure to be as quiet as possible, even if he is parked half a block down the road from the school itself. He pulls down the drivers side mirror, fluffing his unruly hair. He pops a piece of cinnamon gum into his mouth and exits his van, making sure not to slam the door like he tends to have a habit of doing.

He looks both ways, checking for bystanders. He was pretty sure there wouldn’t be anyone out on the street at 2AM, especially with the students strict curfew, but he always liked to be sure. If he got caught, he would be so fucked. He shoves the chain on his jeans in his pocket before hiking his leg up on the fence, vaulting himself as quietly as possible up and over onto the other side. He lands with a quiet thud, again checking his surroundings to make sure he was alone.

He walks around the edges of the campus, making sure to keep to the shadows and not set off any automatic lights. Once he reaches the building he’s come to know well he grabs a few small pebbles from the gravel beneath his feet. He tosses one up at the window he’s found himself crawling into most nights lately, and waits.

It only took a few seconds before he saw two heads popping into view, bright smiles on their faces. His heart rate immediately picks up, his stomach erupts with butterflies, and his cock slightly stirs in his pants at the prospect of what the night was going to bring.

Eddie quickly climbs up the conveniently placed fire exit ladder and the window is already pushed open for him when he reaches it. His long ripped jean clad legs enter the room and his boot covered feet hit the ground with a gentle thud one by one.

“My girls.” He smiles wide, taking the sides of your faces in each of his hands. “I missed you.”

“Eddieee.” You nuzzle your face into his palm, practically purring like a kitten. Looking up at him through your lashes with those big sweet eyes that drive him insane. “I missed you.”

“Hey nerd boy.” Mina chuckles, turning her face to nip at his fingers. “We saw you less than 24 hours ago.”

“So you didn’t miss me, pretty girl?” Eddie mock pouts, his thumb running along your girlfriend’s plump bottom lip.

“I didn’t say that, did I?” She rolls her eyes, taking his digit into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it, pulling a groan from his chest.

“Don’t fall for her tough girl act Eds, you should’ve heard her when I was underneath her skirt between classes earlier… ‘fuck baby, you’re so good, I wish I was watching Eddie fuck you from behind right now’ she totally missed you.”

“Hey!” She pulls off Eddie’s thumb with a pop, a string of spit still connected to her lips. “It’s not fair to use what I say when you’re eating me out like it’s the last chance you’ll ever get against me, brat!”

“That’s okay she pretty much lost me at ‘when I was underneath her skirt between classes earlier’… you two are going to fucking kill me, I swear.” Eddie groans, throwing his head back while he runs his hands down his face. The image of you and your girlfriend sneaking off in your little catholic school uniforms to get each other off driving both him and his cock insane.

“Is that doing it for you, Eddie? Thinking about us fucking when you’re not here? Because we do… All. The. Time. Before class, between class, after… we were just messing around before you got here actually…” The look on your face is innocent while the words leaving your mouth are anything but and Eddie swears every single time he comes here his dick gets harder than he ever thought possible.

“We tried to wait for you, but we just got so worked up thinking about you coming over… we couldn’t help ourselves.” Mina reaches up to run her long pointed black nails down his cheek and he grabs onto her wrist, stopping her movements.

“So you admit it then, you missed me? You can deny it if you want, but I bet the minute I get my hands on that pussy it’ll be dripping for me…” He smirks at her, his ember orbs boring into her mossy ones as his lips trail open mouth kisses down her wrist. “Show me…”

“Huh? Show you what?” Her eyes are wide, her body language much more relaxed than it had been in the last few minutes.

“You already getting all dumb on me, baby? All I did was put my lips on you…” Eddie’s large ringed hand grips her jaw, shaking her head from side to side. “Get on the bed and show me what you were doing with our girl before I got here.”

A whimper leaves her lips and it makes you clench around nothing. You always love watching them together. Mina was the more dominant of the two of you, often taking control in and out of the bedroom. So watching the way she submits so easily to Eddie makes you melt. They were both so fucking hot.

He releases her wrist and steps back, leaning against the desk near the wall. He crosses his feet at the ankles and looks at you both expectantly. His eyes finally take the time to drink you both in. If he hadn’t been so distracted by your dirty words and flirty banter what you were doing before he got here probably would’ve been obvious.

You were in nothing but a little pink cami that had a bunny printed on the front, your little white lace panties were adorned with a pink bow and you even had on fucking ruffle socks. You were the epitome of a little religious girl gone bad. Mina on the other hand was very much your opposite. Her black cut off tank top had a little skull and crossbones printed on it, her red g-string sat high on her hips, her feet were bare and the moonlight reflected off her black polished toes. She was the perfect example of what happens when religious girls rebel. Your lips were kiss swollen and her long dark hair looked like you’d been pulling at it. God, Eddie was the luckiest bastard to ever walk the earth.

He watches with his bottom lip secured between his teeth as she approaches you, one hand resting on your hip while the other grabs onto the hair at the nape of your neck. She uses her grip to pull your face to hers, kissing you with fever. Your hands snake around her to grab handfuls of her ass and she moans into your mouth.

“Wanna give Eddie a show, baby girl?” She mumbles against your lips.

“Fuck ya.” You pull back from her with a glint in your eyes and a smirk on your lips. Those mischievous eyes meet Eddie’s as you pull your girlfriend by the hand towards your bed. She sits against the headboard with her legs spread and you climb on top of her. You position your legs so your hips are tilted to the side, your barely clothed core sat directly on top of hers. You roll your hips causing both of you to moan at the feeling.

Her hands grip onto your ass to help you move against her while her hips grind up to meet your thrusts. You take her face in your hands and connect your lips again, your tongue darting out across her bottom lip, silently requesting access. She grants it to you immediately, intertwining her tongue with your own while she moans into your mouth.

Eddie licks his lips at the sight, the way your girlfriend’s long nails dig into the flesh of your ass, the way your tits are pressed up against each other while you grind together. His cock is so hard it feels like it’s going to pop the button on his jeans, he hastily reaches for his belt, clumsily undoing it. Then he moves onto his button and zipper, fumbling slightly, not wanting to take his eyes off the two of you. His cock finally springs free and hits his stomach, a drop of precum dripping onto his dark faded band tee. He spits in his palm before taking his cock in his hand, stroking it roughly. A moan rips through him at the feeling of finally being touched, even if it’s his own.

“Mmm look at Eddie baby…” Your head is turned towards him now as your eyes drink him in hungrily. Mina’s face leaves the crook of your neck to follow your gaze and the sight combined with just the right roll of your hips makes her whimper.

“Fuck, you like what you see, nerd boy?” She pushes your tank top up over your tits and takes them in her soft hands without breaking eye contact with him. Your hips pick up speed and you’re both so wet now that your combined juices are making the fabric of your panties stick together with each roll of your hips.

“You know I do, pretty girl.” He smirks right back, his hand still stroking his thick cock while his eyes travel over both your bodies. Her tongue licks around your areola before she takes your nipple in her mouth, causing you to gasp.

“I want more.” You whimper. She feels so good against you, but it’s not quite enough. You need to feel her. You lift your hips just enough to use your hands to push both of your panties to the side before lowering yourself back down onto her warm wet cunt. Her clit bumps against yours and you’re both so wet you practically glide against her. “Fuck, yes.”

Eddie approaches the side of the bed, taking both of your jaws in his hands, forcing you both to look up at him. “Goddamn, you guys are so fucking sexy, can you cum like that for me? If you’re good girls and make each other cum I’ll give you my cock.”

His words spur you on, your hands coming to rest on Mina’s shoulders for leverage as you grind your wet pussy against hers. She leans forward to take your nipple into her mouth, her free hand toying with your other one.

“Oh fuuuck, yes. You’re so wet baby, you feel so good. I’m gonna cum.” You press yourself down on her hard, moving your hips in a circular motion that has her clit gliding deliciously through your wet folds. Her teeth sink into the meat of your tit, sending you over the edge. Her hands grab onto your hips, guiding you against her as your high crashes over you.

“Mmm that’s it, good girl, cum for us.” She pulls off of you so she can watch your face as you fall apart on top of her.

“Your turn.” You’re still panting as you come down from your orgasm but you use one hand to shove her shirt up over her tits, your tongue immediately flicking out to lick across her perky peaked nipples. Your other hand slides between your bodies, finding her clit with ease. You grind your palm against her sensitive bud while your tongue and lips continue their assault on her nipples.

“Fuuuuuck.” You hear Eddie groan above you and your eyes snap his direction, immediately meeting his lust filled ones. His tongue darts out across his bottom lip and you can’t see from how you’re angled but the way he’s shaking you can tell he’s jerking himself off again. You can’t wait to get your hands and mouth on every inch of him too.

“Cum for me baby, I wanna hear those pretty sounds.” You insert your middle and pointer finger inside her while your palm continues its ministrations on her clit.

“Oh my fucking god, that’s so good, you’re gonna make me - I’m gonna fucking cum!” Her sharp nails dig into your ass and a pornographic moan rips through her as she cums around your fingers. You fuck her through it, leaving open mouth kisses all across her chest.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever fucking seen, shit.” Eddie’s voice breaks you from your Mina induced trance and you whip your head towards him. He’s shirtless now, his jeans still hanging low on his hips, his hard leaking cock on full display.

“Mmm does that mean we earned our reward? You look damn right edible, Mr. Munson.” You smirk up at him, practically salivating at the sight of the bead of precum dripping from his slit. Eddie groans, something about you calling him that makes his cock twitch.

“Yeah, I think you earned it, Bunny. Why don’t you get over here and suck it?”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. You climb off Mina, crawling towards him so you can sit in front of him on your knees. She follows suit, sitting close enough to you that your bare thighs touch. Eddie feels like he’s going to fucking cum just looking at you both on your knees for him, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Take your shirts off and stick out your tongues.” You turn towards your girlfriend, grabbing the hem of her already hiked up tank top and pulling it over her head. She does the same for you and then you both turn back towards him, sticking your tongues out just like he asked. “God fucking damn, have I ever told you I’m the luckiest man to ever live? Look at my beautiful girls, waiting for me to use their little throats.”

He slaps his cock against your tongue, that bead of precum you’d been eyeing dripping into your mouth just like you wanted. He glides his tip along your tongue a few times before turning to do the same to Mina. His large ringed hands come around both your heads, gripping onto the hair at the nape of your necks.

“Keep your tongues out.” He leans over you to spit in your mouth before using the grip he has on your hair to pull your face to his cock. You take the hint, taking as much of him as you can into your mouth. You bob your head up and down while he gives Mina the same treatment above you, pulling her head down next to yours once he's done. You feel her lips traveling up your shoulder to your jaw, she leaves wet kisses across your cheek until she reaches your mouth. Her tongue darts out to lick the part of Eddie’s shaft that isn’t down your throat, curling around it.

“Holy fuuuucking shit.” Eddie groans, he uses the grip on your hair to pull both of your heads back again, looking down at you with lust filled eyes. “Be good girls for me and make out on my cock.”

Mina smirks up at him before leaning forward to lick along the side of his length, you follow her lead, running your tongue up the opposite side. You both lick all around his cock like it’s a lollipop, your tongues occasionally touching and intertwining around it. She takes his tip in her mouth, swirling her tongue around it before taking him fully down her throat with a gag. You lean down so you can kitten lick across his balls, tasting the musky saltiness that is Eddie. You suck one of them into your mouth, your tongue massaging around the soft skin before pulling off and giving the other one the same treatment.

“Shit shit shit!!!” He pulls you both off of him with a gasp. “You gotta stop or I’m gonna fucking blow my load I swear you two are little succubi.”

“Mmm… you just taste so good, we want your human essence.” You giggle up at him, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “You know Eds… I haven’t even gotten a kiss yet.” You pout.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry Bunny, I guess I got carried away, huh? Come here.” He grabs your face in his hands, leaning down to place a kiss that was much more gentle than you were expecting on your lips. He kisses you a few times before turning to Mina and attempting to give her the same treatment. But you watch as she grabs onto his hair and tugs, pulling his face hard against her own. Her tongue licks across his lips and his darts out to meet hers. She sucks his tongue into her mouth, bringing the cinnamon gum he was chewing with her.

“You’re sweet and all, nerd boy. But I’m still really fucking horny and I believe you promised us your cock? I’d like to cash in on that now.” She bites down on his bottom lip before pulling away with a smirk, popping his gum between her teeth.

“Yeah? You want my cock? Hands and knees, both of you. I wanna try something.”

Mina pulls her thong down her legs before flipping over on her hands and knees with her back arched, her ass in the air and on full display. You do the same, wiggling your ass back and forth as you look at Eddie over your shoulder. You watch with hungry eyes as he discards his jeans. His ring adorned hand comes down on your asscheek causing you to jolt forward with a yelp.

“Look at these perfect fucking assess, and they’re all mine…”

He pumps his cock a few times before running it through your slick folds, dipping the tip inside of your entrance before slapping it against your clit.

“Eddieeee…” you whine and wiggle your ass again, pushing back against him.

“Aww is a little Bunny feeling greedy?” You can hear the dumb smirk in his voice but you don’t have time to talk back before he’s shoving himself balls deep inside of you, knocking the air from your lungs. The stretch is so good, every single time. No matter how many times he fucks you it’s like he’s filling you up just right.

He starts fucking into you rough and fast, his grip on your hip is so tight that you hope the ring indents that had started to fade from last time are even darker than before. His free hand comes down hard on Mina’s asscheeks in succession before he’s soothing it with his palm and running his thick fingers through her dripping slit. He inserts two fingers inside her and starts to fuck her with them in tandem with the thrusts of his cock inside you.

“Fuck bunny, you’re so wet, this little pussy is squeezing me so tight.” The hand on your hip finds your clit, applying a delicious amount of pressure while he continues to bury himself deep inside you.

“Baby, gimme a kiss.” Mina’s voice almost sounds like it’s underwater with how close you are to cumming but you turn your face towards her. She grabs your jaw in one of her hands and smashes your lips together in a desperate moan filled kiss. Her tongue slips between your lips, exploring every inch, the gum she had just taken from Eddie’s mouth slips into your own and it still somehow tastes cinnamony sweet.

“I’m gonna c - cum, I’m gonna cum.” Your words are slurred against her lips, Eddie hits that perfect spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“Yeah baby? You gonna cum? Mi, why don’t you be a good girl and cum for me too?” Eddie continues his assault on your g-spot while his skilled fingers curl just right inside your shared girlfriend's cunt. It only takes a few more pumps of his cock to send you over the edge, Mina tumbling over her own right after you.

Eddie fucks you both through your highs before pulling his fingers away, he uses his other hand to grip onto your hair and pull your back flush against his chest.

“Suck.” He brings the slick covered digits to your mouth and you greedily take them in, tasting your girlfriend’s sweet nectar. “Good girl.”

He releases his grip on your hair and you fall forward, catching yourself on your hands at the last minute. You go to turn around but he grips your hips, keeping you in place.

“Stay. I didn’t say you could move, did I?” He smacks your ass before turning to Mina, roughly gripping her hips. “You want my cock now, kitty? I think you’ve earned it.”

“Just fuck me already, Munson.” Normally Eddie would take the time to tease her for her attitude, make her beg a little, but he’s so fucking hard he needs to be inside of her, right now. He grabs onto his cock, lining it up with her puffy lips, he pushes himself all the way inside of her in one thrust, throwing his head back when she clenches around him.

“You’re such a fucking brat, you know that?” He leans over her so his lips brush against the shell of her ear, trailing a few kisses down her throat. He stops at the juncture of her throat, sinking his teeth down onto it while he starts to fuck into her roughly.

“Yeah, but you fucking love it.” Her chuckle turns into a strangled moan when he wraps a hand around her throat, his cock pounding into her so deep she can feel him hitting her cervix.

You look over at them and you can’t help but moan at the sight. Eddie’s head is thrown back, revealing the expanse of his thick throat, a layer of sweat covers his inked chest and he’s growling almost animalistically. Mina’s face is slightly red from the way she’s being choked, a bit of drool is dripping from the corner of her mouth and her tits are bouncing deliciously. You want to lean down and suck them, and lick the drool off her chin but you also want to be a good girl and for Eddie so you decide to stay put.

And damn does it pay off, because one second he’s pounding into your girlfriend like his life depends on it and next thing you know he’s pulling out of her and thrusting deep inside you. He’s fucking you as hard as he was fucking her, picking up the pace he left off on. He thrusts into you a few more times before he’s pulling out and plunging back into Mina. He continues like this for a bit, fucking deeply into one of you before switching off and giving the other the same treatment. The room is filled with the sounds of your moans and slapping skin, and in the back of your mind you’re thankful that the girl next door moved out last week.

“My good fucking girls, letting me use your little holes like this, you’re so fucking good for me. Fuck!” Eddie pumps his into your girlfriend deep and hard, before pulling out and plunging into your wet, waiting heat. “Mi, go get in front of Bunny so I can watch her eat that pretty little pussy from the back while I fill her up with my cum.”

She’s past the point of giving him shit, so fucked out that she will do anything he asks without question. She crawls so she’s positioned on her hands and knees in front of you and your grab onto her asscheeks, spreading them apart.

“Looks so tasty…” You spread her open a few more times, watching her clench around nothing, then you lean forward and plunge your tongue as far as it can go inside of her. You fuck into her with your tongue before licking down to her clit, sucking it into your mouth.

Eddie is about to lose it, your pussy is clenching him so tight and your ass is bouncing deliciously against his hips. The sounds and the sight of you devouring your girlfriend is enhancing his pleasure by tenfold. He reaches his hand around you to rub circles on your clit, angling his hips the way he knows you love it.“Fuck baby, I’m not gonna last much longer… need you to cum for me.”

You bring two of your fingers to Mina’s entrance, pushing them inside her and curling them upwards. She pushes back against you, her pussy clenches around your fingers and you can tell she’s close too.

“Shit, I’mgonnafuckingcum.” She whimpers.

“Cum for us kitty, cum on our girl's face. I’m gonna cum too - fuckingshit.” Eddie’s thrusts get sloppy but he’s still fucking you so good, the speed of his fingers picks up on your clit and you feel his cum start to spill inside you. Mina’s pussy is like a vice grip on your fingers and the moans she’s letting out are like music to your ears. It’s all so hot and it has your own orgasm wracking through your body.

You’re all panting as you pull apart from each other, throwing yourselves down on the bed with Eddie in the middle. You both rest your heads on his shoulders, your legs thrown over each of his thighs. You and Mina absentmindedly play with each others fingers that rest on Eddie’s chest.

“I can’t fucking wait until you guys get out of here.” Eddie sighs.

“Soon baby, just one more month and this catholic collage nightmare will be over.” Your girlfriend places a gentle kiss on his peck, resting her chin there so she can look up at him.

“Then our dads will finally get off our asses and release our trust funds to us. And we can buy a nice house, and get you studio time.” You lean up to kiss his jaw, mimicking Mina’s position so you can look at his beautiful face too.

“Yeah? You guys are my certified sugar mama’s I swear.” Eddie chuckles, bringing his hands up so he can cup both of your jaws. He rubs his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks and looks into both of your eyes, placing a gentle kiss on each of your lips. He seriously was the luckiest bastard to ever live.

#eddie munson x reader #Dolly writes #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie Munson one shot #eddie munson x fem!oc #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader smut

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